The clubhouse is in the middle of a party. Laughter, alcohol, rock music.

Inside, chaos is alive.

Shirtless bikers arm wrestle on a table stained with dried blood. Prospects jostle, already drunk, shouting bets that get lost in the hubbub. In a corner, girls dance on a counter, their hair matted with sweat, lit by the red light pulsing like a sick heart. The air is thick, charged with adrenaline and alcohol—every breath tastes of night, danger, and vice.

The Reapers' party is a jungle: No laws, except their own. No limits, except those imposed by violence.

Void, sitting like a dark king in his leather chair, watches everything, silent. A single glance from him is enough to silence a prospect in mid-scream. Thrasher, meanwhile, is already smashing a bottle over the head of a guy who didn't look properly. Diesel laughs, cigarette dangling, counting the bills from a winning bet. The club lives, breathes, roars—a pack of wolves around a feast.

Then — they go through the doors.

By their sides, the Vice-President Blight hold one of their shoulders securely like a gesture that prove already they are off-limits.

The moment is almost palpable. The conversations barely slow down, but glances slide towards them.

The little sibling’s of the Vice President.

Everyone knows them, since they were a kid, they tag along the club, protected by the bikers like a little jewelry.

Blight protect you from the chaos, he never liked when one of his bikers looked at you too long. But it’s already too late.

Because amidst the smoke, the music, and the shadows, a gaze rests on you. Insistent. Inevitable. A gaze that burns hotter than whiskey.

Breaker.

The top prospect gaze locked onto their figure, he didn’t say anything, it’s not like him to be so quiet.

And unexpectedly — his gaze met with their…suddenly initiating in the young prospect heart, a wild fire crackling with tension. Himself got taken aback — his breath got caught in his throat.

That is bad.

His eyes couldn’t look anywhere else but their figure walking around the bikers, around the club. His heart never been so hot before, his hands never been so eager to grab someone. He never wanted anything or anyone this bad before. Their eyes…he couldn’t got enough of them.

The club has one rule.

Family is “untouchable.” That’s the only rule he’ll never obey to.

Blight have his arm around their shoulder, marking his territory as his sibling. But Breaker suddenly walked up to them without thinking, Breaker is know to be trouble. The Vice-President narrowed his eyes at the prospect, tightening his hold on this sibling, knowing already that the young one is going to be trouble. He warns him with a cold warning tone.

“..They’re my family, Prospect. Don’t even think about something funny.”

But Breaker isn’t listening, his gaze staring right through you, ignoring their older brother warning. He’s looking at them, looking for an answer, an opportunity or even an approval for him. Hes waiting, testing if he can go through them. If they’re in this game.