Chapter 4 Vin
Vin
The swamp air clung to my skin like a second layer as I tore down the winding bayou road, my bike's engine growling in harmony with the cicadas.
Fuck, I should be dead. What kind of voodoo bullshit was keeping me alive?
Voodoo. Louisiana. I chuckled and considered the possibility.
Did I need a voodoo priestess? The thought made me chuckle, and I pushed the idea from my head.
The road curved sharply, and I leaned into it, my tires kicking up dust. As I straightened out, my eyes caught something that didn't belong—a woman swinging at a group of men, punctuated by angry shouts. She looked like she had a chance if it were just one or two men, but not against five.
"Shit," I sighed, easing off the gas. My instincts, honed by years of outlaw life, screamed danger. But I couldn't just ride on by. That wasn't who I was, even if it might've been wiser to do so. Besides, no real man leaves a woman in a position to physically defend herself against another man.
I turned around and pulled into the rest stop, cutting the engine and dismounting in one fluid motion. I moved towards the small group, the woman in one of the biker’s faces, my hand instinctively reaching for the knife at my belt.
My mind immediately switched into outlaw biker mode as I approached.
Was this some local beef I was about to stick my nose in?
Or something bigger? Either way, it didn't matter.
I'd seen too much shit go down in my life to walk away now.
"You boys picked the wrong fucking day to start trouble," I growled under my breath, my fingers tightening around the knife's handle as I hurried forward.
The scene that greeted me was like something out of a biker's nightmare.
A woman stood surrounded by a pack of leather-clad assholes, their patches marking them as members of the Bloody Scorpions MC.
I'd tangled with their kind before—nothing but bottom-feeding scum with delusions of grandeur.
But the woman? She was something else entirely.
Even outnumbered, she stood tall, chin raised in defiance.
Her eyes blazed with a fire that said she'd go down swinging before she'd ever back down.
"Looks like you boys are having a party," I called out, stepping into view. "Mind if I crash?"
The woman's gaze snapped to me, surprise flashing across her face before it hardened back into that steely resolve. One of the Scorpion goons turned, sneering.
"Walk away, asshole. This ain't your business."
I cracked my knuckles, a grim smile playing on my lips.
"See, that's where you're wrong. I make it my business when I see a bunch of pussies ganging up on a lady.
" Without waiting for a response, I launched myself at the nearest biker.
My fist connected with his jaw in a satisfying crunch, and he went down like a sack of shit.
The others hesitated for a split second—all the opening I needed.
I moved like a man possessed, every punch and kick honed by years of bar fights and back-alley brawls.
These Scorpion punks might've had numbers, but they didn't have skill or desperation on their side.
I caught the woman's eye again as I dropped a second goon with a vicious uppercut.
There was something in her look—recognition, maybe?
Or just a kindred spirit seeing another of its kind?
"You gonna stand there admiring the view, darlin'," I grunted, ducking a wild swing, "or you gonna join the dance?"
She grinned then, fierce and beautiful. "Thought you'd never ask."
And just like that, we were fighting back-to-back, a whirlwind of fists and fury against the Scorpion scum.
For a moment, everything else faded away.
The weight of my past, the uncertainty of my future.
There was only the fight and the knowledge that I was exactly where I needed to be.
I might have been dead, but I felt more alive than ever.
The dance of violence was in full swing when I heard the telltale click of a gun being cocked.
Time slowed to a crawl as I turned, staring down the barrel of a .
45 aimed straight at my chest. The Scorpion bastard's eyes were wild, his finger already squeezing the trigger.
"Fuck," I thought, not for the first time in my life.
The gun roared, and I felt the impact like a sledgehammer to the sternum. But instead of the familiar warmth of blood, there was only... nothing. I looked down, half-expecting to see a gaping hole. Instead, a flattened bullet clattered to the ground at my feet.
"What the actual fuck?" The shooter's jaw dropped, mirroring the shock I felt coursing through my veins. He looked as if he’d just taken a baseball bat up the ass.
For a heartbeat, the world stood still. Then, my survival instincts kicked in, overriding the impossibility of what had just happened.
I lunged forward, grabbing the gun and wrenching it from the stunned biker's grip.
"My turn, asshole," I said, smashing the butt of the pistol into his temple.
He crumpled like wet cardboard on a rainy day.
The remaining Scorpions were frozen, eyes wide with fear and disbelief. I couldn't blame 'em. I was having a hard time believing it myself. "Anyone else feeling lucky?" I snarled, my voice carrying an edge I'd never heard before. Something had changed, and I had no fucking clue what it meant.
One of the smarter ones found his voice. "This ain't natural, man. We're out!"
They scrambled for their bikes, leaving their unconscious buddies in the dust. As the roar of engines faded, I turned back to the woman, half-expecting her to have bolted too.
But she was still there, those fierce eyes now filled with a mixture of awe and suspicion. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.
I shoved the gun into my waistband, buying time as I tried to figure out how to answer a question I suddenly wasn't so sure about myself. "Name's Vin," I finally said, my voice rougher than usual. "And darlin', your guess is as good as mine right about now."
I stepped closer to the woman, my boots crunching on teeth. Her eyes never left mine, a fiery intensity burning in their depths. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling beneath her leather vest. I could smell the adrenaline coming off her in waves.
"Sadie," she said, her voice weary and grudging respect. "You just saved my ass, Vin. But what the fuck was that?"
I ran a hand through my sweat-slicked hair, my mind still reeling. "Wish I knew, darlin'. Seems like I've got more lives than a damn cat."
A ghost of a smile played on her lips. "Well, whatever it is, I'm glad you showed up when you did."
I nodded, the weight of what just happened settling on my shoulders like Atlas holding the world.
My fingers absently traced the spot where the bullet should've torn through my flesh. Nothing but smooth skin beneath my torn shirt. I wasn’t craving brains, so I wasn’t a zombie.
I was craving a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake.
Before I could say anything else, the distant rumble of engines cut through the humid air.
Sadie's head snapped up, her body tensing.
"Shit," she muttered. "That'll be Jameson."
The roar grew louder, and a pack of bikes soon rounded the corner.
At the lead was a hulking figure on a blacked-out Harley, his presence commanding even from a distance.
As they pulled up, the lead rider dismounted with a fluid grace that belied his size.
His eyes, sharp as hawk's, took in the scene—the unconscious bodies, the scattered weapons, and finally, me.
"Who the fuck are you?" he drawled, his voice a gravelly rumble. “What the fuck happened, Sadie?”
I squared my shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on.
This was Jameson, the big bad wolf of the Royal Bastards MC.
I’d heard of him. Anyone and everyone associated with an MC had heard of him.
Some good things, some bad things. And I had a feeling things were about to get interesting.
In a heartbeat, Jameson's hand flew to his waistband.
The glint of steel caught my eye as he leveled a .
45 at my chest. Would he be as shocked as the Scorpions when the bullet hit me and dropped to the ground?
"Who the fuck are you?" he growled, eyes narrowed to slits. "And what the hell happened here?"
My muscles coiled, ready to spring. But before I could make a move, Sadie stepped between us, her hands raised. "Jameson, wait," she said, her voice steady but urgent. "This man just saved my ass. Those assholes cornered me, looking for trouble. He stepped in, took 'em all down single-handedly."
Jameson's eyes flickered to Sadie, then back to me. The gun didn't waver. "That right?"
I shrugged, keeping my voice casual. "Just passing through, saw a lady in need. Couldn't very well ride on by."
Sadie shot me a look, then turned back to Jameson. "Babe, I'm telling you, he's something else. One of 'em even shot him point-blank, and he didn't even flinch."
That got Jameson's attention. His eyebrows shot up, and he gave me a slow once-over.
I could see the gears turning in his head.
After a long moment, he lowered the gun.
"Alright, mystery man. You've got my attention.
What's your name?" He spied the bullet hole in my shirt.
Then his eyes landed on my kutte, recognition crossing his face.
"Vin," I replied, watching him carefully. "Vin Reed."
Jameson nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. It wasn't exactly friendly, more like a shark sizing up potential prey—or, hopefully, an ally. I wasn’t sure how many more bullets I could take to the chest without re-dying.