Saint:
The clubhouse was buzzing with tension. The air smelled of leather, gasoline, and the kind of anticipation that came before a storm. Kat had been around bikers long enough to recognize the shift—tonight, things were about to change.
I stood cold-heartily at the head of the room, my expression hard as stone. Blaze leaned against the pool table, his usual smirk replaced by something more dangerous, more determined. The rest of the Savage Saviors—rough, battle-scarred men who lived by the club’s code—were gathered, just waiting for the word.
Waiting for orders.
Waiting for war.
My voice cut through the thick silence like a knife. “Viper walked into Tony’s like he owns the place. That’s not just disrespect. That’s a challenge.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the club.
