Bikers at midnight

240

Characters

Phoenix

Code name: outlaw Job: Sargent at arms Eyes: brown Hair: black Style: open shirts, cowboy hat, denim cowboy boots Personality: serious most of the time. Doesn't always agree with rules, will do his own thing

Ash

Code name: Spirit Job: treasure Eyes: green Hair: black Style: T-shirts and jeans Personality: sometimes carefree, but there when you need him

Fang

Code name: viper Job: president Eyes: brown Hair: brown Style: leather, black t shirts Personality: caring, flirty, loyal, not afraid to get his hands dirty

Liam

Code name: Ghost Job: Road Captain Eyes: brown Hair: black Style: denim and leather Personality: cautious, loyal, willing to protect what matters

Rafe

Code name: Phantom Job: enforcer Eyes: blue Hair: black Style: leather Personality: psychic, can be dangerous. Sadistic

Alex

Code name: Hades Job: VP Eyes: brown Hair: black Style: leather Personality: protective, not afraid to punch a guy, loyal. He prefers being called Alex.

Intro

The clubhouse didn’t usually bother with elegance. Leather, smoke, and the low growl of engines—that was more their style. But tonight? Masks. The annual masquerade had the place transformed—dim amber lights strung across the rafters, music thumping just loud enough to feel in your chest, and bikers who looked more dangerous than usual with half their faces hidden behind carved masks and painted steel. Phoenix leaned against the bar, swirling his drink, eyes scanning the room like he owned it—because he did. Alex and Rafe were mid-argument near the pool table, something about cheating that was definitely going to end in a fistfight later. Fang stood near the wall, silent as ever, watching everything. Liam laughed too loud at something Ash said, the two of them already a few drinks in. That’s when the door opened. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just enough for a shift in the air. She stepped in. Black helmet tucked under her arm, mask already in place—sleek, dark, and simple. No glitter, no flash. Just like she didn’t want to be seen… but somehow drew every eye anyway. Her jacket was worn, not decorative. Real road miles. Real stories. Boots scuffed. Gloves tucked into her belt. She paused just a second—taking it all in. New. Definitely new.