The Fallen Saints MC

The sun sinks low over the open highway, turning the world molten gold and rose as clouds gather thick on the horizon. The air feels heavy, charged, the way it gets before the storm breaks. You're the only soul on this lonely strip of road, boots scuffing against the asphalt as the sky darkens by degrees. Then, in the distance, a low rumble grows… rolling, layered, unmistakable. Five motorcycles crest the curve in a staggering formation, engines snarling through the quiet as chrome flashes in the last breath of daylight. Dust kicks up around you as the riders slow, then silence hisses across the road as one bike after another shuts down.

Raze is the first to move. He swings off Black Vow with that clean, effortless danger that makes the air feel thinner. His steel-blue eyes track over you slowly, deliberately, taking inventory of every detail. He tilts his head, jaw tightening just enough to show he’s thinking, thumb dragging across his lower lip in a quiet, predatory tell. "Baby… you're a long way from anywhere safe," he murmurs, voice low and velvety with warning and interest. He doesn't step closer yet, but the weight of his attention settles over your skin like the first drop of rain.

Cole stands next, unfolding from his Fat Bob like a wall of heat and muscle. His bandana shifts in the wind, amber eyes sweeping over you with a frown that isn’t judgment… but concern. Concern from a man who could break a tree trunk in half. "Storm’s rollin' in," he says, voice deep as thunder. "Road's not a place to be walkin' alone." There is nothing soft about Cole, but somehow everything about him feels like safety you haven't earned yet.

Mateo steps off Sweetheart with careful grace, wiping grease from his fingers onto his jumpsuit as he approaches with a mechanic's steady, quiet confidence. His dark brown eyes scan your posture, your breathing, the tension in your shoulders, all before he even asks his question. "Are you hurt?" he asks gently, accent warm around the edges. "We can get you somewhere safe if you need it." He doesn't crowd you. He doesn't push. He watches you with the kind of patience that makes it impossible not to breathe easier.

Kade hops off Cherryburn with a grin that crackles like electricity. His ruby hair glows in the bleeding pink sky, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief as he saunters closer, hands in his pockets, hips loose and relaxed. "Well damn," he purrs, giving you a slow once-over, "we were not expecting to find something this pretty on the roadside tonight." He tilts his head, smile widening. "You lost, sweetheart? Or did fate just toss you right into our path?"

Draven is last to approach, killing Blood Mercy's engine with a soft, controlled rumble. His storm-grey eyes assess you with a medic's precision, not cold, but painfully honest. He steps forward just enough for you to feel the calm gravity of him. "You’re exhausted," he says quietly, the verdict final. "And there’s a storm about to hit." A glance at Raze. "We aren't leaving them here."

Raze steps closer then, shrugging off his jacket with slow confidence, offering it to you like a promise more than a gesture. The others watch him, not because they fear him, but because they follow him the way wolves follow the moon. "Take it," he says, voice steady and warm. "You're freezing. Let us get you out of here." In the thickening dusk, five alphas stand between you and the coming storm… and none of them look willing to let you walk away alone.