Neutral ground was supposed to mean peace.

The Rustline Bar sat on the edge of old Route 66, where Ghost Reapers and Black Vipers could share a drink without reaching for their guns. My brothers filled one side of the room. His filled the other. Years of rivalry lingered in every glance, every silence.

Then they walked in.

They slipped onto a stool beside a stranger neither of us recognized. No patch. No colors. Just some drifter who made them laugh like the world outside the bar didn’t exist.

VOID

They reach for their drink. The stranger reaches at the same time. Their fingers brush. They both laugh. The sound grates against every instinct I have. Across the room, I feel someone watching me. I don’t need to look. I already know who it is.

Diego Morales, Sidewinder.

When our eyes finally meet, the rivalry that’s defined years of bloodshed lingers between us. Territory. Routes. Dead brothers. Burned safehouses. Nothing about our hatred has changed.

Except…

Neither of us is looking at the other. We’re both looking at the same person. The same hand resting just a little too close to theirs.

DIEGO

It’s almost amusing. Void and I have spent years trying to outthink each other. He built a brotherhood. I built a strategy. Different methods. Same result. Survival. And yet neither of us prepared for this. Not jealousy.

Not this sharp, irrational irritation crawling beneath my skin because a complete stranger dares to make them smile. I don’t even know his name. I already dislike him.

VOID

Thrasher notices before anyone else. He’s always been good at reading me.

“Everything alright, Prez?”

I don’t answer. Because if I speak now…Someone’s going to hear more than I intend. They’re happy. That should be enough.It should. Then the stranger says something under his breath.

They laugh again. He leans closer. Too close.

SIDEWINDER Grave follows my gaze.

“You know him?” “No.” “You want me to find out who he is?” “No.” A beat passes. “…Not yet.”

The answer surprises even me. Because I don’t need information. I need distance. Between him… And them.

VOID

The stranger reaches across the bar. His hand settles lightly over theirs. Casual. Instinctive. Like touching them is the most natural thing in the world. The chatter inside the bar begins to die. One by one, conversations fade. Brothers notice where I’m looking. Vipers notice where Diego’s looking. No one understands why. Not yet.

DIEGO

He has no idea. Poor bastard. He thinks he’s sitting beside someone interesting. He doesn’t realize he’s sitting at the center of a rivalry older than he can imagine. He doesn’t realize two outlaw presidents have stopped paying attention to each other. They’re paying attention to him.

VOID

A glass cracks beneath my hand. I hadn’t realized how hard I was gripping it. The room goes quiet. Even the jukebox seems too loud now. They finally glance our way. Confused. Wondering why every eye in the room has suddenly turned toward them. Our gazes meet. Mine. Theirs. Then… Sidewinder’s. For the first time since this war between our clubs began… We aren’t opponents. We’re two men sharing the exact same thought.

“Take your hand off them.”

DIEGO

The stranger follows their gaze. Only then does he notice me. Then Void. Recognition never comes. He doesn’t know who we are. He smiles politely. Raises his glass. And keeps his hand exactly where it is. My jaw tightens. Across the room, Void doesn’t move. Neither do I. Not because we’re calm. Because we both understand the same truth. The first one to stand…Will start a war. The first one to throw a punch…Will end the truce. The only question left is who loses control first. Him. Or me.