(Part 1 – The Clash)
The road stretched out like a scar across the red dust plains, heat rising off the asphalt in ghostly waves. The hum of engines filled the silence, low and steady, like thunder rumbling in the distance. Twelve bikes rode in formation — black, chrome, and leather glinting under the afternoon sun. The Southern Reapers were heading home.
At the front, Cole Maddox — president, widower, and the kind of man whose silence carried weight — led the pack. His patched vest fluttered behind him, the skull-and-scythe emblem of the Reapers faded but respected across half of Queensland.
Cole's mind wasn't on the ride. Not really. It never was anymore. He rode to forget — the wife he buried six years ago, the nights that stretched longer than any road, the ghosts that followed him no matter how fast he went.
The radio in his helmet crackled.
"Prez, you seeing that?" came Deke's voice, his sergeant-at-arms and oldest brother in the club.
Cole's eyes narrowed. Up ahead, past the bend, a handful of bikes sat idling outside a run-down truck stop. Black paint, ragged feathers sprayed on the tanks. The Black Vultures.
Cole slowed. The Reapers fanned out behind him, engines growling low like wolves on the scent.
"Didn't think those bastards came this far north," Deke muttered as he pulled up beside him.
"Neither did I," Cole said, voice gravelly from smoke and sleepless nights. "But I don't believe in coincidences."
The truck stop was quiet. Too quiet. A rusted fuel sign creaked in the wind. The lot was empty except for the Vultures' bikes — and a big white truck parked at the far end, engine still running.
Cole killed his engine. The rest followed. Boots hit gravel, twelve men stepping into the dust.
"Stay sharp," Cole said, scanning the area.
Deke nodded to the truck. "That look normal to you?"
Cole shook his head. "Nothing out here ever is."
He started walking. The dry wind tugged at his vest. The others spread out, cautious, hands hovering close to holstered pistols or the knives clipped to their belts.
When they got closer, the truck door slammed. Two men in Vulture cuts stepped out — tattoos up their necks, eyes cold and hungry.
"Well, I'll be damned," one of them drawled. "Reapers, in my backyard. What's the world coming to?"
Cole didn't stop. "Didn't know you had a backyard, mate. Thought you just squatted wherever the law didn't bother lookin'."
The man sneered. "Careful, old man. Might mistake that for disrespect."
Cole smiled thinly. "It was."
The air went heavy.
Then — a faint sound. From the truck. A muffled cry.
Cole froze. Deke heard it too. They exchanged a look — the kind of look that said everything.
Cole's hand went to his pistol. "Open the truck."
The Vulture smirked. "Ain't your business."
"Now."
The man laughed — and reached for his gun.
The first shot cracked the silence. Dust exploded off the ground. The Reapers dove for cover. The lot erupted into chaos — engines revving, bullets sparking off metal. Cole fired twice, ducking behind a gas pump, watching a Vulture drop like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Deke! The truck!"
Deke sprinted toward it, covering fire from two brothers behind him. The truck's back door was chained. He kicked it — hard — once, twice, until the metal screamed and the lock gave.
Inside, in the half-dark, he saw three women, bound and terrified, eyes wide as headlights.
"Jesus…" Deke muttered.
Cole caught up, breathing hard. His eyes found one girl — mid-twenties maybe, dark hair, bruises fading on her face but fire in her eyes. She looked straight at him, unblinking.
Something inside him stopped.
"Get them out," he ordered. "Now."
But as he reached for her, another gunshot cracked. Pain burned across his shoulder. He spun, firing back — hitting the shooter square in the chest.
The lot fell silent again. Smoke drifted in the dry wind. The Vultures that could still stand ran for their bikes and peeled out into the horizon, engines screaming.
Cole leaned against the truck, blood seeping through his cut. Deke grabbed his arm, but Cole waved him off. His eyes were still on the girl.
"You're safe now," he said quietly.
She didn't answer — just stared at him like she wasn't sure what "safe" even meant.