Page 3 of Brooks

The warehouse loomed ahead, its hulking shadow falling across the cracked pavement like a dark omen. As we cut our engines and coasted to a stop, I could feel the tension among the Red Devils thickening, an electric charge pulsing through the air.

“Stay sharp,” I warned them, my eyes scanning the perimeter for any signs of danger. “And remember, we’re here to talk. Don’t start something unless they do.”

“Got it, Brooks,” one guy grunted, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.

We dismounted, boots crunching on gravel, and approached the entrance to the warehouse. As the massive metal door creaked open, I steeled myself for whatever lay inside, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Showtime,” Hawk muttered, and I nodded.

The Pistons were already waiting for us, their icy stares fixed on our approaching group. Scar stood at the forefront, arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face. My fingers twitched near my holster, instincts screaming at me to be ready.

“Brooks,” Scar said, his tone icy. “Didn’t think you’d have the balls to show up.”

“Cut the crap, Scar,” I shot back, not allowing him to rile me up. “You know why we’re here.”

“Of course I do,” he replied, smirking. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“None of us do,” I pointed out, feeling the weight of my responsibility as I faced off with our rivals.

“One of us has to back down,” he countered, his eyes narrowing.

“Is that what you’re suggesting?” I asked, my voice tight with barely-contained anger.

“Maybe,” Scar said, glancing at the Raptor, their President with a wicked smile playing on his lips. “Or maybe I just wanted to see how far you’d go to protect your precious club.”

“Farther than you can imagine,” I growled, my hand moving closer to my gun as the tension between us reached a boiling point.

“Enough with the posturing,” Hawk interjected, stepping forward alongside me. “We’re here to talk territory.”

“Talk? You mean demand?” Scar sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Call it what you want,” I replied, my jaw clenched. “Fact is, we won’t give up an inch of our territory. Stay out of it, or there’ll be consequences.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Consider it a promise,” Hawk spat back.

Scar studied us for a moment, his eyes flicking between Hawk and me. The air between the two groups was thick with tension, like a powder keg waiting for a match. I could feel the Red Devils behind me, their presence a solid wall of support.

“Don’t think we’ll just sit back and let you control everything. If you won’t share, we’ll take.”

“Over my dead body,” I muttered, my heart pounding.

“Maybe it’ll come to that,” Scar said, a sinister smile spreading across his face.

As if on cue, the distant wail of sirens pierced the night. Both groups glanced nervously in the direction of the approaching sound, the tension momentarily forgotten.

“Damn it,” Hawk cursed, his eyes darting between the Pistons and the direction of the sirens. “This isn’t over.”

“Agreed,” Scar said as he signaled for his gang to mount up. “Next time we meet, it won’t be so... civil.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I said to my brothers, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration. We had avoided bloodshed tonight, but the war between our clubs was far from over.

As we sped away from the warehouse, the sirens growing louder, I couldn’t help but think about what lay ahead. The Pistons were relentless, and they wouldn’t stop until we were defeated. Hawk and I needed a plan to put an end to this once and for all.

“Next time won’t be so easy,” I murmured to myself, my resolve hardening. “We’ll finish this.”

The clubhouse door slammed shut behind us, its echo the only sound breaking the hushed tension that had followed us from the warehouse. My boot heels clicked on the concrete floor as I walked to the bar, pouring myself a shot of whiskey. The burn in my throat felt insignificant compared to the fire burning within me; my heart pounded with anger and frustration.

---