Page 1 of Fear

Chapter 1

The smell of whiskey, leather, and smoke clung to the air inside the clubhouse, mixing with the tension thick enough to slice with a blade. The dim yellow light above cast long shadows over the scarred wooden table where we sat. The walls were lined with club banners, faded photographs of brothers past and present, and shelves stocked with whiskey bottles and old motorcycle parts. The place was lived-in, rough, and filled with the weight of memories and battles fought.

King sat at the head of the table, his fingers drumming a steady beat against the wood while Fang leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his face unreadable, eyes sharp like a blade waiting to strike. Hunter was fidgeting with his knife, the blade catching the light every time he twirled it between his fingers. His lips curled in a smirk, but his eyes betrayed his irritation. Dash sat near the middle of the table, his phone resting on the surface, his expression unusually tense.

I stayed silent, arms crossed over my chest, listening.

"Hades MC hasn't been seen for over a month," Hunter said, voice tight with frustration. "You think they're gone? Nah, fuck that. They're waiting for the right moment to hit us where it hurts."

"They already tried," Fang muttered, his voice dark. "Sam’s still dead."

The mention of our fallen Blossom sent a cold ripple through the room. None of us forgot. None of us forgave. Hades MC had made their move, abducting and torturing Sam, one of our women, leaving her body as a message. We had answered back in blood, taking out a dozen of their men, but it hadn’t been enough. They had gone underground since, licking their wounds, but no one at this table believed they were gone for good.

King exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his beard. "We need to be ready, whether it’s Hades or some other crew trying to push into our territory, we don’t wait for them to come to us. We strike first."

"It isn't just Hades we need to worry about," Dash interjected. "Shadow Riders MC has been creeping closer. Heard they've been moving product through our routes."

A silence settled over the room. Everyone knew about Shadow Riders MC. They weren’t just another outlaw club—they were organized, ruthless, and willing to do anything to expand their influence. They dabbled in everything from arms smuggling to human trafficking, and their Vice President, Grant, had a reputation for being the kind of man who enjoyed making people disappear. We suspect that the Shadow Riders have influential backers, pins in high places, that’s why they are so dangerous.

"Let’s hit them now. Take out the head of the snake before it strikes," I state.

Silence. Not from disagreement…just considering. That is what I did. I didn’t waste words. When I spoke, they listened.

"You got a name, Goliath?" King finally asked.

I shook my head. "Not yet. But we can find one."

Before King could respond, a loud crash sounded from the bar area. A chair scraped against the floor, followed by the unmistakable sound of fists meeting flesh.

"What the fuck now?" King muttered, pushing back his chair.

I was already on my feet, moving toward the commotion before anyone else could react. The bar area was lined with booths, a long counter, and a jukebox that had seen better days. A few of the brothers sat drinking, watching the scene unfold with amused interest.

In the centre of the room, two of our younger brothers, Rip and Diesel, were going at it. Rip had Diesel by the collar, shoving him hard against the wall. Diesel, bloody-lipped and snarling, fought back, grabbing Rip’s arm and swinging blindly.

Rip was stocky, shorter than most of us but built like a damn bull, with arms covered in tattoos and a permanently pissed-off expression. His knuckles were raw from countless fights, and his shaved head gleamed under the dim light. Diesel, leaner but fast as hell, had a scar running down his cheek from a knife fight he barely walked away from last year. His long black hair was pulled into a messy knot, his breathing ragged from exertion.

"Enough!" King barked, but the two were too caught up in their rage to listen. I didn’t speak, instead I moved straight for them.

I grabbed Rip first, one hand wrapping around his shoulder and yanking him back with enough force that he stumbled. Before Diesel could lunge again, I turned and caught him by the front of his shirt, lifting him off his feet like he weighed nothing.

"You wanna fight?" My voice was low, steady. Dangerous. "Then you fight me."

Diesel’s face paled, his hands gripping my wrist, but I didn’t let go. I held him there, letting the weight of the moment settle in. Letting them all see.

Rip wiped blood from his mouth, his chest heaving. "Brother—"

I cut him off with a sharp glare. "You bring your bullshit inside this club again, and I’ll personally remind you where the fuck you stand."

I let Diesel drop back to the ground. He landed hard, stumbling back a step before regaining his footing. The room was silent except for his ragged breathing.

Rip and Diesel exchanged a tense look before finally stepping away from each other.

"You done?" I asked.

They both nodded.

"Good." I turned back toward King. "Now let’s get back to business."

---