Page 18 of Total Carnage
"Fuck me, that was a good scrap," Brock chuckled, wiping blood from his split lip. "Reminds me of the old days."
I smirked, rolling my shoulders. "Yeah, except we used to be on the receiving end more often than not."
The bartender, a grizzled old bastard with more tattoos than teeth, slid two shots of whiskey our way. "On the house," he grunted. "Been a while since I've seen anyone put those college shits in their place."
I raised my glass to Brock. "To brotherhood."
"And to kicking ass," he added with a wink.
We downed our shots, the familiar burn a welcome distraction from the ache in my knuckles. As the adrenaline started to fade, my mind drifted back to Raven. I needed to get moving, to find her.
"I gotta hit the road," I said, standing up. "Thanks for having my back, brother."
Brock nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Anytime, Vin. If you need anything, you know how to reach me."
I made my way out of the bar, the cool night air a contrast to the stuffy interior. My bike was waiting, a dark silhouette against the neon-lit parking lot. As I swung my leg over the seat, I couldn't shake the image of Raven from my mind. The ride to the motel was a blur of streetlights and empty roads. Once in my room, I collapsed onto the bed, every muscle in my body screaming for rest. But sleep was the last thing on my mind.
"Where the fuck are you, Raven?" I muttered to the ceiling. I closed my eyes, and suddenly she was there. I could almost feelthe softness of her skin and smell the intoxicating scent of her hair. My hands clenched, remembering the curves of her body, the way she'd arch into my touch. "Damn," I groaned, my body responding to the memory.
It wasn't just the physical stuff, though. I missed her voice, the way she'd call me out on my bullshit, challenge me to be better. She was the only one who ever really saw me for me. Not just the cut, or the reputation, but the man underneath it all.
"I love you, Raven," I whispered into the darkness. "And I swear to God, I'm going to find you."
***
The greasy spoon diner reeked of burnt coffee and desperation. I slid into a cracked vinyl booth across from Brock, my eyes scanning the place out of habit. Old habits die hard, especially when you've died once already.
"Looks like shit, tastes like heaven," Brock grunted, shoveling a forkful of runny eggs into his mouth.
I nodded, wrapping my hands around a chipped mug of coffee that could probably strip paint. "So, what's your play from here, brother?"
Brock’s eyes met mine. "Thought I might tag along to Lexington if you don't mind the company. Got some business in back in St. Louis after, but..." He shrugged, letting the sentence hang.
"Ain't exactly a joyride," I warned, my voice low. "Could get messy."
"When has it ever not been messy with us?" Brock chuckled darkly. "Look, Vin, I've heard the whispers. Something big's brewing and it ain't just about you or me anymore. It's aboutall of us. The lifestyle we chose, the brotherhood we swore to protect."
I leaned back, studying Brock’s weathered face. The man had seen some shit, no doubt about it. "Why risk your neck for my personal vendetta?"
Brock’s expression hardened. "Because that's what we do, asshole. We ride together, we die together. And if what I'm hearing is true, we might all be riding into our graves soon enough if we don't stand united."
The waitress refilled our cups, eyeing us warily. I waited until she was out of earshot before speaking again. "You sure about this? Once we hit the road, there's no turning back."
"Fuck it," Brock grinned, a wolfish gleam in his eye. "I've lived too long to start playing it safe now. Besides, someone's gotta watch your reckless ass."
I couldn't help but smirk. "Alright then, brother. Lexington it is. But don't say I didn't warn you when shit hits the fan."
As we finished our breakfast, I felt a familiar surge of adrenaline. The road was calling, and with it, the promise of answers, vengeance, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to set things right. But deep down, a voice whispered that this journey might be our last. I pushed the thought aside. We were outlaws, after all. Living on borrowed time was our fucking specialty.
I tossed a handful of crumpled bills on the table and nodded to Brock. "Time to roll, brother." We strode out of the diner, the weight of our kuttes heavy on our shoulders. The morning sun glinted off the chrome of our bikes, a pair of steel steeds waiting to carry us into the unknown. As I swung my leg over my Harley, the familiar rumble beneath me sent a jolt through my body. Fuck, I'd missed this. The open road, the brotherhood, the raw freedom only a biker could understand.
"Ready to raise some hell?" Brock called over, way too excited about fucking shit up.
I kicked my bike to life, the engine roaring like a caged beast finally unleashed. "Born ready," I growled back.
We tore out of the parking lot, leaving Murray in our dust. The wind whipped past, carrying away the last remnants of doubt. Ahead lay Lexington and, with it, a storm of violence and retribution I'd been chasing since I opened my eyes in that godforsaken cemetery.
As we hit the highway, I felt Brock fall into formation beside me. There was comfort in the solidarity, a reminder that even in this fucked-up world, some bonds ran deeper than blood. The RBMC was going out on a limb for me and I had to make damn sure I didn’t disappoint. My mind drifted to Raven, her face etched in my memory like a bittersweet tattoo. "I'm coming for you, baby," I muttered into the wind. "And God help anyone who stands in my way."
