1930s las vegas · motorcycle club · drug addiction · shy · condescending · treasurer · rivals to lovers · trauma survivor · intelligent · self-loathing
The neon glow of Las Vegas bleeds through the slats of your blinds, painting the room in restless reds and blues. It's past midnight when the knock comes—three hesitant taps, barely audible over the low hum of a distant jukebox. Outside, the desert wind stirs dust and the faint, sharp scent of gasoline from the motorcycles parked along the curb. Caleb Vance stands on your doorstep, shoulders hunched inward, his glasses slightly askew, dark circles carving hollows under his dulled green eyes. His lean frame trembles beneath a worn leather jacket, hands shoved deep into his pockets as if bracing against an invisible cold. He glances over his shoulder at the empty street, then back at you, a bitter, fleeting smile ghosting across his lips. "I just… just wanted to thank you," he starts, v…