The Blood Family member stumbled out of the bar, his confidence still riding high despite the brawl he had just survived. Blood trickled down the side of his face, and his crimson tracksuit was scuffed and torn, but he wore his injuries like badges of honor. Fumbling for his keys, he approached his Porsche, parked under a single flickering streetlamp. The sleek black car stood out like a diamond in the rough, its polished exterior a stark contrast to the desolate surroundings.
He unlocked the car with a beep and was just about to open the door when the sound of boots crunching on gravel caught his ear. Before he could react, a sharp *smash* shattered the driver's side window. Glass sprayed in every direction, and the Blood Family member instinctively shielded his face.
"What the—" he began, but the words were cut off as rough hands grabbed him and yanked him backward.
The bikers were back, their faces twisted in anger and malice. The leader, his leather jacket now dusted with dirt from the earlier fight, sneered as he towered over the Blood Family member.
"You thought you could just walk out of here after that?" the leader growled, shoving him hard against the side of the Porsche. "Nobody disrespects us and gets away with it."
Before the Blood Family member could protest, a fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling. Another biker stepped in, landing a kick to his ribs. The assault came in waves—punches, kicks, and curses raining down on him as the gang vented their fury.
"Where's all that fight now, huh?" one biker taunted, spitting on him as he crumpled to the ground.
The Blood Family member tried to resist, swinging his arms wildly, but his earlier bravado was no match for the sheer numbers and the exhaustion from the fight inside. They didn't just want to beat him—they wanted to make an example of him. His flashy watch was ripped from his wrist, and one of them yanked his chain off his neck with a violent tug.
"You're lucky we don't kill you," the leader hissed, kneeling beside him. "But next time we see you around here, you won't be so lucky."
With one final kick to his stomach, the bikers stepped back, leaving him battered and groaning on the gravel. They climbed onto their motorcycles, revving their engines loudly, their laughter echoing into the night as they sped away.
The Blood Family member lay there for a moment, his body aching and his pride shattered. Slowly, he rolled onto his side, clutching his ribs as he tried to catch his breath. His Porsche, once a symbol of his status, now stood as a reminder of his fall—its shattered window and scratched paint a testament to the violence of the night.
After a few painful attempts, he managed to pull himself up and leaned heavily against the car. He reached into his pocket for his phone, his fingers trembling as he scrolled to the Uber app. His swollen face made it hard to see, but he finally booked a ride to the city.
When the Uber arrived, the driver hesitated, his eyes widening at the sight of the bloodied man limping toward the car.
"You alright, man?" the driver asked cautiously.
"Just drive," the Blood Family member muttered, collapsing into the backseat.
As the car sped away, he stared out the window, the neon glow of the city in the distance offering little comfort. He'd have to explain himself when he got back to the Blood Family, and that thought burned deeper than the pain in his ribs. But one thing was certain—he wasn't going to let this go unanswered.
The Blood Family member sat in the backseat of the Uber, his body slouched as the adrenaline began to fade and the pain set in. Every bump in the road sent a fresh wave of agony through his ribs, but the fire in his mind burned hotter. His pride was shattered, but not his resolve. Those bikers had no idea what they'd just unleashed.
The driver kept glancing in the rearview mirror, his concern palpable. "You sure you don't need a hospital, man? You're looking pretty rough."
"I said just drive," the Blood Family member barked, though his voice lacked its usual venom. He wiped a smear of blood from his lip, staring out at the city lights growing closer. He'd already decided—this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
By the time the car pulled up outside a sleek downtown apartment complex, the Blood Family member had pieced together a plan. Limping out of the Uber, he tossed the driver a crumpled hundred-dollar bill. "Forget you saw me."
The driver shrugged, pocketing the cash without a word.
The Blood Family member entered the building, moving through the dimly lit lobby where a concierge gave him a concerned look but wisely stayed silent. He took the elevator to the penthouse, each step feeling heavier as the weight of the night settled in.
Inside, the penthouse was a mix of luxury and chaos—gold-accented furniture, stacks of cash on the dining table, and a group of Blood Family enforcers lounging on leather couches. When they saw him, their relaxed demeanor vanished.
"Yo, what the hell happened to you?" one of them asked, standing up.
"Bikers," he spat, collapsing onto a chair. "Some wannabe tough guys out in the sticks thought they could mess with me."
The room went silent for a moment. Then, one of the enforcers, a wiry man with a scar across his cheek, let out a low whistle. "Bikers? Out where?"
"Does it matter?" the Blood Family member snapped. "We're gonna send a message."
The scarred man grinned. "Oh, we'll send one, alright."
The Blood Family member leaned forward, wincing as he did. "I want their clubhouse torched. Every bike in their garage burned to the ground. But first… I want them to know who they messed with. Get me two guys. We're paying them a visit tomorrow."
The enforcers nodded, their faces hardening with determination. One of them pulled out his phone, already making calls.
As the Blood Family member sat back, his anger began to shift into a dark satisfaction. Those bikers had humiliated him, but he had the resources, the men, and the will to make them regret it. This wasn't just about revenge—it was about making an example. No one messed with the Blood Family without paying the price.
---
Meanwhile, back in the small-town bar where it all began, the bikers were celebrating their so-called victory. Bottles of beer clinked together as they laughed and retold the story of how they'd taken down the "rich punk" in the Porsche.
The leader, leaning against the bar, smirked as he took another swig. "Bet he won't come back here again."
His buddies roared with laughter, but none of them noticed the blacked-out SUV parked down the road, its engine idling silently. Inside, a pair of Blood Family enforcers watched the scene, their faces expressionless as they relayed the coordinates back to the city. The Blood Family member wasn't waiting until tomorrow after all.
It was only a matter of hours before the bikers realized they'd picked the wrong fight. By the time they did, it would already be too late.