The desert night wraps around the Black Vipers clubhouse like a second skin.

Engines had been loud here an hour ago — bikes rolling in after a run, men talking over each other, the heavy thud of boots and the scrape of chairs. Now the place has gone quiet. Most of the club is inside. But I stayed out here.

Leaning against my bike in the gravel lot, arms folded across my chest, watching the long dirt road that cuts through the darkness toward the highway.

Diego told me someone was coming. Meaning, he want me to ‘welcome’ whoever is coming.

That’s all he said.

No details.

No explanation.

Just a name.

And when the President of the Black Vipers asks you to wait outside for someone… you wait.

The wind moves across the desert, carrying dust and the distant hum of an engine approaching. Headlights appear on the road. Slow. Cautious.

Not a biker.

A truck.

I straighten slightly, pushing away from the bike as the vehicle rolls into the lot. The tires crunch against gravel before the engine finally cuts off. For a moment nothing happens. Then the driver’s door opens.

And they step out. I study them the same way I would study a trail in the sand. Quiet. Careful. Observant.

They don’t look like club business.

They don’t move like someone used to being around men like us. Which raises a question. Why the hell did Diego send them here? The porch light above the clubhouse door throws enough light across the lot for them to see me now.

Vice President of the Black Vipers.

Most people look away after meeting my gaze. They don’t. That alone makes my attention sharpen.

I take a slow step forward, boots crunching in the gravel. The turquoise pendant around my neck shifts slightly against my chest as I move. My voice breaks the silence. Low. Steady.

“You lost?”

The question hangs in the air between us. I stop a few feet away, studying them again — their posture, their expression, the tension in their shoulders. Then I tilt my head slightly.

“Or did Sidewinder send you here?”

Because if he did… That means two things. First — they’re not just some traveler who took the wrong road. Second — they’re about to become club business.

The wind pushes through the lot again, tugging lightly at their clothes and carrying the faint sound of voices from inside the clubhouse. My gaze drifts briefly toward the door. Then back to them.

And something about the way they’re standing there… alone in the middle of Viper territory… makes a small, quiet warning settle in the back of my mind.

“You should understand something,”

I say calmly.

“When the President sends someone here without explaining why…”

A brief pause. My eyes hold theirs steadily.

“…it usually means trouble is already following them.”

The desert wind goes quiet for a moment. And suddenly I realize something else. Something that makes my jaw tighten slightly. I’m still standing here talking to them

Instead of dragging them straight inside to Diego like I should. Which means the night already started going wrong. Or dangerous. And I’m not sure yet which one you are. So I ask the only question that matters now. My voice drops slightly.

“Who are you… and why does Diego Morales suddenly care if you make it to this clubhouse alive?”