Chapter Three - Ashes and Bloodlines
522 Words
The Widow Blades’ clubhouse sat like a rusting beast in the desert, surrounded by barbed wire, burnt-out cars, and a pit where wild dogs had once been fought for sport.
Inside, the air was thick with sweat, cigar smoke, and simmering tension.
Vice President Dean “Hawk” Hawkins strode through the main hall, nodding to patched members and prospects alike. His weathered face was unreadable, but his eyes tracked everything. Always watching.
He found Reed Graves, president and king of the dying empire, slouched in his leather throne, a glass of bourbon in one hand and an ashtray in the other.
“Reed,” Hawk said flatly. “We’ve got a situation.”
Reed didn’t look up. “That right?”
“Your daughter’s missing.”
A beat. Then a snort.
“She’ll be back.”
“She hasn’t been home since last night. Her bike’s gone. No one’s seen her.”
Reed tossed his cigar into the tray and poured another drink. “Let her have her tantrum. She thinks the world owes her something. She’ll learn fast how wrong she is.”
Hawk’s jaw tensed. “We don’t know where she is. This isn’t nothing, Reed.”
Reed’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and ice-cold. “She’s a spoiled brat with no spine. Always was. No fight in her. No fire. She’ll come crawling back once the world chews her up.”
From the corner of the room, two figures stiffened.
Mason and Trey Graves, Evelyn’s older brothers, shared a look—something sharp and silent passing between them.
“Dad,” Mason spoke up, stepping forward. “You really not gonna look for her?”
Reed didn’t even turn around.
“She’ll be back. She’s got nowhere else to go. No friends. No cash. No purpose. If she’s lucky, maybe someone’ll marry her and put her to use.”
Trey’s knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists. “She’s still your daughter.”
Reed stood. The room went still.
“My sons run with the club. My sons fight for me. That girl’s done nothing but take up space and stare out windows like some damn fairy tale ghost. She wants the world? Let her find it. Or die trying.”
Hawk stepped in fast, voice low. “Enough. Both of you.”
He turned to Mason and Trey.
“You go after her, your old man’ll take it personal. You know what that means.”
Mason’s jaw ticked. “She’s our blood.”
“And he’s your president,” Hawk snapped. “Disobey him, and you’ll regret it.”
Trey looked away, shoulders tight.
Reed sat again, calm now, sipping his drink like the conversation was already forgotten.
“She’ll come back,” he muttered. “Or she won’t. Either way… she was never built for this life.”
Outside, Mason lit a cigarette, pacing by the row of bikes.
“She could be in real s**t, Trey.”
“I know.”
“We wait?”
Trey looked out into the desert, eyes narrowing. “We wait.”
But not for long.
- Writer
