Chapter Eighty-Two
Blade’s POV
Weeks passed, and the jagged wounds of the ambush slowly began to scab over. It wasn't that the pain had vanished, but the Iron Reapers were a creature built for resilience. Under Stone’s relentless, iron-fisted leadership, the club began to crawl back toward something resembling life.
The clubhouse was no longer a tomb. Repairs were made; the shattered windows were boarded up, and the bullet-scarred walls were patched and painted over. The bikes, once gathering dust in the garage, began to roar to life again, their engines shaking the ground with a familiar, thunderous defiance. New prospects were brought in to fill the gaps left by those we had lost, and the nightly patrols resumed with a renewed, cold-blooded intensity.
I remained in the shadows. I ado
