Blade exhaled smoke through parted lips, letting it curl into the night before dropping the half-lit cigarette and grinding it beneath his boot. Without hesitation, he pushed open the heavy doors of The Rusted Fang, the bar that had been claimed long ago as the Serpents' den.

The place stank of sweat, spilled whiskey, and burnt-out neon. Strippers drifted through the haze like ghosts, while underpaid bartenders kept the taps flowing just fast enough to keep fists from flying. But the real weight of the room wasn't in the crowd—it was in the Serpents' corner. Every biker, hustler, and drifter in the bar knew better than to sit there.

Blade's eyes scanned the chaos, skipping over nameless faces until he saw his own. Scar, stoic and sharp-eyed, hunched over a glass of whiskey like it had wronged him. Axel, loud and reckless, already tangled up with two girls at his side, spinning stories with a grin too big for his face. And in the back booth, sitting where the shadows cut deepest, was Reaper—the Serpents' leader, watching the room with a gaze that could silence even the rowdiest bastard.

He made his way to the bar, dropping a hand on Scar's shoulder. "Tryin' to forget somethin'?"

Scar let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You could say that..."

The conversation shifted, laughter mixing with the rattle of glasses, and for a moment Blade almost let himself enjoy the noise. Almost.

That's when it came—shattering through the din. A woman's voice, sharp as a blade itself, cutting across the bar. Yelling. Shoving. Spitting curses at anyone in her way. And then—his name.

Blade's jaw tightened, head bowing with a sigh. He knew that voice like he knew the hum of his own bike.

Her.

His psycho ex.

"Fuck me..." he muttered under his breath.

He turned, and there she was—storming toward him with eyes wild, chest rising and falling like she'd just clawed her way out of hell. People scattered from her path, but she only had eyes for him, like he was the center of every rage she carried.

Blade arched a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. "Still stalking me, huh, baby?"

Ever since he dumped her, she hadn't gone quietly. Not once. Drama was her weapon, obsession her fuel.

"What now?" His voice sharpened, teeth gritted. "You gonna scream, throw names at me, then cry and beg me back like the last thousand goddamn times?"