Chapter 6: Traitor’s Blade in the Dark
Chapter 6
Gunfire shattered the fragile sanctuary of the dorm room like breaking glass in a tomb.
Reaper shoved Rowe behind him, his body a living shield as the doorframe splintered under heavy fire. Bullets chewed through the cheap wood, embedding in the far wall with deadly thuds. The air was filled with acrid smoke and the deafening roar of violence.
"Stay low!" Reaper snarled, returning fire with precise, lethal shots.
His aim was merciless—each pull of the trigger dropped a shadow in the hallway.
Rowe’s heart hammered against her ribs as she gripped her own weapon, peering around his broad frame.
A figure darted past the doorway.
She fired twice.
One bullet found home.
A man screamed and collapsed.
The hallway erupted into chaos.
Boots thundered.
Voices shouted rival colors.
The Devil’s Disciples had infiltrated deeper than anyone anticipated.
Reaper grabbed her hand, yanking her toward the window.
"Out. Now."
They moved like a single unit—years of shared history making their rhythm instinctive.
Reaper kicked the window open, glass shattering outward. Cool night air rushed in, carrying the distant wail of sirens that would arrive too late.
He boosted Rowe through first, then followed, landing in a crouch beside her in the gravel below.
Viper and a handful of Reapers were already engaged in the front lot, exchanging fire behind overturned bikes and trucks.
The rat—a young prospect named Ticker—lay bleeding near the fence, clutching a flash drive like a dying man with a crucifix.
Reaper’s eyes narrowed on the traitor.
"Take him alive."
Ghost and two others moved in, dragging the wounded prospect back toward the clubhouse under covering fire.
Rowe ran beside Reaper, adrenaline singing in her veins.
This was the world she had been born into—the thunder of engines, the crack of bullets, the constant dance on the edge of death.
They made it inside through a side entrance.
The main room was a war zone: shattered bottles, overturned tables, blood on the floorboards.
Lila was pressing a rag to a wound on a patched member’s arm, her usual smirk replaced by grim focus.
Reaper didn’t stop.
He marched straight to the chapel, where Ghost had the rat tied to a chair.
Ticker’s face was pale, sweat mixing with blood.
The flash drive sat on the table like a poisoned offering.
"Talk," Reaper commanded, voice ice-cold.
He pressed the barrel of his gun under the traitor’s chin.
"Who sent you? What’s on that drive?"
Ticker laughed weakly, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth.
"You think you’re the good guys? Cal was going to sell us out. Peace with the Disciples? That would’ve made us soft. Someone had to stop him."
Rowe stepped forward, fury blazing.
"My father wanted peace. You killed him for it?"
The rat’s eyes slid to her, glassy with pain and defiance.
"Not me. But I know who did. And I know what else they’re hiding. The blood... It’s yours, princess. Your mother didn’t run. She—"
A single shot rang out from the doorway.
Ticker’s head snapped back, a neat hole blooming in his forehead.
Dead.
Reaper spun, gun raised, but the shooter was already gone—slipping into the chaos of the clubhouse.
A ghost among ghosts.
"Lock everything down!" Reaper roared.
"Find that shooter!"
Rowe stared at the dead rat, the unfinished sentence echoing in her skull.
Your mother didn’t run.
The words clawed at her, reopening old wounds.
She felt Reaper’s hand on her shoulder, steadying her, but she shrugged it off, turning to face him.
"Enough secrets," she said, voice shaking with rage and grief.
"What did he mean? What do you know about my mother?"
Reaper’s expression fractured—just for a moment—revealing the tormented man beneath the president.
He pulled her into the corner of the chapel, away from prying eyes, his hands framing her face.
"I swear on my life, I don’t know everything," he whispered fiercely.
"Your mother... she was involved in the deal somehow. Cal never told me the full story. But after he died, she vanished. I thought she ran to protect you, kids. If she didn’t..."
His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen.
"I failed you twice over."
The vulnerability in his voice cracked something inside her.
Rowe surged up on her toes and kissed him—hard, desperate, tasting salt and smoke and desperation.
Reaper responded instantly, backing her against the wall, his body pressing into hers with raw need.
His hands roamed down her sides, gripping her hips as if afraid she’d vanish.
This kiss was different from the ones before.
It was a collision of two broken souls who had circled each other for years.
Tongues tangled.
Teeth nipped.
A low groan escaped Reaper as she tugged at his cut, wanting it off, wanting skin.
He broke the kiss with a curse, resting his forehead against hers.
"Not here. Not while we’re bleeding."
But his body betrayed his words—hard and insistent against her.
The pull between them was magnetic, inevitable, and utterly forbidden.
A sharp knock interrupted.
Viper entered without waiting.
"Prez. We caught the shooter. It’s one of ours. Been patched in for three years. He’s singing already—says there’s a faction inside the club that wants you gone. And they’ve got plans for the princess."
Reaper’s eyes turned murderous.
He pressed one last fierce kiss to Rowe’s forehead.
"Stay with Ghost. I need to handle this."
As he strode out, Rowe touched her swollen lips, her body still humming.
The club was tearing itself apart from within.
Her family’s secrets were rising like ghosts from the grave.
And the man she was falling for—hard and fast—stood at the center of the storm.
Worse, the rat’s dying words haunted her.
The blood... It’s yours.
What if the real betrayal wasn’t just in the club?
What if it lived in her own veins?
Outside, another engine roared to life in the night.
Someone was fleeing.
And Rowe knew, deep in her bones, that the war was only beginning to reveal its true monsters.
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