Ride or Die

(Kaz POV)

The day of the ride arrived, a day where bikers from all over would showcase their stunts, their bikes roaring and tires screeching as they went round in circles. The air was filled with the smell of burning rubber and the sound of revving engines. It was a spectacle, a show of power and skill, and we, the Bandidos, were at the center of it all.

As we revved our engines, ready to join the fray, a group of bikers from another town, the "Roadrunners", approached us. Their leader, a burly man with a thick beard, glared at us.

"Y'all think you're the kings of the road, huh?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.

Tommy, ever the diplomat, tried to defuse the situation. "We're all here to ride, brother," he said, his voice calm. "No need for any trouble."

But the Roadrunner wasn't having it. "You Bandidos think you can just waltz in here and take over? This is our turf!"

The burly leader of the Roadrunners, a smirk playing on his lips, sauntered over to me. The crowd around us fell silent, their eyes darting between us in anticipation. He stopped in front of me, his eyes gleaming with challenge.

"How 'bout a race, Bandido?" he drawled, his voice carrying over the silence. The crowd erupted in cheers, the tension in the air palpable.

"Why not, Roadrunner?" I replied, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Let's see who rules the road."

The crowd went wild, their cheers deafening. The girls were screaming, some lighting up cigarettes, their faces lit up by the glow of their lighters. Others were swaying to the music blaring from the DJ's speakers, their bodies moving in rhythm with the beat.

As I revved my engine, ready to take on the challenge, I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins. This was it. It was time to ride.

The race began with a roar of engines, a cloud of dust rising as we sped off. Tommy and I, along with a few other Bandidos, were fully participating, our bikes weaving along the course with practiced ease. We were ahead, our skills and speed outmatching the Roadrunners.

But then, something unexpected happened. One of the Roadrunners, in a blatant act of cheating, swerved into the path of one of our bikers. It was a deliberate move, masked as a mistake. Our brother was thrown off his bike, his body flying through the air before crashing onto the ground. His bike shattered into pieces, and his face was a bloody mess.

The race stopped abruptly, the cheers turning into gasps of shock. The burly leader of the Roadrunners crossed the finish line, but his victory was hollow, tainted by the accident.

I rushed back to our fallen brother, my heart pounding in my chest. "Max! No, Max, come back!" I called out, my voice echoing in the sudden silence. But Max was unconscious, his face pale and bloodied.

Rage filled me. I turned to the Roadrunner who had caused the accident, my eyes burning with anger. "You did this!" I accused, my voice filled with venom.

And then, all hell broke loose. Bullets started flying, the sound of gunfire echoing through the air. It was chaos, a deadly dance of bullets and bikes. The festive atmosphere had turned into a battlefield, and we were right in the middle of it.

In the midst of the chaos, I grabbed two bottles from the ground and hurled them towards the Roadrunners. The bottles shattered on impact, shards of glass flying in all directions. I pulled out my gun, firing shots into the crowd. The sound of gunfire was deafening, the air filled with the smell of gunpowder and fear.

I scanned the crowd for Tommy, but it was hard to distinguish anyone in the chaos. Many of the Bandidos were covered with max on their faces. However, after scanning for more minutes, I spotted a hand full of tattoos. It was Tommy.

I fired more shots, providing cover as I made my way towards him. I had thought Tommy wasn't cut out for this, that he was too soft, too gentle. But as I ducked behind a car, trying to avoid the bullets whizzing past me, I saw him.

Tommy was standing tall amidst the chaos, an AK47 in his hands. He was firing shots with a precision I had never seen before, each bullet finding its mark. His face was calm, his eyes focused. He was not the Tommy I knew, it was as if I had never met this Tommy before.

In the heat of the moment, I spotted one of the Roadrunners ducking behind a corner. I aimed my gun at him, my finger on the trigger. But in my haste, I misfired. The bullet whizzed past its intended target and hit a bystander instead.

A gasp echoed through the crowd as a young teenage girl fell to the ground. She was just a spectator, a young girl who had come to enjoy the event. The sight of her falling, the realization of what I had done, hit me like a punch to the gut.

The gunfire ceased momentarily, the crowd stunned into silence. The festive atmosphere had turned into a nightmare, the joy replaced by fear and regret. I stood there, my gun still smoking, the weight of my actions sinking in.

The echo of the gunshot still rang in my ears, the smoke from the barrel of my gun slowly dissipating into the air. The festive cheers that once filled the air were replaced by a deafening silence, broken only by the soft whimper of the fallen girl. The sight of her lifeless body lying on the ground was a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of the carnival around us.

I could still remember the days when this ride was a source of joy and excitement. The days when my father, Mr. Jakes, would bring me here as a toddler. He was a man with his own demons, a slave to his addiction. But for those few hours on the ride, he would forget about his cravings for drugs, his eyes lighting up with the same excitement that I felt. The ride was our escape, a brief respite from the harsh realities of our lives.

But now, the ride that once brought us so much joy is tainted with the blood of many innocent people. The laughter and cheers were replaced by cries of horror and disbelief. The ride had turned into a bloody spectacle, a grim reminder of the violence that lurked beneath the surface of our town.

This year, the ride will be remembered not for the joy it brought, but for the tragedy it caused. It would go down in history as one of the worst events to ever occur in Bandidos.