Chapter 2 Vin
Vin
The thunderous roar of my Harley drowned out the chaos in my head as I moved further away from Paradise, Arizona, and the cemetery, leaving nothing but dust and broken promises in my wake.
Four fucking years. The words echoed in my skull, each repetition like a nail being driven into my brain.
How the hell had I lost four years of my life?
The wind whipped against my face, stinging my eyes as I pushed the bike harder and faster, wanting to die all over again.
The vibrations thrummed through my body, an electric current of fury and disbelief.
My hands gripped the handlebars so tight my knuckles turned white, anchoring me to this moment, this reality that felt like a goddamn nightmare.
"Fuck!" I shouted into the wind, my voice lost in the roar of the engine and the rush of air. My mind was a jumbled mess of fragmented memories—flashes of the attack on Hell's Justice, Raven's face contorted in anguish, the searing pain of bullets tearing through flesh.
I weaved through what little traffic filled the night, pushing the bike to its limits.
The needle on the speedometer climbed higher, matching the racing of my pulse.
Each mile that disappeared beneath my wheels felt like another step away from the truth, from answers I desperately needed.
But I knew there was nothing left in Arizona.
"Get it together, Reed," I told myself, trying to focus on the road ahead. But how do you get your shit straight when your entire world's been turned upside down? When you’ve lost the one person in the world who could take all the pain away.
The desert landscape blurred around me, a hazy mirage of sand and cacti.
It felt familiar and alien all at once, like a half-remembered dream.
Had it really been four years since I'd ridden these roads?
Since I'd felt the thrill of the open highway, the promise of freedom that came with each twist of the throttle?
My mind drifted to Raven, her image seared into my memory like a brand. The thought sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest, sharper than any bullet wound.
"I'm coming for you, baby," I promised, the words lost to the wind. "I'll find you, no matter what it takes. I’ll bring you back just the way I was brought back." But how?
Each mile brought more questions than answers, but one thing was crystal fucking clear—I wasn't stopping until I uncovered the truth, until I found my way back to Raven and the life that had been stolen from me.
Live hard and die free. The club's motto echoed in my mind again, a grim reminder of the life I'd led. But as the evening road grew darker, washing away the landscape to either side, I couldn't help but wonder—where had I spent the last four years? Hell? Or was this Hell?
The neon gas station sign flickered like a dying firefly as I pulled off the highway, my boots hitting the gravel with a crunch that echoed in the stillness.
The place looked like it had been plucked straight out of the 1950s and dropped into this godforsaken stretch of desert.
Maybe this was Hell. If it was, I knew Raven wouldn’t be here.
I strode towards the attendant, a scrawny kid with acne-scarred cheeks who eyed me like I was the fucking grim reaper.
Can't say I blamed him. Four years of who-knows-what had probably left me looking rougher than a mile of bad road.
I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out a roll of hundred-dollar bills.
Whatever had sent me back sent me back prepared.
"Fill 'er up," I said, jerking my thumb towards my bike.
The kid nodded. "Y-yes, sir."
As he fumbled with the pump, I decided to push my luck. "Heard anything about the President of the United States?"
His eyes widened. "Uh, yeah... He recently replaced Stansfield."
My blood ran cold. "What happened to Stansfield?"
"I-I don't know, man. He fucked up while he was in office. Some Nixon-like shit. Got voted out?"
"When did this go down?" I pressed, my voice low and dangerous.
The kid shrank back. "Couple months ago. I don't want any trouble-"
"You're not in trouble, kid," I said, forcing myself to relax. "Just looking for information." I couldn't shake the growing sense of unease as he finished filling up my tank.
My mind returned to the last time I'd seen that bastard Stansfield.
His smug face reeked of expensive cologne and corruption, as he'd warned me about seeing his daughter, Raven. I’d told him to fuck off, and then he dropped a fucking bomb on the club.
I gritted my teeth, rage boiling up inside me like molten lead.
That son of a bitch had killed and went on about a life of corruption, free as a bird? No fucking way.
As the anger coursed through me, another face swam into view. Raven. God, Raven. Her raven-black hair, those calm eyes that could see right through my bullshit. The memory hit me like a freight train, knocking the wind out of me.
I remembered the first time I'd seen her, striding into the club like she owned the place. The way she'd looked at me, a mix of disgust and challenge, was completely out of my league.
"You okay, mister?" The kid's voice jarred me back to reality.
I blinked, realizing I'd been standing there like a statue. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
But I wasn't. Not even close. Because now all I could think about was Raven.
The way her body had felt against mine, all soft curves and hidden steel.
The sound of her laughter was rare and precious.
The fierce intelligence behind those eyes, always three steps ahead of everyone else.
We'd been like fire and gasoline, explosive and dangerous, and so fucking alive.
And now... now I didn't even know where she was fucking buried. I needed Stansfield’s head on a stick.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. "Thanks, kid," I said, tossing him some cash. "Keep the change."
As I stood next to my bike, I knew one thing for certain. I was going to find out what the hell had happened while I was gone. And God help anyone who got in my way, including my own fucking government—bunch of pricks.
"Fuck."
I remembered a night in Phoenix, the air thick with desert heat and desire.
Raven's skin had glistened in the moonlight as we tore through the city on my bike, her arms wrapped tight around my waist. We'd ended up in some seedy-ass motel, tearing at each other's clothes before the door had even closed.
We fucked all night, waking in the morning only to fuck again.
We talked a long fucking time the following day and made plans that death later interrupted.
"You're thinking about her again, aren't you?" The kid's voice cut through my thoughts.
I shot him a glare. "Mind your own fucking business."
He shrugged, unfazed. "Just sayin', you got that look. Like you've lost something you can't live without."
"Yeah, well," I growled, "I'm gonna get it back."
As I straddled my bike, I felt a surge of determination. Every rev of the engine was a promise. To Raven. To myself. I'd find her, find the truth, even if I had to burn the whole fucking world down to do it.
The kid watched me, eyes wide. "Good luck, mister," he called as I peeled out of the station.
I didn't look back. I couldn't. The road ahead was all that mattered now.
I pulled over at the crest of a hill, the engine's rumble fading to a low purr. The Arizona landscape sprawled out behind me, a sea of red and gold stretching to the horizon. It was beautiful in its own harsh way, unforgiving and wild—just like my chosen life. Just like Raven.
"Fuck me," I said, running a hand through my sweat-damp hair. Tears—fucking tears I didn’t even know I could produce—pushed at the corners of my eyes.
The magnitude of what I was about to do caught up, clinging to me.
I closed my eyes, letting the hot wind whip across my face.
Raven's laugh echoed in my mind, a bittersweet reminder of everything I'd lost. When I opened them again, my resolve had hardened to steel.
"Alright, darlin'," I said, speaking to the memory of her, "I'm comin' for you. Your father’s going to pay the reaper."
I swung my leg back over the bike, feeling its familiar weight beneath me.
The engine roared to life, a battle cry against the silence of the desert.
As I gripped the handlebars, I felt the conflicting emotions warring inside me: love, rage, hope, vengeance—all of it tangled up and pushing me forward.
"Time to raise some hell." The bike lurched forward, eating up the asphalt as I accelerated. Each mile that disappeared behind me was another step closer to the truth, to Raven, to reclaim the life that had been stolen from me.
An hour later, I spotted a decrepit motel sign flickering in the distance; its neon glows a beacon in the twilight.
Part of me wanted to keep riding until I collapsed, but I knew better.
You don't survive long in this life by being stupid.
As I pulled into the gravel lot, a fleabag mutt started barking, announcing my arrival to anyone who gave a damn.
I killed the engine; the dog's bark filled the night.
"Easy, boy," I said to the dog as I dismounted. "I ain't here to cause trouble."
Not yet, anyway.
The night air hit me like a slap to the face, carrying the scent of dust and creosote.
I stood there for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom.
In the fading light, my shadow stretched long across the parking lot, a solitary figure against the vastness of the desert.
As I walked toward the motel office, each footfall felt heavy with purpose.
This was just the beginning, the first chapter in a story that was going to be written in blood and gasoline.
The neon sign buzzed overhead, casting an eerie red glow. I paused at the office door, my hand on the handle. Alive. Dead. Now, Aive again. What the fuck?