2.
2025 Words
I woke with my heart pounding, sweat damp on my forehead, the echo of that gunshot still thudding in my ears. My body felt heavy, every muscle stiff and sore. The thin blanket Judge had tucked around me did little to chase away the chill. I lay still for a moment, gathering my scattered thoughts: the wreck, Ryder’s bike, the deal I’d made, and then… the shot.
I pushed myself up on an elbow and peered through the narrow window of the train‑car infirmary. Outside, the courtyard was bathed in moonlight and the flicker of dying bonfires. A handful of figures moved in tense clusters. One of them—Judge—stood over something or someone on the ground. My chest tightened. I swung my legs over the side of the cot, pain lancing through my thigh, and bit back a gasp.
“Leah?” Judge’s voice came through the thin wall. He’d already patched me up, but I’d never learned to stay put. I limped to the door. “What is it?” he asked when I slipped into the hall.
“Someone’s hurt,” I said, voice trembling. “I saw you out there.”
Judge’s face was grim. “Stay here,” he ordered, and hurried past me. I wanted to follow, but the ache in my leg warned me off. Instead, I pressed my palm to the wall and listened: muffled voices, the scrape of metal, and then Ryder’s low growl—angry, controlled, dangerous.
I sank back onto the cot, heart hammering. How could I help? I was the outsider, the girl who’d only just agreed to file paperwork. Yet every fiber of me itched to do something.
---
Morning came in a haze of heat and dust. The sun filtered through the slats of the corrugated steel, turning the infirmary into a furnace. I blinked against the glare, sweat trickling down my neck. My leg throbbed, but the ache felt almost welcome—proof that I was alive, that I wasn’t still trapped in some nightmare.
I swung my legs down again, testing the weight. It was doable. Judge appeared, wiping his hands on a rag. “Breakfast?” he asked.
I managed a nod. He helped me to my feet and guided me to a small table by the window. On it sat two enamel mugs of weak coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs. I stared at the food, uncertain how to eat when my stomach felt so tight. Judge poured the coffee into my hand.
“Drink,” he said. “You’ll need it.”
The first sip scalded my tongue, but I swallowed anyway. The bitter warmth chased away the last vestiges of sleep. I picked at the eggs. Judge watched me, arms crossed.
“Last night was… rough,” he said.
“I saw you,” I said, looking up. “What happened out there?”
He sighed. “A rival crew tried to breach our walls. They hit Cain first. That’s what you saw me kneeling over.”
My breath caught. Cain—the big, tattooed enforcer who’d glared at me when I arrived—had taken a bullet? “Is he okay?”
Judge shook his head. “He’s stable, but it’s serious. Ryder’s inside with him now.”
I felt a squeeze in my chest. I didn’t know Cain, but I couldn’t shake the image of him lying broken on the ground. I picked at my coffee. “I should—”
“Stay,” Judge interrupted gently. “We’re stretched thin. You need rest, and we need you to keep your word.”
His eyes were kind but firm. I nodded, though my heart protested. I’d agreed to be an assistant—paperwork and logistics—but I hadn’t imagined real blood and real bullets.
---
By mid‑morning, the compound had settled into a tense routine. Bonfires smoldered, and the courtyard was a swirl of motion: mechanics tuning bikes, cooks hauling pans, guards pacing the perimeter. I hobbled toward the main building—an old rail car converted into an office—my crutches clacking on the dirt floor. Rae Delgado, the club’s mechanic, spotted me and waved.
“Hey, coffee girl,” she called, grinning. Oil smudged her cheek, and she wore a bandana that kept her short hair off her face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I managed a small smile. “I’ve seen worse.”
She offered me a chair. “Sit. I’ll bring you something stronger than that diner swill.”
Before I could protest, she was gone, and I sank into the wooden seat. The office was bare‑bones: a desk piled with papers, a map of the territory tacked to the wall, and a single lamp that burned bright even in daylight. I studied the map—roads, rival turf, safe houses. My pulse sped. I’d never worked in logistics for a biker gang before.
Ryder Blackthorn appeared in the doorway. His presence sucked the air from the room. He was dressed in black—jeans, boots, leather vest—his hair still damp from sweat or maybe rain. He moved with the easy grace of a predator. My heart thundered in my chest.
“Leah,” he said, voice low. “I need you to catalog the shipments we’ve got coming in next week. Food, medical supplies, parts. I’ll need a full rundown by tonight.”
I swallowed. “I… I can do that.”
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. I stared at him, waiting for something—an explanation, a reason he’d risked his life to save me, or a reminder that I’d signed up for this.
He crossed to the desk and dropped a folder in front of me. “This is the log. Fill in quantities, arrival times, contact names. No mistakes.”
I nodded, opening the folder. Inside were handwritten notes, receipts, scrawled phone numbers. It looked like chaos. My stomach twisted. “How do you want it organized?”
He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the leather and something musky, his breath warm on my ear. “Simple. Column A, item. Column B, quantity. Column C, date. Column D, source. Make it neat.”
I swallowed again, feeling a rush of heat. “Got it.”
He straightened and turned to leave. “And Leah?”
I looked up.
“Stay safe.” Then he was gone, and the door clicked shut.
I exhaled, heart pounding. I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into.
---
I spent the afternoon hunched over the desk, translating scribbles into neat lines. The sun shifted across the map on the wall, and the lamp’s light flickered as dusk fell. My leg ached more with every hour, but I pushed through. I wanted to prove I wasn’t useless.
At some point, Rae popped her head in. “How’s it going?”
I held up the stack of papers. “Almost done. I think I’ve got everything.”
She stepped inside, closing the door. “You’re a fast learner.”
I managed a smile. “Coffee helps.”
She laughed. “I knew it. Listen, there’s a meeting tonight. Ryder wants to go over plans for the next run. You should come.”
My stomach knotted. “A meeting?”
She nodded. “Don’t worry. You’ll sit in the back. Watch and learn.”
I hesitated. I had no idea what happened in those meetings—probably deals, strategies, maybe violence. But I couldn’t back out now. “Okay,” I said.
She grinned. “Good. Now go home and rest that leg. I’ll come get you at seven.”
I watched her leave, then finished the last line of my spreadsheet. I stacked the papers, tied them with a rubber band, and tucked them into the folder. My hands trembled. I’d never been part of something like this before.
---
That evening, Rae found me leaning against the infirmary door, crutches in hand. She guided me gently to the courtyard. Flames danced in the pits, casting everyone’s faces in orange light. Cain sat at a table with a half‑empty bottle of whiskey, staring into the flames. Judge stood nearby, arms crossed. Other members milled around—some sharpening knives, others checking bikes.
Ryder arrived on his bike, the engine’s roar echoing off the walls. He killed the engine, swung off, and strode to the table. The others fell silent.
He nodded at me. “Leah’s here.”
Cain glanced up, eyebrows raising, then nodded curtly. “Good.”
Ryder took his seat at the head of the table. I perched on a crate off to the side, trying to stay out of the way. The night air was cool against my skin, a welcome relief from the day’s heat.
Ryder cleared his throat. “We’ve got shipments coming in from three sources: the border towns, the old rail line, and a new contact in Crestview. Leah will give us a full list tomorrow. For now, we need to focus on security.”
He turned to Cain. “How’s the perimeter?”
Cain stood, muscles rippling under his shirt. “We’ve got extra patrols on the east wall. Judge, your men are on the west. I’ll handle the north gate myself.”
Ryder nodded. “Good. We can’t afford another breach like last night. That cost us Cain’s blood.”
A murmur rippled through the group. I watched Cain’s face, half‑hidden in shadow. He raised a glass to his lips, drinking in silence.
Ryder looked at me. “Leah, your leg’s going to slow you down. But I need you alert. Understand?”
I met his gaze. “Yes.”
He leaned back. “Good. Meeting adjourned.”
The group dispersed. I stayed where I was, heart pounding, until Cain approached. He leaned against the crate next to me.
“You’re the newbie,” he said.
I nodded. “Leah.”
He eyed my crutches. “That leg going to hold up?”
I shrugged. “Better than my head.” I forced a grin.
He smirked. “Coffee girl. You’ve got guts. Don’t lose it.”
Then he walked away, leaving me staring after him. I sank onto the crate, feeling the weight of their eyes on my back. This world was dangerous—no doubt about that. But for the first time since the wreck, I felt… alive.
---
Back in the infirmary, I peeled off my boots and collapsed onto the cot. The floor was cold against my bare feet. My leg throbbed, but the pain felt like a reminder that I belonged here now. I closed my eyes, listening to the faint hum of activity outside.
A soft knock sounded at the door. I sat up, heart skipping.
“Who is it?” I called.
“Rae,” came the whisper.
I opened the door. She stepped in, carrying a mug of hot broth. “For you.”
I took it gratefully. “Thank you.”
She perched on the edge of the cot. “How do you feel?”
“Tired,” I admitted. “But… good. I got through the meeting.”
She nodded. “You did well. Ryder trusts you more than you think.”
I looked at her. “Why help me?”
She gave me a knowing look. “Because you’re not just anyone. You’ve got something he respects. Don’t question it—just use it.”
I sipped the broth, warmth spreading through me. “What about Cain? He seems… intense.”
Rae laughed softly. “Cain’s got a temper, but he’s loyal to a fault. He’ll test you, but once he knows you’re solid, he’s got your back.”
I nodded, digesting her words. “And Judge?”
“He’s the old soul. Keeps Ryder grounded. You’ll like him.”
I lay back, exhaustion pulling me under. “I hope so.”
Rae stood. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we start early.”
- Writer
