[Cade's POV]
As I trailed behind Rowan, I finally got a proper look at him—not just a passing glance, but a real, up-close view of the man who had everyone talking.
Even through his shirt, I could see the way his back tensed with every step, thick muscle shifting beneath the fabric like coiled steel. It made sense now, the stories, the fear he carried in his wake. Almost everyone had heard of him—Rowan, The Night Viper. A name spoken in equal parts awe and warning.
And up close? He was even more intimidating. His height alone put most men at a disadvantage, and combined with the sheer presence he carried, it was enough to make the air feel heavier.
Inside his room, the door shut with a quiet click. He let out a breath, barely noticeable, but the way his fingers briefly clenched at his side gave him away. The wound. It was still bothering him.
I'd heard about the incident from William—Handy, as they called him now. Four guys had jumped Rowan. Four. And yet, here he was, still standing, still breathing, still commanding a room without needing to raise his voice.
That was the kind of man he was. The kind who didn't lose. The kind who made the rest of us wonder whether we were following him by choice or because we had no other option.
The weight of unspoken things hung between us, thick as smoke in the dimly lit room. Rowan's gaze swept over us, expectant. He'd called us here for a reason, and we were all waiting for it.
Finally, he spoke. "First, let me start by thanking you. I mean, going against the Angels? That alone is a hell of a thing."
We nodded in acknowledgment, but it was Finn who answered. "No problem. We have our own reasons for going through with this."
His words struck something in me, a sharp reminder of why we were even here in the first place. Why we'd split off from William. Why this fight wasn't just a matter of survival, but something deeper, something raw.
Rowan tilted his head slightly, considering us. "Yeah, I've heard bits and pieces. But if you don't mind me asking… why are you helping us, exactly?"
Finn and I exchanged a glance. There it was—the choice. To say it or to keep it buried.
I nodded at him before turning back to Rowan. "No, it's alright," I said, exhaling slowly. "But I guess I should start from the beginning."
Finn shook his head beside me, almost imperceptibly. Maybe he thought it wasn't worth dredging up, or maybe he just didn't want to relive it. But I was already too far in to stop now.
"Years ago, there were six of us. We formed a little group—kind of like yours. It was me, Finn, William, Mary, Dani, and Deon. We weren't just scraping by—we were making it. Thriving, even, in the way you could in a place like this. Then came a rough stretch, one of the worst we'd ever had. And somewhere in the middle of it, we found out that Mary had started shooting up Rock."
I paused. The words felt heavy in my mouth, harder to push out than I expected.
"We tried to stop her. Of course we did. But the thing about Rock is, once it gets you, it never lets go. She kept using. And then one day… we found her. Fourteen years old, dead from an overdose." My throat tightened, but I forced myself to continue. "And you can probably guess who sold it to her. The fucking Angels. The same bastards slinging to kids who don't know any better."
Rowan's expression darkened, but he said nothing. He didn't have to.
"We never forgave them. We wanted to fight, to burn them down for what they did to her. But the others? Dani, Deon, even William… they disagreed. Said it was too dangerous. That we'd just end up dead too." I scoffed, the bitterness rising in my throat. "Like they didn't even care that a little girl was dead because of them."
I let out a sharp breath. "So we split up. William went off on his own. Dani and Deon—guess they wanted something normal. Ended up married, far away from this mess. And Finn and I? We were left with nothing but this burning, useless anger. Sitting on our hands, unable to do a damn thing about the fuckers who took her from us."
I stopped there. The room felt heavier than before, the silence stretching taut. But I let it sit. Some stories don't need neat endings. Some wounds don't heal.
"So once we saw William standing on our doorstep, talking about finally striking back... we took the deal."
There was a quiet that settled after those words, the kind of silence that only comes after you've shared something heavy—something real. The kind of silence where everyone else in the room instinctively knows not to speak, as if to say anything more would ruin the fragile moment.
I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me. The history, the pain, the years that had passed without ever really healing.
He looked at me then, his eyes hard but not cold. "We're a bit alike, you and I," he continued, his voice steady but there was something raw, something thinly veiled beneath the surface.
"The fuckers—" He paused, his jaw tightening, "They raped my mother. Right in front of me. And I'll be damned if I don't slaughter every single one of them."
The words hit me like a punch, hard and fast. I felt my chest constrict, the air suddenly too thick. I could see it in his eyes—the same kind of anger, the same kind of darkness that had driven us all to this point. I didn't say anything. What could I say? We were in this together for the same reason. Revenge, however empty it might be, was all we had left.
But as I stood there, the silence stretching between us, I couldn't help but wonder—was it worth it? The price of it all? The way revenge hollowed you out, left you standing alone in a room full of ghosts?
I thought of the friends we'd lost along the way, of the faces that turned away, of the silence that replaced them. How much of yourself could you lose before you weren't even the same person anymore? How much could you give before you didn't even recognize the reflection in the mirror?
But those thoughts didn't matter now. The blood had already been spilled, the lines already drawn. The only thing left was to follow through. But in the pit of my stomach, something told me that following through wouldn't make any of this feel better. It might just make it worse.
"Alright, enough of the past," Rowan said, his voice steady but carrying an edge. He looked us each in the eye, making sure we were paying attention. "The most important thing now is… What happens right now. Let me ask you this: Are you willing to follow me? Are you ready to end their tyranny? To avenge what was lost?"
The words hung in the air, thick and heavy, the weight of them pressing down on us. There was no immediate response—just a silence that felt like the calm before a storm.
Rowan let the question sink in, his eyes intense as he waited for us to absorb the offer. He stood there, his posture tall and commanding, but there was something in his gaze that made you feel as if your answer mattered, as if your choice would shape the rest of it all.
He let out a breath, a small pause stretching between us like a long road. "As you've probably already heard from the… well, the screaming contest going on in the next room," he gestured toward the noise filtering through the walls,
"our situation is a lot like yours used to be. So what matters now is having people who are on the same page. Like-minded people. That's the most important thing right now."
I glanced at Finn, and for a moment, we were just two people standing in a house full of others, the decision heavy in the space between us.
It was strange, how a few words could shift everything so quickly. To help him? That seemed like the easy part. But to truly join him, to commit ourselves fully—that felt like something different altogether.
It wasn't a decision I had to think too long on. The group was good enough and the shared goal pulled us in like gravity. But if there was one thing I knew, it was that following this path had already been set for me long before this moment.
"I don't know about Finn," I said, my voice steady, but I felt the weight of the words all the same, "but I'll join." Rowan's gaze flickered with something that almost looked like approval, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had made the right choice.
He nodded, satisfied, and turned his attention to Finn, who was still quiet, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched out, heavy and thick, before Rowan finally broke it. "What about you, Finn?"
Finn didn't rush to respond. He leaned back, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking over the rest of us as though considering the situation with a kind of quiet weight. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low but firm. "If Cade's in, I'm in too. There's a lot of catching up to do with William anyway."
His words didn't need to be anything more. The decision was made. We were in. Whether we fully understood the consequences or not, we had crossed that line, and now there was no going back.
The path ahead would be messy, full of doubt and questions, but in that moment, we were united by one thing—the need for vengeance. The need for justice, however we defined it. Rowan nodded, looking in a good mood.
"Alright, that sums it up," Rowan said, his tone final, almost like a door closing behind us. "Do you want to stay the night? We've got a free room upstairs."
I paused, the weight of the day still heavy on my shoulders. My body felt worn, drained from everything that had happened—every punch, every decision made in the heat of the moment.
The idea of heading back out into the night, walking through the streets that felt more like a battlefield with every step, didn't seem all that appealing anymore.
"Yeah, why not." The words left my mouth without hesitation, though a small part of me wondered what I was truly signing up for.
My voice was steady, firm, but inside, there was a swirling mess of thoughts, none of them clear. The decision felt final, even though I knew it wasn't—there were still so many things up in the air.
The choices were made. But where they would lead us, I couldn't say.