The wind blew wildly as a woman rode down a deserted road, listening to her music, without a care in the world. She was on a mission, one that she wasn’t going to be deterred from. She rode a 2018 Harley-Davidson, her hair blowing from underneath her helmet. The stretch of ride had only one destination at the end, an old motorcycle club, one that had been known as ‘A Club of Renegades’. The club wasn’t one to be stifled with, they were serious. Even though they were one of the one percent clubs that actually obeyed by the law for as much as they possibly could; that didn’t mean that they were easy prey for those clubs that didn’t share in their views.
The woman had been riding for several days straight, barely stopping for a rest. Before you say that going about things like that was dangerous, the woman was used to it. The lifestyle she lived called on being alert despite barely having any sleep. The sound of her bike purring between her thighs had a smile on her face, her blood singing in time of the pulsating.
All she knew about this club was in a folder that had been gifted to her by her adoptive father after a close call with the collector of death. She sped through the hallway kicking up dust and sand, her eyes glued onto the road, while beats blasted in her ears. She had no idea of what to expect, but what she did know was that the door on her old life closed the moment she held the folder in her hands; and a new life, full of adventures was on the horizon whether she wanted it or not.
Finally, the sign for the garage came up, signalling her destination at the end of the highway. Taking several breathes, she stopped at the gate, smiling at the two young men who stood there, glares permanently fixated on their faces.
“Hiya, care to let a girl in for a drink and to possibly talk to someone who knows a little something about bikes?”
The closet out of the two grinned at her, if you could even call it a smile, more like a leer; but nodded and she watched as the gate opened. She sped through, trying not to grimace as the gate closed again, much like a deal to the devil, freedom shutting up behind her. She parked her bike at the other end of the compound, noticing that everything the club needed was together; a club or pub, depending on your views, a mechanical garage and even what seemed to be a café. The last building threw her through a loop; since when did a garage or a club have a café built onto it?
Taking a moment to still herself, the woman made her to way to the pub trying not to let the obvious stares get to her as she approached the bar. The bartender was a stereotypic biker, tattoos and a beard that hid steeled eyes, but with lips that would have any woman or man climbing on a high for days. He smirked at her as she leant against the bar, eying off the alcoholic choices before her.
“What can I get you missy?” He spoke, eying her as fresh meat while he dried a glass. “Maybe some Doctor Pepper?”
The woman rolled her eyes and glared at him, before ordering. “Give me several shots of your best whiskey.”
The man raised a brow, before shuffling to the end of the bar, coming back with a bottle of Bruichladdich X4 Quadrupled Whiskey which had to be one of her favourites. She smiled and nodded her appreciation murmuring, “The good stuff, now you’re talking my language.”
Knocking back the first three shots without even batting an eyelid. She hissed blissfully as the burn hit her throat, closing her eyes while her body shivered as the alcohol heated her core. Taking her time, she finished the shots, letting her eyes take in the bar, as women bounced about wearing pieces of cloth that couldn’t even be seen as lingerie. A woman who looked more like a drag-queen than a woman, walked up to her, brows furrowed as she growled out, “Go back to preschool bitch, this is for adults.”
The still seated woman ignored the drag-queen and continued looking around. Finally, after taking in her fill, she turned back to the bartender who just smirked at her, “You are at the wrong place here lass. Someone as soft as you don’t belong in this world.”
She smirked back at him, motioning with her thumb to the heavy make-up woman, “And drag-queens do?”
The bartender snorted out a laugh shaking his head. “I like you Lass.”
She rolled her eyes and nodded back at him, “You seem nice, but I ain’t here to flirt. Anyone here could help me find Jaxon Moore?” The bartender froze, his eyes narrowing on her. “Why do you want to find him?”
The woman opened her mouth to tell him to mind his own business when a cry from behind them caught her attention. Now with her job, she heard a lot of cries so you’d think they’d blend together but no matter the amount of years that pass, she could still tell who was crying or screaming. Turning around, she was faced with a sight that she never thought she’d see again.
Blade Jackson stood with two other men, his mouth hanging open. She hadn’t seen him in at least three years and to say that he hadn’t changed was probably the understatement of the century. He still had the sandy blonde hair but instead of being in a buzz cut, it now hung past his chest, while his beard was still as trimmed as it had been back then. The major thing that had changed was his usually dirt-streaked skin was covered in tattoos. His arms, his neck and if she were to guess, so was his chest.
“Boss?” He stuttered, his eyes not leaving hers as she walked away from the bar, ignoring the fact that the room had gone quiet and advanced on him. Smiling softly, she caressed his cheeks that were already wet from tears.
“It’s great to see you Blade.” She whispered as arms the size of logs wrapped around her waist and hosted her up, spinning around. Laughing she smacked the back of his head, pleading for the ground. He just shook his head, holding her close.
“We... we thought you were dead.” He cried out, not paying attention to the fact that the other two men he had been accompanied with made their way over to them. But the woman did, it had been her job to notice everything. “Blayze is going to be in for a surprise. He ain’t due back until tomorrow.”
The eldest out of the two men chose that moment to interrupt. The woman looked at him, taking in his salt ‘n’ pepper hair, tattooed body under his jeans and leather cut, and greyish eyes that appeared to be watery. His voice rumbled through the bar, “Striker said you are searching for me?”
She nodded and pulled a folder out of her bag, her eyes staring him down. Taking the folder, he moved to a nearby booth and read through the numerous of papers, but the woman wasn’t paying attention. Blade had captured her attention again by scolding her. “I can see the blood through your shirt. What the fuck happened! You shouldn’t have rode with an injury.”
She sighed and shrugged him off, “It’s not anything important. How did you know I rode here?”
Blade scoffed, “You love bikes, of course you rode.”
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Jaxon watched as a woman came into the bar looking like she belonged somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t a biker’s club. Her leather jacket and jeans were the only part of her that worked with her environment. She had long brown hair, and it was styled to perfection; but that wasn’t what had gotten his attention about her. She was the splitting image, bar her hair, of his ol’ lady Sunniva. She had the same tanned skin that he had found out during his time with Sunniva was a Scandinavian trait; along with the shockingly bright eyes, no matter the colour.
Whiz and Blade were with him. Without his VP, the role of keeping him up to date on everything fell onto their shoulders. Whiz was the Road Captain, which had confused everyone due to his name. Everyone thought he was going to end up being the club’s technician, but the man couldn’t use a computer to save his life. Whereas Blade was his Enforcer, a man who was well deserving of his title. Ever since his return from the military along with his twin, Blade had been a hard worker. Jaxon had known the twins before their time in the army, and the carefree boys were gone, cold and shielded men came back. Whatever had happened over there, Jaxon wasn’t sure that he wanted to know.
Neither Blade nor Whiz had seen the woman speaking to Striker; but Jaxon had. A bing from his phone made him curious All the club members knew not to interrupt a meeting, so it had to be important. Reading the message he frowned, the woman at the bar was asking for him, why would a woman he had never met before want to talk to him? It didn’t take long for the meeting to finish, and they left the room, the other two probably in need of a stiff drink. They had barely made it out of the room when Blade cried out.
Now, Jaxon sat in a booth reading a file that the woman, who he still hadn’t gotten the name of, gave him. It was obvious that Blade knew the woman and vice versa, but Jaxon still didn’t know what it had to do with him. That was until the words on the papers shouted at him, jumping out and bitch-slapping him. The first page was a DNA testing, proving that the woman was the daughter of Sunniva. He wanted to scream and rip out his hair, his ol’ lady had a child that he didn’t know about. His eyes caught someone under the name of the mother, under Sunniva’s name was his own; next to the words ‘positive’ and ‘father’.
Jaxon sat there shocked. He and Sunniva had a child? One that was now standing in his club speaking to his enforcer. The tears that had been building since laying eyes on his wife’s doppelgänger fell, making it hard to read the next letter that was from a Military General, Brandon Miller. The words all jumbled together but after three times of reading the entire letter, he finally made sense of it. General Miller explained how he and his wife had come across Sunniva, dying from multiple bullet wounds. In her arms was a baby, one that still had the umbilical cord attached. Barely surviving long enough to name the child, Sunniva died and the Millers, not knowing who the family of the woman were, brought the child up. They had buried Sunniva in their backyard, so Annika, his daughter, could always be close to her.
Continuing to read, his body went still with the information. He looked up to where the woman, his daughter- Annika stood arguing with Blade that she wasn’t that badly injured. His eyes narrowed and rage burned through his veins; even though he hadn’t been there for her, this woman was his daughter and at that moment, she wasn’t a fully grown woman, but his little girl. He launched out of the booth and at her, his aura dangerous but his hands gentle as they tilted her head up. He fought off a smirk as he listened to her colourful curses at her adoptive father, but the smirk fell the moment he saw her neck. He could see that the skin was still black and blue, and he saw and felt the two patches that covered two bullet wounds, that according to the letter almost claimed her life.
Blade gasped and growled, pulling her to him as he demanded the truth. “I’ll ask again Boss, what happened?”
Jaxon stood there; hands clenched as he listened to them. How did Blade know her, and what was with the name ‘Boss’? As his President, he was the only boss in his life. Before he could ask, he saw a pair of Dog Tags hanging from her bruised neck.
Annika’s voice was soft as she calmly recounted the past few months to them. “The base was hit, too many insurgences to try to evacuate. A couple of us covered those who did run, whereas I stayed with the injured. There were too many men to try to carry out of there, so I acted as their shield and weapon. Nothing out of the norm, Blade.” She paused as Blade gritted his teeth. Sighing she nudged him with her shoulder, “I am fine!”
Blade snorted and gave her a hug, pulling her to one of the booths. Jaxon nodded at the man, grateful for his quick thinking. Whistling loud enough to capture everyone’s attention, Jaxon stood on top of the pool table, his voice echoing through the space.
“I know you all remember my Ol’ Lady,” there were cheers and sympathetic glances exchanged, but he ignored them. “This woman,” he pointed to Annika who was trying to hide behind Blade, a sight that was so adorable that Jaxon almost cried at, “is my lost daughter Annika. Sunniva may have left us too soon, bless her soul, but she gifted us with a princess, THE CLUB’S PRINCESS!”
The room erupted. Men shot up all eager to greet Annika, while all the whores glared and spat in fury. The Ol’ Ladies of the club cried, partly because majority of them had been friends with Sunniva, but also because they were excited to see the gem that was already burning her way into Jaxon’s heart.