The memories of my past felt like a labyrinth of pain and darkness, each corner echoing with the screams of my lost innocence. The horrors I witnessed as a child—the screams, the blood, the stark expressions of fear—were enough to break any grown man. All I knew was I was a bastard like my father and his father before him. Like me, my father also lived in a world of blood, fear, and violence until that life killed him. By the time I was a teenager, I had seen more bloodshed than most men see in a lifetime.
I didn’t have a childhood. All I remembered was pain. The streets had been my brutal playground and survival was my only lesson.
That’s when I stumbled upon the truth and met the others. Delving deeper into the shadows, I uncovered secrets that shook the very foundation of my beliefs and I found others that had ties to my past, threads of a tapestry I had been too blind to see. Each revelation was a blow, unmasking the lies and deceit that had shaped my existence.
I knew when I received the text telling me to head to New York City and that more information would follow, I couldn’t ignore it.
None of us could.
Someone had opened the gates of Hell and now fire would reign down until nothing but death remained. Some called us the Four Horsemen, some called us the Grim Reapers, but most just called us FIRE. You couldn’t get one of us without the others. Anyone calling for our help had to be either stupid or desperate, because when we showed up, nothing survived.
There were four of us. Brothers. Well, brothers in every way but blood. More so than those in the clubhouse. Not that I would ever admit that to my club brothers. There were just some things in life that bonded men together more than blood and that was what happened in our case. No, we didn’t share a drop of DNA, but what we experienced forged our commitment to each other in the fires of Hell and not even death would destroy that.
It was only by joining the Gods of Mayhem that I found some semblance of peace. The roar of the engine, the wind in my hair, the camaraderie of my brothers—it was the escape I needed. But I still wore a mask, pretending to be a carefree biker while hiding the darkness within.
Only my Prez suspected there was more to my story. He saw the way I fought, the ruthlessness in my eyes during confrontations. But he respected my silence, understanding that everyone had their own demons. I knew he would notice my absence come morning, but he wouldn’t say a word. He never did.
The night was cold when I slipped from the clubhouse. The brothers were partying again, and the music was pumping. None of them spared me a glance when I disappeared into the shadows. Heading for my bike, I saw nothing around for miles as I threw my leg over my bike.
“Come back to us, brother.”
Looking into the darkness, Zeus appeared out of nowhere, and I said nothing when he walked past my bike, heading for the clubhouse. He didn’t look back. I knew he wouldn’t.
Starting my bike, I rode away from the family I claimed, to kill the family that destroyed mine.
Savannah, Georgia.
In the dimly lit restaurant, laughter filled the air while I watched the couple enjoy their dinner, completely unaware of the impending danger that loomed not far from where they sat. Their faces, illuminated by the soft glow of the candlelight, reflected joy and contentment as they leaned toward one another, whispering secrets and whatnots, oblivious to the outside world and its relentless rush.
From the shadows of a darkened corner, I observed them intently. My eyes, cold and calculating, never left the couple. Cloaked in anonymity, I blended seamlessly into the obscurity, my presence unperceived by the bustling diners and attentive waitstaff. The steady hum of conversation and clinking cutlery provided the perfect cover for my silent surveillance.
I watched as they toasted to some private victory, the clinking of their glasses barely audible above the din. Every gesture, every laugh, every shared glance was meticulously noted. The couple, wrapped in their bubble of contentment, remained blissfully ignorant of my sinister gaze fixed upon them.
Outside, the night deepened, the sky a canvas of inky black smeared with pinpricks of starlight. The restaurant’s warmth was a stark contrast to the chill that crept through the cracks of the city’s forgotten alleys. In the corner, my breath fogged slightly in the cooler air, a fleeting reminder of my presence.
My mind raced with thoughts, each one more foreboding than the last. What was my purpose? Was it revenge that brought me here, or something darker still? The couple, lost in their moment, had no inkling of the fate that loomed just beyond their line of sight.
The waiter approached their table, refilling their glasses and exchanging pleasantries. I tensed, every muscle coiled like a spring, waiting for the right moment. Time seemed to stretch, each second dripped like molasses through the sieve of fate.
The couple laughed again, oblivious to the danger lurking just out of sight, and my fingers grazed the edge of my coat pocket. What lay within was uncertain, but my intent was clear. The shadows seemed to tighten around me, as if the darkness itself conspired in my silent plot.
And so, the evening wore on, a delicate dance of light and shadow, joy and foreboding. The couple’s laughter echoed through the restaurant, as the restaurant door swung open, the chill of the night air seeped into the warm interior when I felt my phone vibrate.
Reaching for it, I read the text.
FIRE ACTIVATED. Head to Saltillo, Mexico. More to follow.
Shaking my head, I looked once more at the couple and smirked.
They would never know how close they came to death tonight.
Slipping out of the shadows, my movements were swift and purposeful as I melted into the darkness outside, the city swallowing me whole. Each step I took was a step closer to my salvation. A desire I had harbored for as long as I could remember. Looking back at the couple once more, I watched while they continued their evening, oblivious to who had been watching them and the silent storm that had just departed. Their laughter rang out, a moment of pure, untainted joy in a world fraught with unseen dangers. The night, however, was far from over, as I vanished into the labyrinth of the city, a sense of impending doom lingered in the air. I smiled knowing that someone just unleashed the fires of Hell.
Purgatory, California.
Sitting quietly in a chair, I watched her sleep. The pale light of the moon filtered through the curtains and cast a soft glow over her restless form. She was having a nightmare again. Her brows furrowed and faint murmurs escaped her lips, a testament to the turmoil that plagued her dreams. I wanted so much to ease her pain, to reach out and chase away the shadows that haunted her. But until she opened up and talked to me, all I could do was be here for her.
Minutes felt like hours as I kept my silent vigil. The clock ticked away, a relentless reminder of my helplessness. Seeing her like this made me feel useless when all I wanted was to matter. The weight of her unspoken suffering pressed heavily on my heart, a burden I bore willingly yet painfully. I longed for the day when she would trust me enough to share her fears, to let me in and allow me to help her heal.
