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Tyler McCollough only exists on government papers and childhood memories.
“Interesting name,” she mutters, scribbling it down before moving on to the next customer.
“I’ve lived an interesting life,” I quip, though she’s already turned away.
Not everyone appreciates the humor of a biker.
I step aside, feeling the hum of the shop settle into my bones.
It’s a rare moment of calm, and I take it in, knowing it won’t last long.
Life in the Reapers Rejects MC is anything but peaceful, and errands like these are the closest we get to normalcy.
“Spark,” Doc calls from the booth, waving a hand to catch my attention.
I nod and start making my way over, weaving through the small clusters of tables and chairs.
“Got us a good spot,” he says when I slide into the seat opposite him. “Perfect view of the door.”
“Always thinkin’ ahead,” I reply, leaning back and letting the faux leather of the seat creak under my weight. “With the shit goin’ on in the club, things aren’t settlin’ right with me.”
“Damn straight. There’s too much shit goin’ down,” Doc agrees, his face darkening for a moment.
It’s just a flicker, quickly replaced by his usual easygoing demeanor.
But it’s there, and it reminds me why we’re here — why we’ve been running errands all day instead of enjoying a lazy afternoon.
“Yeah,” I murmur, eyes scanning the room out of habit. “Gotta keep our eyes open.”
The barista calls out our names, and I get up to grab our coffees.
As I walk back, the warmth of the cups seeps into my fingers, grounding me.
This might be just a pit stop, but in our world, even pit stops can turn into battlegrounds.
I slide one of the cups over to Doc. “Here you go,”
He takes it with a grateful nod, blowing on the surface before taking a cautious sip.
Shit, I forgot some creamer.
Taking my coffee cup I rise from the booth. “I’ll be right back. You need cream or sugar?”
Doc shakes his head, “Nah, I take my coffee just like my soul—pitch black and hot.”
I chuckle to myself while making my way up to the area where there’s a variety of sugars, creamers, and even milk options.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice says as someone bumps into me gently.
I look down and there she is—Zoe, her medium brown hair cascading down her shoulders with that striking blonde ombre catching the light.
“Well, well,” I smirk, taking a step back so we’re face to face. “You just can’t seem to stay away from me, can you?”
A small smile tugs at her lips, but there’s something serious in her eyes. “I can’t,” she admits softly, glancing around like she’s checking to make sure no one’s watching us. “And I don’t want to... but we can’t let anyone know.”
“Ah, so you want us to be a secret,” I tease, leaning in slightly. My voice lowers, just for her. “That makes it even more exciting, doesn’t it?”
Her cheeks flush, a subtle pink that makes my heart race. “Yes,” she breathes out, barely audible. “I think about you all the time, Spark. I just... don’t want anyone else getting involved.”
