Club Vote

The hideout smelled of sweat, oil, and gunpowder. Ashley slid off Nolan’s bike on shaky legs, trying not to stumble. Her arms still buzzed from clinging to him through the chase.

The cold metal of the bike frame bit through her jeans where she’d pressed against it. Her gloves left smudged dust on Nolan’s cut when she unclipped them.

They walked inside the Vipers meeting hall—a low-roofed shack with mismatched chairs and a scarred wooden table. The club’s patched members filed in, their boots dragging dust across the bent floorboards.

Ashley hung back near the door, arms folded tight against her chest. She wasn’t supposed to be here; she knew that much. But no one had told her to leave, and after the ride through hell, she wasn’t about to stand outside alone in the desert.

Nolan dropped into the President’s chair at the head of the table. He didn’t speak right away. His eyes were sharp, scanning the room, daring anyone to start without him.

Ace leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, pretending to be at ease. Cole perched restlessly on the edge of a chair, leg bouncing, his boyish face lit with adrenaline and nerves. Jax stayed close to the shadows, silent, and unreadable with his hands resting on the table.

Around them were the old men whose faces were carved with lines, knuckles scarred, lips thin. A map tacked to the wall had red chalk marks along likely routes, and a dented ammunition box served as an ashtray. Someone had propped a rifle in the corner.

Finally, Nolan spoke. “We need to talk about the girl.”

Ashley’s throat tightened. Heat crawled up her neck.

One of the older bikers—Rocco, with his graying beard and one eye clouded from an old fight, grunted. “Talk? Ain’t nothing to talk about. She’s a liability. We hand her over, Fangs back off, and we live another day.”

Ashley stiffened. Hand her over. Like she was a bargaining chip, and not a person.

Cole shot upright. “The hell we do. She’d already be dead if it wasn’t for us. You think the Fangs want to trade nice? They’d gut her just to send a message.”

“Kid is right,” Ace chimed in. “They don’t want negotiations. They want blood. Giving her up won’t stop them—it’ll just prove we’re weak.”

The room buzzed with voices, overlapping, and clashing. Some backed Rocco, others Cole. A few kept silent, watching Nolan.

Ashley’s stomach twisted. She’d thought surviving the ambush meant she was safe. But here, in the so-called safety of their own camp, she was nothing more than a spark threatening to ignite the whole club.

Nolan raised a hand to silence the noise. His gaze locked on her, heavy enough to pin her in place. “Ashley. You should know what’s on the table.”

She forced herself to meet his eyes. “You mean whether I’m worth keeping alive?”

No one spoke.

Her laugh came out forced. “Guess that’s one way to make a girl feel welcome.”

Ace muttered, “Damn, she’s got a bite.”

Jax finally leaned forward. “She is more than a bite. She might know things. Information that could put us ahead instead of always reacting. You don’t throw away an edge like that.”

Ashley blinked. He hadn’t defended her out of pity—he’d framed her as useful. Still, it was something.

Rocco slammed his palm on the table. “Useful? She paints a target on our backs. We’ve already bled tonight. You think the Fangs found us by chance?”

That snapped Nolan to attention. His jaw flexed. “What are you saying?”

Rocco's one good eye narrowed. “I’m saying we’ve got a leak. Somebody is feeding them our moves. And the timing stinks of her showing up.”

Ashley’s pulse stuttered. “Wait—you think I told them? Are you out of your mind? I was with you the whole time!”

Rocco sneered. “Easy way to earn trust… act innocent while you lead the wolves to our door.”

She opened her mouth to fire back, but Nolan spoke first “Enough.”

“If there is a leak, we’ll find it. But it isn’t her. I don’t believe that.” His eyes flicked toward Ashley.

The weight in her chest eased a little.

Ace arched his brow. “So what is the play, Prez? Keep her under lock and key? Or bring her into the fold?”

Ashley gasped softly. Bring her into the fold—into them. Into this violent, dangerous family that ran on rules she barely understood.

Cole’s voice rose, sharp with urgency. “Vote on it. Now. You know damn well the Fangs aren’t done. If she’s with us, she’s under our protection. If she’s not, then she’s bait.”

Nolan’s stare swept the table, daring anyone to flinch. “All in favor of keeping her under Viper protection, raise your hands.”

One by one, hands lifted. Ace first, quick and decisive. Cole next, his jaw set. After a pause, Jax’s hand followed, calm as if the decision had been made hours ago.

Others stayed down. Rocco glared, unmoved.

Finally, every eye turned to Nolan. He raised his hand without hesitation. “Majority holds. She stays.”

Relief, gratitude, and terror tangled into one cracked open in Ashley's chest. She wasn’t sure whether to thank him or curse him.

Before she could speak, a phone buzzed on the table. Everyone froze. Jax scooped it up, scanning the screen. His expression darkened.

“They know.” His voice was flat. “The Fangs know this location.”

A ripple of curses tore through the room. Chairs scraped, fists slammed down.

Ashley’s skin went cold. Already?

Rocco's voice rose above the chaos. “Told you. Leak is in the house.”

Nolan didn’t waver. “Then we move. Gear up. Nobody leaves this camp alive unless it is on our terms.”

He looked at Ashley last. “You wanted in? Welcome to the fire.”

Ashley’s head was a whirl. Orders filtered through her — pack a small bag, bring what you can, leave nothing traceable, and she obeyed. She shoved toiletries and a worn hoodie into a duffel that a scowling kid thrust at her, and for the first time felt the weight of what “stay” meant… not shelter but responsibility, not safety but exposure. She caught Cole’s eye. He mouthed, You okay? She gave a small, raw nod.

Jax cornered Nolan by the mapboard, whispering clipped directives of where to park the bikes so a fleeing enemy couldn’t take them, which trailers to set fire if they needed to cover a retreat. Nolan listened, razor focus, then added one more… a secondary rendezvous point two hours west, past the old mill. “If we separate, we meet there,” he said. “Nobody splits alone.”

Ace clapped his hands once. “All right then. Quick sweep. Check the perimeter, check the rigs, and pull the cameras. If the Fangs had eyes in the sky, we blind them.” He grinned, but the grin didn’t reach his eyes.

Rocco spat on the floor. “And the rat?”

Nolan’s jaw hardened. “We will find it on the way out. Jax, you and Ace sweep the south lot. Cole, with me — we’ll get the bikes and the women’s things. Rocco, you and Hank watch the east gate. If anyone moves wrong, we kill them.”

Nolan’s last line landed heavy. The word “women’s” was used casually by him. He didn’t mean only Ashley; it was the code for anyone vulnerable under the club’s roof. Cole’s face tightened with an old, fierce protectiveness that looked like it might snap his boyishness into something harder.

Ashley picked up her duffel, fingers trembling. As she passed the mapboard, she noticed a hastily scrawled note stuck under a thumbtack; “Fuel cache?” with a circled X. Someone had been planning a contingency, but the handwriting was unfamiliar. A cold little pinprick of suspicion… someone on the inside had been marking things for someone outside.

Outside, the bikes lined up like beasts waiting for the word.

“Keep it tight,” Nolan called. “No chatter. Headlights on low until we hit the gravel. Stay three by three. Do not stop for anything.”

As the convoy rolled out, Ace rode beside Nolan slowly while staring at Ashley. Jax kept two bikes behind, and Cole stayed within Nolan’s immediate orbit, the only one who kept stealing quick, anxious glances at Ashley as if checking she was still there, still breathing.

By the time they rode deep into the night, the clubhouse was nothing more than a dim light far away. The Fangs, or whoever had been tipped, would be looking for a carcass. The Vipers were determined not to be one.