Resilient Prequel Short: Loose Alliances

Kiera adjusted her ear protection as a thin trickle of sweat slid down her cheek. She wouldn’t have returned to the unforgiving heat and humidity of Florida’s inland if it weren’t for Selene. But while she was here, she intended to make every second count.

The private patch of woods just south of the Georgia line belonged to the Black Tide Brotherhood. The range smelled of gun oil, dirt and a faint sourness of spilled beer that clung to the humid air.

She kept her expression flat when Caine, now the club president, handed her the Ruger. The heavy revolver felt foreign in her hands, even after the year she’d spent practicing in Texas at the shooting range. Back then, it had been a revelation, the first time she’d ever held real steel. She’d developed a taste for it.

Five years before, Caine had been just another patched member. He’d pulled her out of a bad spot one rainy night near the Georgia line and took a liking to her, and she to him. In turn, he had given her a ride, some cash, and advice on how to fly under the radar. No questions. No strings. Now, he was running the table.

“You sure you don’t want something lighter?” Caine asked, voice gravelly from years of smoking. His cut was worn, but the Black Tide President patch stood out. Sharp. New. Word around the club was he had an old lady now too. That meant Caine was off-limits. Purely professional. That suited Kiera fine. “Glock’s easier for beginners,” he continued.

The corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m no beginner.”

She opened the cylinder and loaded six fresh .44 Magnum rounds into the chambers, one by one. A few brothers watched from folding chairs, beers in hand, while others still sat on their bikes. The rest stood around, taking bets on whether the new girl who’d shown up a couple days ago would flinch. None of them remembered her. That was about to change. She snapped the cylinder shut with a decisive spin and locked it into place.

She didn’t flinch.

The first three rounds busted through the paper target at fifty yards, tight enough to silence the group. The recoil kicked hard, lifting the muzzle, but she leaned into it, letting the weight of the revolver absorb some of the shock. She exhaled, reset and emptied the cylinder.

“Not bad,” Caine said. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“Texas,” she said simply. No more, no less. Many a cowboy had helped her sharpen her skills, but it wasn’t free. Nothing ever was. A fair trade in her mind. Those skills would keep her and Selene out of the kind of trouble that almost broke them.

One of the prospects whistled. “Damn, she’s got talent and she’s a looker. Think you could handle my barrel?”

“Watch it,” Caine growled. No real heat, but enough to shut the kid up. He’d given her the afternoon on the range because she’d done a small favor when she first rolled back into the area, connecting them with a better weapons distributor on the dark web. In this world, favors bought opportunities. Talent was leverage. They weren’t friends. He was testing whether the scared girl he’d once helped had turned into someone useful. She had.

Kiera reloaded without looking down. Muscle memory from those hot and dusty Texas afternoons. While Selene earned an honest dollar waitressing, Kiera had been honing skills that would keep them both alive.

She thought of her sister then, the softer one, the one who believed the past held answers. Selene hadn’t wanted to come to the range, or the clubhouse for that matter. She wanted to visit their mother in the Tallahassee federal prison. Kiera had no interest. Karma’s a bitch, Kiera thought. Let her rot there. Selene on the other hand, wanted closure. Kiera only hoped that the past stayed buried.

Selene would hate the club: the exhaust, the smell, the men who treated violence like a tool. But Kiera felt the opposite of hate. Here the rules were simple. Prove you’re useful. Watch backs when it counted. Don’t apologize for what you have to do to survive.

Caine stepped closer, arms crossed, studying her with those flat, calculating eyes. His old lady kept him grounded these days, the hot Florida nights with Kiera a distant memory. “You shoot like you’ve got something to prove,” he said.

Kiera lowered the revolver and met his gaze. “Everyone’s got something to prove out here.”

He watched her a beat longer, then gave a short nod. “Most outsiders don’t get club steel. But you earned this. Keep it. Keep showing up, you might earn more.”

He cracked a smile. There and gone. No lingering. No old debts reopened. “Club cookout’s Friday. Bring your sister. Or don’t. No pressure.”

Her own words to Selene echoed in her head. We don’t make friends. But today, it felt a little more distant, pushed back by the steady beat of her pulse and the satisfying ache in her shoulders.

She wiped sweat from her brow. “Maybe.”

Caine nodded once. Understanding. Behind them, the brothers started packing up as the sun dipped, painting the trees in hazy orange. As engines roared to life one by one, Kiera lingered, staring at the target. Groupings tighter. Controlled. Deadly.

Tonight, she’d head back to the cramped place she and Selene shared in Lake City. Let Selene chase closure if she needed it. Kiera wasn’t interested. There was no point. When Selene realized as much, they could move on. In the meantime, Kiera would keep working on skills that would come in handy. Form a few loose alliances, not friendships. With that, she had the confidence that one day she could protect them both when the real storm hit.

It was still years away, but she could already taste it on the light breeze blowing through the trees. Clouds were gathering, the way they always did on hot Florida evenings.

She slipped the ear protection off and murmured to the empty range, voice low and steady.

“Not yet. But soon.”