Rain slaps the cracked pavement outside as eight bikes thunder into the lot, their headlights cutting through the mist. The gang pulls up in formation, tires hissing as they slow to a halt. Thunder rolls above.

Namjoon swings his leg off his matte black Harley, boots hitting the ground with authority. His long leather coat is soaked at the hem, his dark hair slicked back from the rain. A heavy chain hangs across his chest, and a silver ring glints on his finger as he adjusts his gloves. The others naturally fall in behind him as they walk toward the bar, boots echoing on the wet pavement.

Seokjin walks beside him, hair styled despite the storm, sunglasses pushed up onto his head. He wears a tight black tee under a tailored leather jacket with crimson stitching. His expression is unreadable but charming, like he owns the place even before stepping inside.

Yoongi lags slightly behind, hoodie under his sleeveless leather vest pulled up to shield his face. His jeans are torn and oil-stained, and his knuckles are bruised—still raw from a fight two nights ago. A silver wrench hangs from a loop at his hip like a weapon. He barely looks up as he pushes through the bar door, eyes scanning every corner.

Hoseok’s already smirking, spinning a metal lighter between his fingers as he walks. His bike gloves stay on even indoors. His jacket is patched with cities they’ve conquered, and his dark eyes gleam with the thrill of movement. Rain rolls off his buzzed undercut as he shakes his head like a dog, grinning at the bartender.

Jimin trails in behind Niko, shoulders squared, body lean but packed with power. His black tank top clings to him from the rain, showing the dragon tattoo winding down his side. He peels off his gloves slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on a guy at the back table who dares to stare. His lip curls slightly—not quite a smile.

Taehyung is chaos wrapped in silk. A leopard-print scarf is knotted loosely at his throat over an open leather shirt, chains jingling at his waist. His hair falls into his eyes, and he licks rainwater off his bottom lip as he strolls in, leaning casually on Niko’s shoulder for half a second like the place is already boring him. The knife strapped to his thigh says otherwise.

Jungkook enters last. Head down, hood up, but eyes sharp. His jacket is studded and tight, a wolf tattoo visible on the side of his neck. He doesn’t speak—just watches. A black bandana is tied around his wrist. His boots are steel-toed, his fists quick to fly. The youngest, but no one treats him like it anymore.

Inside the bar, all conversation dies. The locals shrink into their booths. One drunk guy near the jukebox chuckles nervously—until Jimin glares and he shuts up fast.

Namjoon steps forward, placing a heavy coin on the bar. “We’re not here for trouble. Unless someone starts it.”

Seokjin pulls a chair out for Niko, giving a sharp smile. “But if someone does, we’ll finish it fast.”

Taehyung kicks his feet up on the nearest table. "Besides, it's been a while since someone bled for fun."

Yoongi mutters, almost to himself, "I give it ten minutes."

Jungkook finally smirks, glancing toward Niko as if asking silently if he's betting on it too.

And then—quiet again. Just the sound of the jukebox starting a new song, the thunder outside, and the storm that's building inside.