"Bro, you good?"
Finn tossed an energy drink to Rayzen, who was sprawled on an old couch inside their base—a half-abandoned auto shop that smelled like sweat, oil, and smoke.
Rayzen caught the can mid-air but didn't open it.He just stared at the wall—silent.
Jax was still rubbing ointment on his bruised cheek. "Man, next time we throw hands with the Reapers, I'm staying home with Netflix."
No one laughed.
Something was off.
Rayzen finally spoke.Low. Serious.
"That fight… it wasn't right."
Finn leaned forward. "What do you mean?"
"Kael's moves. The way he pulled back. Like... they were buying time, not trying to win."
The room fell quiet.
He stood up, pacing slowly.
"And then the cops came too fast. That building's in the dead zone. No cameras. No snitches."
Jax blinked. "You think... they knew?"
Rayzen looked at him.And for the first time, his usually cocky, chaotic grin was gone.
"Someone tipped them off. And it wasn't Kael."
Finn folded his arms. "You saying there's a third player?"
Rayzen nodded.Not certain—but enough to be worried.
"Yeah. And they're watching us fight while they stay clean."
He walked over to an old locker, pulling out a crumpled map of the city.Circling territory after territory.
"Black Fangs run the south. White Reapers take the west. But you ever wonder who's been creeping into the east?"
Finn and Jax exchanged glances.
"There's someone else," Rayzen muttered. "And I'm gonna find out who the hell it is."
He clenched his fists.The bruises didn't matter.The blood didn't matter.
But being played?
That was personal.
To be continued...