POV: Burn
The air outside the clubhouse was thick with tension, the silence almost more unnerving than the sound of gunfire. We’d been hit hard, but it wasn’t over. Not even close. The Crows were waiting, watching, planning their next move—and we had to strike before they did.
Razor was leaning against one of the bikes, a cigarette dangling from his lips, as he looked over the map. “They’re gonna come at us harder next time. We hit them before they even think about it, Burn. We make it so they can’t regroup.”
I stared at the map in front of us, my mind already racing with plans, strategies, and outcomes. He was right. We couldn’t afford to sit around and wait for them to hit again.
“Tomorrow,” I said, my voice low but firm. “We strike before dawn. I want every possible route in and out
