Page 15 of Knot Happening

The winner approached me, his gaze filled with a gratitude that was tinged with sorrow."Thanks, Doc," he said, his voice barely above a whisper."I'll take care of him, and the omega...we'll make it work."

I nodded, clapping him on the shoulder."You better," I replied, the alpha in me recognizing the strength it would take to navigate this new dynamic.As I climbed onto my bike, the rumble of the engine a familiar comfort, I knew that this was just another chapter in the ever-evolving saga of the Vultures.And as long as I had breath in my lungs, I would be there, guiding my brothers through the storm.

* * *

The phone's shrill ring cut through the silence of my motel room like a serrated blade.I picked up without checking the caller ID, a habit engrained from years of living on the edge."Doc, here," I groggily replied, my voice still heavy with sleep.

"Doc, it's Wild Bill," the voice on the other end barked, the urgency in his tone setting my instincts on high alert."We've got a situation.Razor's been taken."

Razor, one of our own, a key member of the Vultures.My heart thudded against my ribcage as I processed the weight of Wild Bill's words."Taken?By who?"

"The Iron Serpents," he spat, the name alone enough to conjure images of bloodshed and treachery."They've got him stashed away somewhere in New York.We think they're trying to squeeze him for information—info that could bury us six feet under if it gets out."

Razor knew the ins and outs of our operations, our territories, our alliances.He was the keeper of our secrets, the guardian of our strategies.If the Iron Serpents got their hands on that knowledge, it wouldn't just be a blow—it would be a catastrophe.

I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening on the phone."What's the plan?"I asked, already mentally packing my gear.

Wild Bill's sigh was heavy, laced with the burden of leadership."We need you to get up there, Doc.Use your contacts, your skills—hell, use your fists if you have to.Just get Razor back before he spills anything."

"I'm on it," I said, not needing to hear another word.I knew the stakes, the potential fallout if we failed.The Vultures had weathered storms before, but this...this was a hurricane barreling down on us with the force of a thousand chainsaws.

I hung up and started to move, my mind racing with potential scenarios, strategies, and contingencies.I had friends in low places, allies in the shadows who owed me favors.It was time to call them in.I pulled on my jacket, the familiar weight of my father's patch against my chest serving as a reminder of the promise I had made to protect our brotherhood.

As I fired up my bike, the engine's roar was a battle cry in the still night air.I peeled out of the motel parking lot, the tires kicking up a storm of gravel and dust.New York was a long ride away, and every second counted.Razor was counting on me, the Vultures were counting on me.

The road stretched out before me, an endless ribbon of asphalt under the moon's pale glow.I rode through the night, the wind slicing past me as I pushed myself and my machine to the limit.I didn't stop for food or rest, didn't allow myself the luxury of distraction.My focus was singular, my resolve unbreakable.

sixteen

AXEL

I rolledinto NYC with the city's skyline looming over me like a colossus made of steel and glass.The Big Apple, a place I'd heard a thousand stories about but had never laid eyes on.It was a sight to behold, no doubt, but the weight of my mission pressed down on me, a leaden shroud that smothered any wonder I might have felt.Razor's face, etched with lines of pain and fear, haunted my thoughts.I couldn't afford to be awestruck—not when one of our own was in the clutches of the Iron Serpents.

I found a spot to park my bike, the engine's growl subsiding to a low purr as I killed the ignition.The city was alive with the hum of traffic, the chatter of pedestrians, the din of a metropolis that never slept.I took a moment to rest, my muscles aching from the relentless ride.The adrenaline that had fueled me was beginning to ebb, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

My stomach rumbled, a reminder that I hadn't eaten since leaving a gas station yesterday.I spotted a food stand a stone's throw away, the scent of grilled meat and fried onions wafting through the air.I strolled over, my body protesting every step.The vendor, a middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and a stained apron, gave me a once-over as I approached.I must've looked like hell—unshaven, bloodshot eyes, clothes rumpled from the road.

I pointed at a sandwich that was as big as my forearm, and the man set to work, his hands moving with practiced efficiency.I paid him, the coins feeling heavy in my palm, and took the food with a curt nod of thanks.The first bite was heaven—warm, savory, the perfect antidote to my hunger.I wolfed it down, not realizing how ravenous I was until the last morsel was gone.

Thirst hit me like a freight train, my mouth dry as the desert.I gulped down the soda I'd bought alongside the sandwich, the sweet, fizzy liquid doing little to quench my thirst.I needed water, and fast.I bought a bottle from the vendor, who was eyeing me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.I twisted the cap off and poured some of the water over my head, the coolness shocking my system awake.The rest of the bottle was drained in seconds, the water a lifeline to my parched body.

I bought juice for some sugar, and the vendor's eyebrows were shooting up as I placed my last order.I downed the juice in a few gulps, the tart sweetness reviving me.I could feel the vendor's gaze on me as I hopped back on my bike, his expression a mix of puzzlement and wariness.I didn't blame him; I probably looked like a madman, drenched in water and guzzling juice like it was the elixir of life.

With my body somewhat sated, I navigated through the city's maze of streets, heading towards the NYC Vulture chapter.The familiar sight of our insignia—a snarling vulture perched atop a motorcycle wheel—was a beacon in the urban wilderness.I pulled into the chapter's parking lot, the rumble of my bike announcing my arrival.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I made my way to the entrance.The familiar rumble of bikes and the scent of motor oil and leather greeted me like an old friend.I pushed open the door, the sound of loud music and raucous laughter spilled out into the night.

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to me.I could feel their stares, assessing, questioning.The chapter president, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard named Torch, broke away from the group and walked towards me.His steps were measured, his expression unreadable.

"Doc," he said, extending a hand.His grip was firm, his eyes searching mine."We heard about Razor.The whole club's behind you."

I nodded, the tension in the room palpable."I appreciate it, Torch.I need everything you've got on the Iron Serpents—safe houses, hangouts, anything that might lead me to Razor."

Torch gestured to a table laden with maps and photos."We've been keeping tabs on those snakes.They've got a fortified warehouse down by the docks.It's their main base of operations."

I leaned over the table, my gaze scanning the images and diagrams."They'll be expecting a direct attack.I need to get in and out without raising the alarm."

A chorus of agreement sounded around the room, the club members nodding their heads in approval.A younger member, his patch reading 'Rook,' stepped forward, a defiant look on his face.

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