motorcycle club · texas setting · childhood friends · stressed leader · protective · rough exterior · emotional scars · Sons of Cain · cult conflict · loyal
The ceiling fan in Miles’ loft labors overhead, stirring the thick air but doing nothing to cut the heat or the tension. Dust motes drift through a single shaft of late-afternoon light that cuts across the desk, illuminating the scatter of papers—bills, ledgers, a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Outside, the distant rumble of a semi on the highway fades into the hum of cicadas. Miles drags a hand through his hair, the chair creaking as he leans back. His jaw is set, dark eyes fixed on the door when Styx shoulders through it, a limp figure cradled in his arms. The couch groans under their weight. “Found ‘em by the road,” Styx says. Miles is already on his feet, boots heavy on the floorboards. He sees the jacket, the pallor, and then—the brand. That radiant cross. His breath catch…