Page 63 of Caged Hunger

And then it happened.

A brief flicker of light caught Basher's eye.

He glanced out into the crowd, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

There, standing among the spectators, was a man with his hat pulled low, obscuring the upper half of his face. Slowly, the stranger reached into his jacket and began drawing out a knife.

Was he…?

Before Basher even had a chance to think, his body was already moving. He vaulted over the ropes of the ring and hurled himself into the crowd, tackling the knife-wielding stranger before the man could react.

With every last ounce of strength he had, Basher unleashed a furious barrage of blows, beating the man again and again until he finally dropped the knife.

Around them, the crowd erupted in shouts and chaos, and screams echoed as people began panicking.

Next to him, four other men jumped in, grabbing the attacker and dragging him out of the underground club.

Someone behind Basher grabbed him by the arm.

Basher turned to swing, but he was met with startled eyes and hands raised.

The man was not a threat.

“Come with me,” the man said, grabbing Basher by the arm and dragging him outside to join the others.

When they stepped into the alley, Basher found three of the men pinning the would-be attacker against a brick wall. They were shouting and cursing at him with a level of fury that suggested this wasn't their first encounter. Judging by the venom in their voices, there was clearly a long history of bad blood between them and whoever the bastard was.

“That was some quick thinking in there,” the man said, releasing Basher’s arm. “If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d probably be dead right now.”

Basher just glared at the man, his expression hard and unreadable. He hadn’t done it for them. He’d seen a man with a knife and reacted on instinct—because someone was going to get hurt if he didn’t.

He would’ve done the same for anyone.

“My name is Bradly. Me and my crew here want to thank you.”

The other men were already dragging the attacker around the side of the building.

Basher watched them go, his jaw tight. He wondered what was about to happen next. Another beating, maybe. Or something worse—something final, like a bullet between the eyes.

He hoped he had made the right choice and saved the right man in that club.

“Don’t worry, my men aren’t going to kill him. Just rough him up some more to send a message back to his crew.”

Basher glanced back at the man standing next to him.

“How about I take you out for a drink? As a thank-you.”

The man seemed reasonable enough. Basher nodded as the man he had saved wrapped his arm around his shoulder and led him off toward the main Strip.

That was the first time Basher met Bradly. Little did he know he had just saved the life of the leader of the Death Cruisers Motorcycle Club.

And just like that, everything changed.

What started as instinct—an impulsive act to stop a man with a knife—had just pulled Basher into a world he never intended to step into.

That was the day he met his new brothers.

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