Annika Miller had a great life. Her father was an upstanding member of the military, and she followed in his footsteps. But when her life was almost claimed by Death to die to the war, her father finally told her truth. She wasn't his daughter.
Join...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
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 of 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."
