Maya

I awoke to the sun shining brightly on my face, its warm hues mixing with the blanket to provide a comfort I hadn’t felt in a long time. Lifting my head, I noticed the room was empty. The bed felt cold beside me, and Armand’s side was only partly made up. Still naked from last night, I scanned the room and saw that my clothes had been picked up and placed near the desk chair. Now that it was fully bright, the pale gray walls gave the space a peaceful atmosphere. I could see details I had missed the night before due to the circumstances surrounding us. Sitting up, I ran my fingers through my hair, tangled from sleep, and stretched my arms, letting the sheet fall away as I stood to grab my clothes. As I dressed, pulling on my jeans, I glanced out the window, which faced the compound—the heart of our land. Daylight revealed everything: the rows of motorcycles lined up outside, reminding me of the ones that had come for us that night. I could still feel the lingering adrenaline mixed with confusion, but now clarity was beginning to set in.

I swept my hair into a tight ponytail, the simple act feeling like a feeble attempt to regain control. Grabbing my things, I stepped cautiously into the hallway, where an unsettling silence hung in the air. It was too quiet—an oppressive shroud that cloaked every footfall as I made my way to the kitchen. There, I found the coffee pot and began the ritual of brewing a cup, but the comforting aroma that filled the room felt more like a predator circling its prey than a source of solace. The rich, dark smell enveloped me, thickening the tension that coiled in my gut.With trembling hands, I gripped the steaming mug and moved to the table, sinking into a chair that felt too big for the weight I carried. My gaze drifted through the large window facing Luna’s cabin, where a storm of emotions brewed just beyond the glass.

I watched as Luna emerged from her cabin, her expression a mix of fury and betrayal. She stormed toward Jake’s door, which stood defiantly in front of Armando’s . I felt my heart quicken as she pounded on it with fists fueled by raw emotion. When the door finally opened, the sight that greeted me was like a punch to the gut—Amelia stood there, disheveled and half-draped in a blanket, her blond hair tousled in a chaotic halo around her head.

The air crackled with tension. Time seemed to slow as Luna’s hand arced through the air like a comet, striking Amelia across the face with a force that echoed in the silence. The sound of skin meeting skin reverberated through me, and I flinched at the sight of Amelia being knocked back against the wall, the blanket slipping from her body and pooling at her feet.

My coffee trembled in my grip as I stared, breathless and frozen in the moment. The chaos outside mimicked the turmoil within me, and I knew this was only the beginning of a reckoning that would change everything.

My heart pounded in my chest as I forced myself to intervene, setting my coffee down on the kitchen table and charging through the front door. The wooden porch creaked beneath my feet, echoing the commotion that drew me forward. When I reached Luna, the scene was brutal: she was straddling Amelia, fists raining down like a storm on Amelia’s defenseless face.I seized Luna’s arm, my grip tightening as I pulled her back, desperate to stop the onslaught. “Luna, stop!” I screamed, my voice breaking under the weight of my panic.

For a moment, she froze, her eyes void of any reckoning. She looked at me with a sneer, a twisted smile curling her lips that sent a chill racing down my spine. “Get your fucking hands off me!” she shrieked, her voice ragged with fury.

The madness of her violence surged through me, and with all my strength, I yanked her again, sending her crashing onto the floor. I pinned her down, struggling against the wild energy that radiated from her. In that brief moment of chaos, my gaze flickered to Amelia, who lay gasping, blood pooling beneath her. A sharp pang shot through me as I realized her nose was broken, crimson streaks marking her bruised face. She’d need stitches.

But it wasn't just the physical pain that gripped me; it was the sheer desperation etched into the air around us, as if the world had narrowed down to this single, heart-stopping moment—a moment where friendships shattered and lives hung in the balance.

“She stole my man. That fucking whore!*” Luna screamed, her voice raw with fury. I sprang to my feet, grabbing her arm in a desperate attempt to pull her away as the roar of motorcycle engines thundered in the distance. I jerked my head toward the sound just in time to see Armando and Jake barreling into view. Jake was there in an instant, shoving me aside with urgency, his focus solely on Luna, who was still thrashing against him, her screams a chaotic mix of rage and despair. Every flail of her arms screamed Amelia’s name; it was like watching a storm unfold before me.

Jake wrestled her toward her cabin, and as I turned back, my gut twisted at the sight of Amelia crumpled on the ground, blood streaming from her nose. Panic surged within me as I knelt beside her, cradling her head in my hands to get a clearer look at her injuries. Her eye was already swelling shut, her nose bent unnaturally to the left, and bruises blossomed across her face like dark flowers. Each gasp she took felt like a knife twisting deeper in my chest.

“Armando, I need my bag. It's in Luna’s cabin,*” I called out, my voice betraying my urgency. I glanced up to find him standing nearby, his face buried in his hands, a mask of helplessness plastered across his features. He nodded quickly, a spark of determination igniting in his eyes as he snapped his fingers, summoning one of his crew members to act.

Every second felt weighted with dread as I battled against the rising tide of despair, praying that help would come before it was too late.

“Can you help her?” Armando’s voice trembled with urgency.I turned to face him, a smirk playing on my lips, a feeble barrier against the chaos around us. “I fixed you, didn’t I?”

He cracked a smile, laughter mingling with desperation—a momentary reprieve in this storm of pain. “I guess you’re right.”

Just then, the man who had retrieved my bag returned, handing it over with an air of solemnity. I glanced up at him, gratitude fleeting in my chest. My heart raced as I unzipped the leather bag, the familiar scent of antiseptics filling my lungs, grounding me even as anxiety surged.

“This is going to hurt, so bear with me.” My words tumbled out, but I wasn’t sure she’d heard them; all I could hear was her groan, a sound threaded with anguish.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself. My fingers trembled slightly as they moved to her nose, aligning it for the brutal reset. I heard that telltale crack, a sound both horrifying and strangely satisfying as it snapped back into place. Her scream pierced the air, raw and primal, sending shockwaves through me. The blood gushed forth, a vivid reminder of the gravity of the situation, and for a fleeting moment, I felt my resolve waver. But somehow, I remained anchored, the chaos morphing from overwhelming to familiar. Since Armando walked into my life, I had learned that this job wouldn’t just demand skill—it would demand something deeper, something I wasn't sure I was ready to give. But now, caught in the hurricane of emotion and blood, it became painfully clear: it was only a matter of time before I would be called to treat everyone here, whether I liked it or not.

A gash above her eye forced my hands into action, and I pulled out my stitching kit with a breathless urgency. Time was slipping away, and each second felt like a countdown to disaster. As I worked to stitch her up, she flinched in agony, the pain evident in her eyes as blood pooled around her like a dark halo. Her nose was a more complicated mess, but I rigged a makeshift splint—something that could hold it in place without giving way. When I finished, she looked like a grotesque stuffed animal, the kind a child had gotten their hands on and mercilessly torn apart, stuffing spilling out where it shouldn’t be.Just then, Dave—the man who’d fetched my bag—returned to help Amelia to her cabin. He guided her carefully, his demeanor steady despite the chaos. “Don’t engage with Luna or Jake,” I cautioned her, my voice firm, but I could see the fear dancing in her eyes.

Armando led us both to his cabin, the air thick with tension. I rushed to wash my hands, scrubbing fiercely as if I could erase the evidence of what I had just done. Amelia’s blood caked under my nails like dried mud, a visceral reminder of the fragility of life in this moment, where seconds stretched unnaturally and the weight of our reality bore down like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury.

The shadow beside me leaned on the counter, smirking as I stole a glance at him, my hands submerged in the hot water. The burning sensation was painful enough to feel almost refreshing. “You might as well be our doctor,” Armando laughed.

I grabbed the nearest towel and turned off the faucet, drying my hands with quick, deliberate motions. “I might as well be,” I replied. “If Luna keeps attacking Amelia, I'll be set for life without ever needing to return to the real world.”

Armando leaned closer, pulling me into his embrace. His scent surrounded me, instilling a calm, peaceful feeling.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he murmured into my hair.

I stole another glance at him; his hazel eyes sparkled with something like hope.

“I have to eventually return to my life, Armando,” I said softly, gently releasing myself from his hold. I leaned against the stove, watching as he crossed his arms and tilted his head, considering me.

“After what happened last night between us? You still want to go back home?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

I huffed, crossing my arms like a mirror image of him, my heart thundering in my chest. What would my mother think of me bringing home a biker? Had she tried to call me? If I left this place, would Reaper come after me? Would he find me? Kill me? Kill my mother? Panic clawed at my insides, turning my thoughts into a whirlwind of dread.“Maya? What’s wrong?” Armando’s voice cut through the chaos, his concern sharp and immediate. I felt my breath becoming shallow, each inhale stale, as if the air around me had thickened. I gasped, hands clutching at my throat, desperate for oxygen.

This was it—a full-blown anxiety attack. I recognized the suffocating grip of fear; I’d been here before.

In an instant, Armando was beside me, wrapping his strong arms around me, lifting me effortlessly off the ground. He carried me toward the back door, urgency in every step, then laid me onto a solid surface. The brisk night air hit my face, biting at my skin as I gulped it down like a lifeline, each breath a desperate sip after drowning in panic.

“It’s okay, Maya. It’s just a panic attack,” he murmured, his voice steady amidst the chaos. His hand found my face, gentle yet firm, brushing back a loose strand of hair that had escaped my ponytail.

As my heart slowly began to steady, I turned to watch Armando. He was now standing, pacing with a restless energy, his hand raking through his hair before dropping to his side in frustration. The tension hung heavy in the air, an unspoken understanding crackling between us as shadows danced around us, echoing the turmoil inside.

Its because you want to go home, right?” Armando asked as I sat up, feeling dizzy and disoriented. The world swayed around me, a kaleidoscope of colors blurring together, but his steady presence anchored me. “That, and I’m worried about my mother,” I replied, my voice trembling slightly as he helped me to a patio chair that felt more comfortable than anything in my life. The weight of my anxiety began to lift as I sank into the cushion, its embrace like a warm hug after a long journey. “The Death Dealers are still out there, and soon enough they will find people I care about, won’t they?” I asked, dread pooling in my stomach, tightening like a vice. The sun slipped behind a cloud, casting shadows across the patio, and for a fleeting moment, I could almost feel the darkness closing in.

Armando shook his head, his expression serious yet reassuring as he took a seat next to me. “They’re smart, but they won’t go after people that can cause police interference. I know Reaper, and he won’t allow any of them near your mother.” My heart settled as the panic calmed down. “Are you sure?” I questioned, my voice barely above a whisper. He nodded, his grip firm as he gathered my hand into his with ease. “I’m positive. But I do know they will eventually come here. We have to be ready for whatever they throw at us.” I gulped and nodded. I knew one day I would be safe, but not anytime soon. As silence enveloped us, the only sound was the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The weight of our situation hung heavy in the air, and I felt the need to break the tension, to lighten our dire reality. “What’s on the agenda for today?” I asked, forcing a smile as I glanced at him. “Training,” he replied, a spark igniting in his dark eyes. “If we’re going to stand against the Death Dealers, we need to be prepared.” I hesitated, my earlier bravado wavering in the face of my fears. “Training how?” “Hand-to-hand combat, weapon handling, tactics,” he answered, his expression serious. “You need to learn how to protect yourself, Maya.” The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I had never considered myself the fighting type. The idea of wielding a weapon made my stomach twist. “But I… I don’t think I can,” I stammered, pulling my hand from his grasp, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Armando leaned closer, his eyes piercing mine with an intensity that made my heart race. “You can. You just need to trust yourself. Trust me.” I searched his gaze, finding an unwavering confidence that was both reassuring and terrifying. What if I failed? What if I let everyone down when it mattered most? Just as I opened my mouth to protest further, the distant thrum of motorcycle engines cut through the stillness, breaking the fragile moment between us. My heart raced anew as the familiar roar drew nearer, tension rising in my chest like a wave crashing against a shore. “Stay here,” Armando said, standing abruptly, his demeanor shifting into something serious, almost predatory. “I’ll check it out.”

“No,” I said, leaping to my feet. “I’m coming with you.” There was no way I would let fear dictate my actions. Not anymore. He hesitated, his brow furrowed in concern. “Maya, it’s not safe.” “I don’t care,” I insisted, meeting his gaze steadfastly. “I won’t be left behind again. If there’s danger, I want to be ready for it.” With a sigh of resignation, Armando relented, gesturing for me to follow. “Fine. But stick close to me.” We moved to the edge of the patio, peering around the corner of the house just as a group of motorcycles rolled onto the property. My breath caught in my throat, every instinct screaming at me to retreat. But I pressed forward, adrenaline surging through my veins. The riders dismounted, black leather jackets emblazoned with the emblem of the Death Dealers glinting ominously in the sunlight. The air grew heavy with tension as I recognized the leader, a towering figure with a twisted grin—Reaper himself. “What are they doing here?” I whispered, my heart pounding in rhythm to the thudding of the approaching danger. Armando’s jaw clenched. “We’re about to find out.” The men moved with a practiced ease, scanning the yard as if they owned the place. I could see the tension in Armando’s posture; every muscle was coiled, ready to spring into action. The air crackled with danger, and I felt a strange mix of fear and determination settle in my chest. “Listen,” Armando whispered, his voice low and firm. “We need to stay hidden. If they catch us out here—”

“I know,” I interrupted, cutting him off. My eyes remained locked on Reaper as he gestured to his men, pointing toward the house. “But what if they find her? What if they go after my mom?”

Armando’s gaze softened for just a moment, but he quickly regained his focus. “We can’t think about that right now. We need to gather intel first. Let’s see what they're planning.”

As I peered around the corner, I noticed Reaper’s men moving with purpose, their expressions unreadable but their intentions clear. They were here for a reason, and it couldn't be good.

Reaper's voice carried over the distance, booming with authority. “Search the place. I want any sign of them. There’s no way they slipped through our fingers. Not after everything.”

My chest tightened at the mention of us. He was talking about Armando and I. They were actively hunting us. It was surreal, hearing someone speak of my existence like I was a prized possession worth retrieving.

One of the men, broader than the others, nodded and split away from the group, headed in our direction. My pulse quickened, and instinctively, I leaned back, pressing myself against the cool stone wall. But Armando held his ground, scanning the area with a lethal intensity, as if he could will the man to turn back simply by staring him down.

“Stay quiet,” Armando hissed, his breath warm against my ear.

Just then, the man reached the edge of the patio, his leather boots crunching on the gravel. He paused, squinting against the sunlight, and I could feel my stomach drop. My heart raced as I watched him closely—he was searching. For me. In that moment, I felt a surge of panic, a fight-or-flight response tightening my chest and flooding my veins with adrenaline. But rather than retreat, I felt a strange resolve building within me. I couldn’t let fear win. Not now. Not ever again.

As Armando tensed, ready to act, I made a swift decision. “Distract him,” I whispered urgently. “I’ll find a way to get behind him.”

“Maya, no—” he began, but I was already moving, slipping around him and into the shadows cast by the trees.

I crouched low, keeping my movements silent as I darted toward the edge of the patio, heart racing furiously in my chest. I needed to draw the man away, to create an opening for us to escape.

A few feet ahead, I spotted a loose iron garden sculpture—a twisted piece that looked heavy, but if I could topple it over…

I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and then hurled the sculpture across the yard. It hit the ground with a loud crash, sending clattering echoes bouncing off the walls.

The Death Dealer’s head whipped around, instincts kicking in as he rushed toward the sound, leaving the path to the house clear. I seized the opportunity, motioning desperately for Armando to follow me.

He hesitated a moment longer, weighing the risk, but finally dashed forward, his expression a mixture of admiration and annoyance. “You’re going to get us killed one day,” he said, but there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes too.

We sprinted across the patio and slipped through the back door, hearts pounding as we entered the dimly lit hallway. The house felt eerily calm in contrast to the chaos outside, and I could hear the muffled sounds of shouting coming from the yard.

“Where do we go?” I asked, breathless, my mind racing as I glanced around.

“There’s a basement—it might be a secure spot if they come looking,” he replied, pulling me toward a narrow staircase at the end of the hall. We descended quietly, and as we reached the bottom, Armando paused, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Are you ready for this? We can’t afford to hesitate.

I nodded, steeling myself. The faint sounds of footsteps above echoed ominously, but the fear in my gut gave way to clarity. I was not just trying to survive—I was fighting for my mother and everyone I loved. And I wouldn’t give up without a fight. “We’ve got this,” I whispered, drawing strength from him, and together we stepped into the darkness, prepared to face whatever waited for us below.