“No more runs. No more violence. I’m done.” Snake moved closer.
“You know it doesn’t work like that, Red. Nobody just walks away.” “I am.”
Ryder reached inside his vest. For a second, several men tensed.
Then Ryder pulled out his club patches. He placed them on the nearest table.
The soft slap of fabric against wood sounded louder than it should have. “It’s over.”
Snake’s face darkened with rage. “You ungrateful—”
He lunged forward. Two other members grabbed him before he reached Ryder.
Ryder stood his ground while men cursed him, threatened him, and called him a traitor. He had expected anger.
What he had not expected was the genuine betrayal in their eyes. “You’re dead to us,” Snake snarled, struggling against the men holding him back. “You hear me? Dead.”
Ryder nodded once. Then he turned toward the door.
Every instinct told him to move faster. He refused.
He walked out at the same measured pace he had entered. The heavy wooden door closed behind him.
Outside, the late-afternoon sun felt almost painfully bright. The parking lot was nearly empty except for the motorcycles.
Ryder crossed to his bike, swung one leg over the seat, and started the engine. The familiar rumble could not completely drown out the voices still shouting from inside the bar.
But something had changed. For the first time, those voices had no authority over him.
Ryder pulled away from the Devil’s Fork. Wind struck his face.
Within several blocks, he realized he was smiling. A weight had lifted from his shoulders.
He had carried it so long that he had forgotten it was there. For the first time in fifteen years, Ryder was no longer riding because the club had somewhere for him to go.
He was simply riding away. The next morning, Ryder sat at his kitchen table staring at his phone.
He had turned it off the previous night after too many messages from former brothers. The silence in the apartment felt different now.
Not empty. Peaceful.
His hands trembled slightly while he made coffee. The enormity of what he had done was beginning to settle in.
For fifteen years, the club had been his entire world. Now that world was gone, and Ryder was standing on unfamiliar ground.
The coffee maker hissed behind him. He leaned against the counter with his tattooed arms folded and looked through the window.
People were walking dogs. Leaving for work.
Carrying groceries. Living ordinary lives.
For the first time, ordinary looked beautiful. His phone vibrated on the table.