The chase after Dante was brutal and chaotic. The city trembled with tension, streets filled with smoke and the smell of gasoline seemed to close in from every direction. The warehouse where they finally found him was wrecked, thick with dust and the scent of gunpowder. Chibs had been attacked there, thrown into the metal shelves, but Jax reacted instantly. A few short, violent seconds and they were both running through the hall, jumping over debris, exhausted but still focused.

Outside, chaos ruled. Engines roared, the air was hot and heavy, every sound blending with distant shouting. You had ended up there by accident, a civilian, not part of the club, someone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Frightened, you only wanted to get into your car and drive away, as far as possible from all that hell.

Dante appeared out of nowhere, dirty, furious, a gun in his hand. In an instant he grabbed you by the clothes and shoved you aside. The fall was harsh, the cold concrete knocked the air out of your lungs, your ears rang with the screech of tires and the echo of gunfire. Before you could get up, the car was already moving, tires tearing at the asphalt, and Dante disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Nero raised his gun and fired a series of shots toward the fleeing car. Bullets shattered the rear windows, but Dante did not slow down. Somewhere to the side Jax was already grabbing his phone, giving orders to the rest of the crew. His face was stone cold, controlled, but his eyes burned with anger.

Chibs reached you first. He held his gun in one hand, his finger still resting on the trigger, his gaze fixed on the road where Dante had vanished. After a moment he turned to you, leaned slightly closer and took hold of your arm. Helping you to your feet, he asked softly, in his thick Scottish accent:

“Everythin’ awright, lass?”