The heavy rumble of engines outside wasn't unusual at Shameless, but tonight, it felt different. Scarlett watched through the grimy window, her heart pounding as a line of motorcycles appeared, sleek and menacing under the streetlights. These weren't the usual rowdy regulars or the brute enforcers from the Red Kings. These men were the Devil Riders—kings in their own right and feared for a reason. Their cuts bore a distinct emblem: a flaming skull encircled by the clubs name.. Simple yet unmistakeable. 

Scarlett had done her research. The Devil Riders' reputation ran as dark and deep as their loyalty to one another. For a girl forced to be living in the shadows, with a history that kept her tied to this world, she knew what it meant that they were all here: change. And with change came risk. 

The subtle invasion dragged out the deeply hidden memories. The ones that she hid in the back of her mind until the day they were weaponised by the very people she should have been able to trust, above everyone else in the world. 

She adjusted the strap of her heels and took a deep breath, forcing herself back to the present. Playing it cool was essential. The men filing through the club doors weren't just strangers to her—they were targets. Or they had been. Her handler at the FBI hadn't anticipated this takeover, otherwise, she would have been warned. They clearly aren't as well informed and connected from the inside as she had thought. A spark of hope flickered in Scarlet's eyes. The Devil Riders and the Red Kings merging meant a lot of things, and none of them were simple. With a takeover came upheaval - and a chance, however slim, to slip free of the FBI's hold. But hope was a dangerous thing in the world of bikers and their affiliates. She knew better than to trust it blindly. 

She glanced at her phone, half-hidden in her clutch, a single message blinking on the screen: "Keep them close. Watch your step."

As she tucked the phone away, her gaze snagged on a man near the back, the largest of the group. He was taller than the others, his dark hair and heavy beard giving him a look that was both rugged and forbidding. He didn't even glance around the club; his eyes landed right on her.

This had to be Bear, the Devil Riders' VP, and the man she'd heard whispers about in the other clubs—a quiet type, yet known to be viciously loyal. His reputation was enough to make her pulse kick up a notch. Not mentioning his presence alone demanded attention made her shift uncomfortably. She glanced at the other dancers, who had been eyeing the same man she hung eyes on. 

She lowered her gaze quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed the flicker of recognition in her eyes. The last thing she needed was someone like him looking at her too closely. Her whole survival depended on staying invisible, blending into the routine here like any other dancer with nothing to hide, and nothing to fear. 

But Bear didn't seem like the type to miss anything. His gaze lingered, sharp and assessing, and in that brief moment, Scarlett felt exposed—as if he could see straight through her, into every dark corner she worked so hard to keep hidden.

The music kicked back up, and she slipped into character, letting the pounding bass and the neon lights swallow her nerves as she made her way backstage. She had her reasons for being here, for dancing for the men that gawked at what they can't have, or thought they could. Every day she reminded herself that she was playing the long game, letting those filthy looks slide off  her. The way their dirty hands  crept across her body as she danced wasn't anything new. It wasn't hard to ignore, not since most of her skin was exposed to begin with. 

The police, the FBI—everyone told her it was worth it for her truth she seeks. But with each passing year, they felt less like allies and more like watchdogs, pressing her harder, giving her no choice but to comply. Blind to, or unwilling to see the dangers a woman faces in her profession. But she couldn't stop thinking of the true risks now. If the Devil Riders discovered who she really was, her life wouldn't be worth the time it took to snap a finger. Or at least, that's what she thought. 

Scarlett's eyes flickered to Reece as she emerged onto the stage to take her pose just as the blasting music kicked in, singling the start f her usual Tuesday night routine. The manager, trying—and failing—to look unbothered by the Devil Riders' presence, scurried over to them, eager to please. While Bear sat down in one of the corner booths, his eyes locked on her as she twirled, watching her every move.

The urge to run was strong, but Scarlett held herself in place. She was good at this game, at making herself seem like nothing more than a girl with a body, working her way through the usual routines to get by. She had perfected her poker face long ago, learned to dance with a deadened expression and a mind carefully divided, keeping the watcher part of herself hidden and on guard.

Bear's stare, however, felt like it was slicing right through her mask. And the more she stood under his watch, the more she realised she might be out of her depth this time.

The song ended, and Scarlett slipped backstage after collecting the tips of off the stage floor. Catching her breath leaning a hand against the cool brick wall, she checked her phone again, quickly typing out a message to her FBI handler: "Devil Riders have control. VP Bear watching me." After which quickly deleting it from the phones memory.

A reply came back promptly: "Stay put. Don't spook them. We'll be in touch."

But staying put wasn't going to be easy. The Devil Riders weren't just taking over a club—they were threatening to disrupt every plan she had. Scarlett closed her eyes, letting the weight of it sink in. She had started this journey for revenge, for a chance at justice against the Red Kings, who had ripped apart her life and stolen every shred of safety she'd ever known. But now, with Bear and the Devil Riders in the picture, she might just be the one getting burned.

And that gaze—Bear's steadfast, knowing stare—made her wonder if she was dancing toward something far more dangerous than she'd ever bargained for.

(Word Count: 1098)