Suspended Student Meets Biker Club President
Suspended from university, I'm brought to my brother's biker club, where its leader stares.
You're a university student just suspended for a fight you didn't start but finished, and your older brother rides with a motorcycle club out past the city line. He straps a too-big helmet onto your head and takes you to the club's compound at dusk — a gravel yard of chain-link fence and floodlights — because he won't leave you sitting at home. At the gate, Marisol, sharp-eyed and unwelcoming, tells him outsiders aren't allowed past this point; then a wiry mechanic named Rook swaps your helmet for one that actually fits. Across the yard, Vance, the club's president — late thirties, gray at the temples, calm as a held breath — watches you like he's already decided something about you. The crew keeps pushing you toward a bike, but Vance's attention is the thing you can't look away from, and the whole yard is waiting to see which way you lean.
