Pixie, First Daughter of Anarchy: Book 2

Back Together

WARNING: Mention of Blood, Panic Attacks & Smut

The night was cold as Pixie slipped on her helmet and mounted her new pink Harley bike, her sharp eyes set on the two prospects, Gunny and Brick, driving an unmarked beaten up navy blue van as they left the main road for Highton. They began to travel out of the sleepy seaside town and out further into the quiet countryside. Pixie kept her headlight off as she began to tail the van, making sure to stay in the vehicle's blind spot. She'd seen the van coming and going off and on over the past couple of years, but had never thought much of it, until Bruce refused to tell her what it was for after she patched in as Vice President. He'd lied to her face, told it was just a van they used to transport machinery for the garage, but Pixie had seen the tells on her dad's face, the way the corner of his eyes creased ever so slightly when he was being deceitful, and Pixie wanted to know why. Pixie looked up at the night sky, pitch black and full of thousands of little headlights shining down on her. She homed in on Orion's Belt, the three little white lights in a row, and thought of Nicky and Piper, it had been almost eight years, and Pixie missed them still desperately, her sisters taken by a monster of greed in a silver suit. Pixie wished they were with her now; she always did when she felt most alone. The sting of longing was especially bad right now, tailing the van on the deserted country road knowing that whatever she was about to discover wasn't going to be good. The van turned off the winding country road, going left and barrelling through a metal gateway which had been pushed open, leading to a small warehouse. Pixie couldn't make out many details in the darkness, but as the headlights of the van caught the front of the warehouse as it approached, she spotted 'Highton Imports' painted on a white sign above the big rusty red bay doors to the warehouse. It was a brick and corrugated iron building and looked pretty run down, though there was a light on inside, visible through the gap in the bay doors. Pixie zipped behind a skip and turned off her bike's engine before she could be noticed by the prospects and whoever was inside. Gunny and Brick were in their late twenties, the newest additions to the club. Gunny was fresh out of the military, he'd been a marine sergeant before he'd suffered a headwound, losing his vision in his right eye and had been honourably discharged. He was around five feet ten inches and had a runner's body, strong and lean, along with a squarish face and strawberry blonde hair. He had one hazel eye, the other concealed by a black patch. Brick was much taller, around six-foot-three inches, he was heavyset and had bulging muscles with a rounded face, light brown eyes, and chestnut hair. Pixie watched them get out of the van, hoods up over their heads and their black leather kuttes on their backs. This was official Sons business then, Pixie thought as she went low and stalked them in the shadows, getting closer to the van and ducking down behind couple of empty oil drums. The faint smell of fish permeated the air, and Pixie wrinkled her nose in confusion, running through a series of possibilities as to what could be going on and getting a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Brick ambled forwards and rapped on the bay door three times with his knuckles before coming back to the van and helping Gunny open it. Between them, they unloaded a couple of metal barrels that came up to their waists, they looked heavy and the smell of fish became stronger, only adding to Pixie's confusion. They bay doors opened and four men strode out towards the van, casting yellowish light across the drive and giving Pixie more sight to further investigate. Pixie didn't recognise any of the men from the warehouse, they were all middle-aged, Caucasian, average height, and all were wearing jeans, brown coats, dark coloured work boots and black beanie hats on their heads. Pixie couldn't make out any more details than that due to the low light and her obscured vision between the barrels

"Evenin' fellas. Right on time, Callum'll help ye move these indoors fer packin'. Five guns in each, just like last time, aye?" One of them greeted the two prospects, Pixie couldn't tell which one, but the second the man spoke with a thick Irish accent, Pixie felt her heart stop.