This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Please do not distribute this work before contacting me. And refrain from duplicating my original characters. That just cheeses me off. :)

**Warning! Explicit Content**

There will be references to, and actual, non-consensual sex. References to molestation, and light BDSM. I apologise for any upset this may cause, but I'm warning you now. If you take offence to such things, including scenes of a sexual nature, swearing and violence - please do not read any further.

If you're still reading...

I hope you enjoy! :)

STEVIE

Present Day

It never took very long for the nausea to set in, to be honest. This life had actually peaked, and I wasn't in the least bit ready for it to be the end. My body was exhausted with the monotonous life I lead but my mind was young, vibrant and ready to get the hell out of Dodge, but here I was. Sitting at my work desk, surrounded by people – that liked me, don't get me wrong – but still, I had this over bearing feeling that I was nowhere I'd ever expected to have been in life.

Jesus, does anyone really reach their true potential when their graced with such a fucked up parentage. And I know, everybody hits that time in their life when your 30th birthday looms ever closer, and you're suddenly smacked in the face - with a really hard fist - telling you "hey, times up, this is what you've made of your life, are you happy? Are you? Are you?"

No. Fuck you.

Of course I wasn't happy.

I was practically a virgin. And not just in the sexual sense. I was your bona fide novice with most things in life. I was just really good at pretending. I could pretend I knew all about how to handle relationships but I'd never really been in one – one that counted anyway. Sure, I'd coupled with a rare few but looking back, I don't think barely legal one night stands, and ugly infatuations really cut the mustard. The last time I'd even resembled an attractive woman, was when I'd finally plucked up the courage to dance with that cute guy on the very edge of the dance floor, but it soon ended when he'd sauntered passed me, and headed straight for my friend. Luck of the damned draw, right? Was she even considered my friend if she happily accepted his advances? I've given up trying to work it out. I'd practically spent my entire young adult life as a permanent third wheel. How bloody embarrassing! And, you know what... I honestly don't know how it ended up this way. Where in the fucking hell did I go wrong? Who the hell had I wronged in another past life? Maybe it was karma? I don't know. God, she was a bitch, right?

I wasn't completely dire straits. I may be overreacting a bit. I did that. A lot. I'd had some fun. I'd mingled. I'd teased plenty of pricks, all in the name of innocence, because I'd never really had the gumption to follow through with my desires. I'd strutted my stuff too, but when your friends all hook up, and the babies start arriving, it's inevitable that you really have to start looking at yourself in the mirror. And it's awful when the reality hits you, and you really are the one left on the fucking shelf. All because you thought so lowly of yourself that you couldn't comprehend that somebody actually found you attractive. I wanted to be picked up from the shelf, Goddammit! I wanted some attention, and not the kind I'd had to bargain some of my dignity for. There'd been too many times that guys had assumed that friend zone, all because I couldn't ever suck up the courage, or simply because, they were too darned ugly. I was pretty, wasn't I? I wanted to be poached. I wanted to be loved. I wanted the drama. I wanted the arguments, the make-up sex. I wanted a real man. I wanted to be owned! Possessed even!

Was it really too much to ask for?

Or maybe I really did live in a fantasy world? Oh shut the fuck up, and let me dream. It was a damned sight better than my reality. Speaking of which...

"Do you think you'll be able to make those reports read right? I've been staring at them all day, but I know you're good at that stuff, so... would you mind, Nix?"

Yeah, I'd bloody mind. You get paid more than me, yet here I am – with more skills than your right finger.

"Yeah, I'll take a look for you..." I smiled pleasantly, expectantly, at my desperate-looking boss because that's what I did. I always fucking helped. "...but don't forget I've got all of Janet's work to cover as well. She's on holiday remember! But, just... yeah, give me 'til the end of the day. I'll see what I can do okay?"

At first my bottom lip had drooped as I stared at my boss Paul, because the audacity of the man always astounded me. Expecting me to work miracles whilst juggling my own oversized workload, plus another team members that had called in sick for the umpteenth day.

Why didn't I just call in sick? I'd get paid for it. I'd been at the company a fair while to be considered a part of the furniture. But alas, I never wanted to let anybody down. Was that a character flaw? Is that why I was still left on the shelf? Jesus, so many questions, and yet so few people to give a damned shit.

Paul couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery but he was nice. An over-excitable child, about 5 years older than me but he was friendly and likeable. Loveable even. Dammit! I guess I was staying late tonight after all.

I really had no idea my life was going to take such a drastic change of direction, but apparently it was.

STUBS

4 years before present day

That sound always jerked my heart, even though I'd been behind these bars longer than originally sentenced, it still got the ribcage rattling when the iron gate clanked shut behind me, though. The cell was comfortable. I'd had certain luxuries that weren't necessarily prohibited but that's what time had allowed for. That's what brotherhood granted me. A rocky road of brotherhood to say the least, but shit, I'd stay my whole life behind these bars if that's what was needed.

Time had given me that bitter taste in my mouth though. It wasn't like I had the freedom to right my wrongs, and if I was given the chance to, I'd probably never make it two steps ahead before I'd chicken out and run for the hills. Even thinking about my girl's face choked me up, and that was something she'd never have believed in a million years either. If I ever had the guts to show her that was. God, I was a shit father.

I'd been hard-faced, too stoic and possessive for far too long with my youngest daughter's life. She'd fabricated a lot of hate for me because of it. Oh, fuck it – who the hell was I kidding? I deserved every bit of hatred she had for me. I'd always loved that pedestal I rested on when she was a kid, but hell – it hurt like a mother-fucker when I'd come crashing down. I loved her too strongly. I protected her too fiercely. And apparently, that sort of love damaged young girls. I'd not seen or heard from her in 8 years.

She was still my baby girl though. Shit, how old was she now? How old was her sister now? Jesus, I'd really fucked up. After all I'd done for them. After all I'd been doing for them. Neither of them gave me the light of day. Yeah, so it seemed I was bitter about that. Any father that gave a shit would be bothered, right? And oh God, I really gave a shit. I really, really did. I loved them with all my heart, but being in that shitting brotherhood was probably the first nail in my coffin. I hadn't realised until it was too late. I was sucked in too deep, and it had taken a lifetime to find freedom.

If only my girls were surrounded by the brothers I had now. They'd have never gone without, and my youngest would have had no bastard try touch her. That arse-hole was lucky I only exiled him. That event had broken me. Broken my belief in the solidarity I thought was paramount in brotherhood. If he'd actually touched her, he would have been dirt deep before the next sunrise. But thank whatever Gods watched over me that day, my baby girl was none-the-damned-wiser. Too young to comprehend that shit. At least I had hoped she was.

Death's Dogs were the lowest of the low. And looking back on my life now, God - I was really ashamed to admit I loved the Dog's at one point. They'd been my whole life, I'd even lead the fuckers but being State side, and meeting Ted had changed my view completely. The brotherhood of the Dogs was a very low comparison to what it was like within the Hell's Hounds. They knew true friendship. What it meant to be family.

I'd jumped ship. Been a Hound for the last 7 and half years, and it was too bad a chapter like the Hell's Hounds never graced the shores of sunny England when I was a boy. I would have prospected my heart out for a club like that but it was the Death's Dogs that sucked me in. How on earth I managed Sergeant at Arms at such a young age, I'd had no idea. Wait. Yes I did. I was a ruthless bastard, a requirement that fitted the bill perfectly and it was a natural fit. Being President however, was not!

A shit storm had been brewing from the summer of '98, and it wasn't until a few years later – after the deaths had simmered down – that I was voted in as President of the Death's Dogs. It all happened by chance, I was convinced – at the time – that the only reason I was voted in was because I was the only original one left. All the old bastards that were there when I prospected had long since past, and after the turf war lead to the execution of my friend – and President – Jimmy Shire, I was the only one that bared the battle scars and was able to grow a fucking beard.

Being President wasn't all bad though. Of course it wasn't. We ruled the south-west coast and protected our way of life. The wife had been along for the ride – back then – and my daughters were what changed me for the better. I was a young father at 18, and I'd resorted to prospecting to make ends meet but Jimmy had seen something in me. I was bumped to Sergeant at Arms within the first 5 years of owning my top rocker. Looking back now, I realise it wasn't much to do with the fact Jimmy had liked me personally, it was all because blood never bothered me. I'd be the first in and always the last out; body parts trailing behind. It really was a way of life – that you could either handle or not. It certainly wasn't for the faint hearted. This life was rough. On everybody.

My daughters mother, my wife back then – still my wife in fact, at least I'd not received notification of such a change of heart – had been the rock of the club. The Death's Dogs cherished her. Shit, I still thought about her in this cell. She had the best butt I'd ever seen in her trade mark tight dark jeans, and I'd spent – correction, still spent – a lot of my time here using images of her from my memory bank. She had a rack to die for. Oh, and fuck... she was a great mother too. Yeah, I can't forget that. Jesus, I missed her. Her name – Jules – was carved into the cinder block of my cell. Cliche I know, but it was the thing to do. Men before me had etched countless names in the walls of my cell and I'd felt obliged to carry the torch.

Haven't heard from Jules in 8 years either. Was she really still my wife? Fuck, I hoped so. I'd kill the mother-fucker she laid with whilst I rot in this damned hole. Fuck the biker prison clause, she was mine and nobody else's. It was an awakening thought from memory lane, as I propped myself against the wall beside my bed.

"Stubs"

I heard the light whistle in the dark, and I blinked through the misty blur of night when my name was whispered from down the row of cells. I lightly whistled back my awareness and then watched as the guard walked solemnly passed my bars, flicking in a screwed up piece of paper. That was Russell 'Rusty' Buyers; a regular runner for the club: a good kid. He'd often work the night shift on guard duty when Teddy required it.

The note was from Teddy too.

'It's bad news my friend. Dyno knows!'

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

That mother-fucker would be the end of me. I needed to get the hell out of this place, back to England, back to my girls, my wife... and back to what I should have done the first time Dyno crossed the line. Where the fuck was that time machine?

STEVIE

Present Day

My following day at work hadn't been any more eventful than the day before. I'd finished the overload of work that my boss had winged my way the night before, and I'd briefly contemplated hitting a pub for a drink afterwards to wind down. But shit, I didn't do that sort of thing. At least, the new me didn't.

I'd been stuck in this rut for 8 bloody years, but the east coast of England was nice. The scenery didn't much differ from the south-west, and it did feel like I was at home now. I just knew that it wasn't. My love for family kept me focused I guess. Last night – with my mum – had been difficult. I still lived at home. Yeah, that's right – nearly 30 years old and I still rocked the terrace house with my Mummy. How fucking sad!

I'd got home from work, and it wasn't much different from any other night except – now my mum was more freaked than usual. She was convinced she saw that same damned rider cruise passed the house and at snail speed no less, and now she spiked with adrenaline that scared the shit out of me. I was glad for my job. Getting away from her anxiety was a godsend. I was easily pulled into her bubble of despair, and quite frankly I was kinda hoping that what she saw was real. We needed some damn drama in our lives. Our pitiful, boring lives needed the thrill of bikes again.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I really missed that part of my life. It wasn't beyond lost on me how unfair and ungrateful I sounded, especially when I hated the very person that brought that part of my life alive. Where the hell was he anyway? The last mum had told me was – 'business' – and, well, it looked like business for my father was a hell of a lot longer than most folks. Fucking arse-hole! Deadbeat piece of shit.

Life had been mundane since mum woke me and my sister in the night. Whispering like a crazed ghost as she pleaded with us to follow her to the parked Warrior, and evidently – get the fuck out of town! Maybe my life had been somewhat sheltered before that night 8 years ago. Maybe I was a little spoilt and worshipped but I wasn't fucking stupid. Mum had finally grown the brass balls required to run like the wind away from him. I felt liberated for her – back then, at age 21 – I was enthralled by the excitement of it all. Now, not so much. I missed the Dogs terribly. I still didn't understand why nobody called us. How lonely, after a lifetime of solid family!

Today was it though. I'd had enough of staring at my friends lives and wishing it was me. The clock hit five-thirty and I sure as shit wasn't going home. I'd been invited by friends to attend a house gathering. Exciting stuff.

My friend Jessica – who lived with her 2.4 children – always invited me for tea every so often. I think it was just out of pity, or she really was just showing off her house and wonderful life, I couldn't make my mind up on that one. Fuck! I'd become so cynical and bitter. I seriously needed to get laid or something, because I really was feeling depressed about my life. My friends were nice people. I was nice with them too. We really were good friends, it's just sometimes, your inner bitch really shines when you're constantly surrounded by shit that you crave for yourself. Jealousy was ugly!

Coming out of work, walking in the car park straight to my car – I heard the thunder of the bike before I saw it. It blasted passed my work in a flash of dark black, and the dude was clearly over the speed limit – but that was half the thrill wasn't it? Grinning like a Cheshire cat, my head down watching my feet walk to my car, I felt like I knew a secret nobody else knew. Like my mind was the only mind capable of understanding how it felt to be on the back of one of those machines. Damn, I was such a dork!

AN

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