Page 52 of Vapor

I walk along the row of cars—symbols of wealth that feel more like shackles now—until I find the perfect vehicle. It’s a sleek black Audi, a car meant for showing off, not for getaways. But it’s fast and inconspicuous in the night.

With practiced ease, I bring the engine to life. It purrs softly, doing little to reveal my impending escape. I steer the car down the driveway, headlights off, guided only by the moon’s glow and my desperate need for freedom.

Once I’m off my father’s property, I flick on the headlights. The road unfurls before me, leading me away from the suffocating grip of my father’s control. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, each mile a stitch in the fabric of my resolve.

Fortunately, Vapor gave me the clubhouse’s address. I mapped it and memorized the directions in case I ever needed it. If nothing else, at least I was prepared for this possibility. I never thought I’d have to flee my house in the middle of the night, but there’s no going back. I’ll never return to that place. Never again.

Before long, Vapor’s clubhouse emerges from the darkness. It’s an oasis in my tumultuous world. I kill the engine a block away, parking it behind an old, abandoned liquor store. Covering the rest of the distance on foot, I quickly approach the house.

My shoes crunch on the gravel as I approach the front porch. A woman is sitting in a chair, watching me. She’s perched like a sentinel. Her spiky white hair stands out against the darkness, her muumuu a splash of color in the monochrome night. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me. It’s almost as if nothing ever surprises her. I wonder who she is.

“Chère, what are you doing here at this hour?” Her voice is soft but carries the weight of concern.

“I’m Blue.”

“Babet. I know who you are.”

“You do?” I ask, surprised.

“Vapor told me about you.”

“What did he say?” I ask, curious.

“Nothing much, but I knew you’d be coming at some point.” She smiles softly.“Why tonight?”

“I had to leave,” I say softly.“I had to get away from… my father.”

“Because of the marriage contract?” she asks.

“Yes.” I can’t help but touch my cheek which still burns where he hit me.“Is Vapor here?”

“His room is upstairs.” She rises to open the door.“It’s the last door on the right. Don’t pay any attention to everyone passed out in the living room. A few people partied too hard.”

“Thank you.”

As I step inside the clubhouse, the scent of beer hangs in the air. In the living room, bodies are sprawled across couches and the floor, a mosaic of bare skin and discarded clothing. Based on this display, these hardened bikers feel safe within these walls. Maybe I will too.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I pause, steeling myself for the conversation I must have with Vapor. It’s not just about asking for refuge—it’s about the choices I’ve been denied and the life I’m clawing back. It’s about our future. Together.

At the end of the hall, the door to Vapor’s room awaits. I walk toward it, steeling my spine and praying that coming here wasn’t a mistake.

I knock softly, but he doesn’t answer. Trying the knob, I find the door unlocked. I push it open. The door creaks with a reluctant groan, betraying my presence before I can even cross the threshold. I fully expect him to demand to know what I’m doing in his room, but he doesn’t say anything. I doubt he’s even awake yet.

As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I’m struck by the stark contrast of Vapor’s room compared to the chaos downstairs. His sanctuary is almost serene in comparison. Everything seems to have a place and there isn’t a hint of disorder… except for the bed.

Moonlight casts long shadows over the two forms tangled in the sheets. My heart plunges through the floor.

“Vapor?” My voice wavers, a whisper lost in the silence.

He doesn’t stir, and neither does she—the woman curled up next to him, her platinum hair dripping over the pillow like a toxic spill, skin barely covered by the thin fabric that clings to her curves.

My heart hammers against my ribcage. A mix of shock and an emotion I can’t quite name pulses through my veins.

I step closer, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging crescents into my palms. The sight of them together is a visceral punch, the implications of it all coiling tight in my stomach. Anger? Betrayal? No, not betrayal—we’re nothing to each other, not really. But something about this feels like a personal affront, a mockery of the desperation that drove me here.

“Dammit, Vapor,” I mutter, the taste of disappointment bitter on my tongue.

He’s supposed to be different, a man driven by a sense of justice, someone who’s fighting for a cause. Not just another man who gives in to his base desires. Yet here he is, the president of a MC lying entwined with a… No, I can’t label her. It’s not her fault. She’s just a symptom of the world we’re both trying to escape in our own ways.

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