Chapter 15

I’ve always been a man of the road, but the last few months had taken on a new meaning. I was no longer just riding, I was living, breathing the essence of the Vultures with every state line I crossed. My role as a mediator for the mother chapter had become more than a job—it was a calling, a way to uphold the values my father had instilled in me.

The disputes I handled were as varied as the landscapes I rode through, but none quite like the one that had me parked outside a nondescript diner in the middle of nowhere. Two chapter presidents, both alphas, both scent matched to the same omega. It was a rare and delicate situation, one that required a level of diplomacy that even I found challenging.

In the world of the Vultures, scent matches were sacred. They were the ties that bound us, the connections that went beyond mere attraction. To reject a scent match was to deny a part of your very being, and it was a pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. So, there I was, caught between two alphas who were both respected leaders and entwined in an impossible bind.

Neither of them wanted to step down from their presidency, nor could they fathom walking away from the omega who completed them on such a primal level. I understood their struggle and their need to cling to both power and passion. But as a nomad, as Doc, I had to remain impartial, to think not just of the individuals involved but of the club as a whole.

We sat in that diner, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The clatter of dishes and the low hum of conversation faded into the background as I laid out their options. If it had been any other match, I could have advised the omega to choose, but with a scent match, the stakes were higher, the decision fraught with consequences that echoed through the very fabric of our brotherhood.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, frustration gnawing at me. There was no protocol for this, no rulebook to flip through and find the perfect solution. I looked at the two men before me, their eyes filled with a mix of hope and desperation, and I knew I had to make a tough call.

“Fight it out,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. It was barbaric, perhaps, but it was the only way. They would duke it out, and the winner would retain their rank, their position within the Vultures, and the omega who was the source of their turmoil.

After a moment of pause, the alphas nodded, a silent agreement passing between them. They stepped outside, the parking lot becoming their battleground. I watched from a distance, my heart heavy with the weight of my decision. They clashed with the ferocity of the storm that was brewing on the horizon, their roars echoing into the night.

It was a brutal affair, fists flying, bodies straining against the relentless onslaught. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, even as part of me wished I could. This was the life we had chosen, the path we had willingly walked. And in the end, one alpha stood victorious, his breath ragged, his body battered but unbroken. The other lay on the asphalt, defeated but not dishonored.

The winner approached me, his gaze filled with a gratitude that was tinged with sorrow. “Thanks, Doc,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take care of him, and the omega… we’ll make it work.”

I nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. “You better,” I replied, the alpha in me recognizing the strength it would take to navigate this new dynamic. As I climbed onto my bike, the rumble of the engine a familiar comfort, I knew that this was just another chapter in the ever-evolving saga of the Vultures. And as long as I had breath in my lungs, I would be there, guiding my brothers through the storm.

The phone’s shrill ring cut through the silence of my motel room like a serrated blade. I picked up without checking the caller ID, a habit engrained from years of living on the edge. “Doc, here,” I groggily replied, my voice still heavy with sleep.

“Doc, it’s Wild Bill,” the voice on the other end barked, the urgency in his tone setting my instincts on high alert. “We’ve got a situation. Razor’s been taken.”

Razor, one of our own, a key member of the Vultures. My heart thudded against my ribcage as I processed the weight of Wild Bill’s words. “Taken? By who?”

“The Iron Serpents,” he spat, the name alone enough to conjure images of bloodshed and treachery. “They’ve got him stashed away somewhere in New York. We think they’re trying to squeeze him for information—info that could bury us six feet under if it gets out.”

Razor knew the ins and outs of our operations, our territories, our alliances. He was the keeper of our secrets, the guardian of our strategies. If the Iron Serpents got their hands on that knowledge, it wouldn’t just be a blow—it would be a catastrophe.

I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening on the phone. “What’s the plan?” I asked, already mentally packing my gear.

Wild Bill’s sigh was heavy, laced with the burden of leadership. “We need you to get up there, Doc. Use your contacts, your skills—hell, use your fists if you have to. Just get Razor back before he spills anything.”

“I’m on it,” I said, not needing to hear another word. I knew the stakes, the potential fallout if we failed. The Vultures had weathered storms before, but this… this was a hurricane barreling down on us with the force of a thousand chainsaws.

I hung up and started to move, my mind racing with potential scenarios, strategies, and contingencies. I had friends in low places, allies in the shadows who owed me favors. It was time to call them in. I pulled on my jacket, the familiar weight of my father’s patch against my chest serving as a reminder of the promise I had made to protect our brotherhood.

As I fired up my bike, the engine’s roar was a battle cry in the still night air. I peeled out of the motel parking lot, the tires kicking up a storm of gravel and dust. New York was a long ride away, and every second counted. Razor was counting on me, the Vultures were counting on me.

The road stretched out before me, an endless ribbon of asphalt under the moon’s pale glow. I rode through the night, the wind slicing past me as I pushed myself and my machine to the limit. I didn’t stop for food or rest, didn’t allow myself the luxury of distraction. My focus was singular, my resolve unbreakable.