I own nothing but my OC'S and my brilliant mind :P please let me know what you think!

Everyone wants to matter to someone, something, they want to belong to a cause, a place. They may deny it but it's there, buried so deep down they've all but forgotten that it's there. Take the MC for example, all one percenters joined together by the bond of brotherhood, by tthe small need to belong. Many bikers turn into family men, settling their bike in a small town for the pretty girl who stole their heart. Some can make it work, other's grow to resent their Old Ladies, their home and they give up trying to make it work. Choosing instead to leave on runs and fuck road pussy, getting drunk enough to smack down their woman and terrify their kids. It's then as an Old Lady you have to make the hard descions, either you stay, try to make it work, either you succed or you fail, or you run. Running is always risky, he can always choose to kill you, the hands that once loved your body will be the ones to end you. Sometimes when they find you, when he finds you, they'll let you go, they'll excommunicate you, they'll take your kids. The worst is when they don't come for you, it's the ever present lingering thought in the back of your mind, the way you look over your shoulder at every turn.

There's this story that every new Old Lady hears, it floats around, whispering in their ears, words of caution. A patch from a charter up north had been out on a run came home and found his woman gone. She'd always been a slut, a sweetbutt turned Old Lady, and had shacked up with younger patch from another charter. When her Old Man had found he'd been played the fool he'd had them hunted, not willing to let them disrespect him like that. Once he'd found them he'd made her watch as he tore into her lover before he started in on her, removing her heart from her still beating chest. No one ever says what happened to that Son, no one dares ask either. We all know the story and we all heed the warning it carries with it.

I had met Rane Quinn when I was 18, waitressing at a tiny dump of a diner. His dark eyes and tattooed arms, combained with his smile had sucked me right in. He'd taken me by suprise, asking me to share his apple pie and walking me home. We continued it for months, every week he'd end up on my door step and we'd just ride until we got tierd. One night he showed up, cut to hell and black vested he looked primal, a man's man. I had no clue that he was a Son, he was the type of guy my daddy had warned me away from. Rane started bringing me into the club more and more, then one day I was taking his tattoo.

Being a good Old Lady meant the tattoo, something to mark me as his, something I hadn't fully realized the weight of yet. It scared me but then I realized this was Rane, the man who knew I liked to dunk my sour cream & onion chips in my coca-cola, who knew I loved Metallica. He'd never once raised as much as his voice to me, he had been my leather clad night riding in on a dyna. He would hold me when the fall rain hit and I was just so miserable, he'd rock me to sleep.

The first couple years had been the easiest, Cami and Allie, our twin girls had been born. Rane had been thrilled when I told him the news, the whole club was extremly supportive, they'd filled the waiting room, waiting to see our girls. They both looked more like me, blonde hair and clear eyes, they had been so quiet. When the girls had turned four we had found out I was pregant, the news couldnt have come at a better time. The club had discovered a rat, the charter was slowly falling apart, it suprised me at how much it bound them all together again. Our little cottage had been traded up to a huge peice of land with a old style victorian home, plently of room for our growing family.

I was about 6 months pregnant and shopping with Lemmy, one of our oldest patches when shots rang out, catching me in the stomach. I just remember the sharp pain and knowing I had just lost my babies, waking up in the hospital room with Rane sitting by my side. I had lost our little boy but our little girl had survived, 3 months premature she was in the incubator, I couldn't even touch her. Rane had named her Elaine Quinn, pale with red splotches and so incredibly tiny but I didn't love her, not the way a mother should. I used to drop Cami and Allie off at day care and sit by Elaine, trying to feel something beside the sympathy, the pity, the anger that consumed me. After 2 and a half months in the incubator she was finally ready to come home, ready to make her way into the arms of a mother who couldnt love her.

With her dark hair and chocolate eyes she looked so much like Rane, I guess she knew I couldn't love her, she didnt like it much when I'd touch her. She cried non stop and I started taking to leaving her crying while smoking out on the deck. My older girls grew more vibrant, more beautiful as I came to resent Elaine, Rane, the MC, they had stolen my little boy from me. I'd watch other mother's with their boys and the green eyed monster would eat away at me.

Our life together slowly fell apart, I'd turned to perscription meds and booze while he was never around. He'd patched Nomad, he said they needed him but I knew better, I knew it was to get away from me. Michelle, the presidents wife had caught on to what I was up to, called Rane and booked me into rehab. 4 months later and I left a changed woman, sober, clean and in love with another man. He had been my docter, together we plotted my escape, I'd take Cami and Allie, leave Elaine with Rane and we'd run. We ended up in Canada, he had property there and my girls would thrive, they wouldnt live in the cruel world of cheating men and dead babies. I felt bad leaving Elaine there like that but she wasnt my daughter, she was Rane's, she had a grit to her my girls didnt.

I saw Rane a couple years after I had left, his dyna was parked in my driveway, the door slightly ajar. Sitting in my living room like he had every right, feet on the table he just stared at me. I knew somewhere deep down he wasnt here to hurt me, just laid out the facts. Elaine thought I was dead, that Cami and Alli had went with me, I was not permitted to contact any of them every again. It wasn't until after he'd left that I noticed he must have taken the photo above the mantle, the one of our girls. Everything was quiet, there was no peep from the MC, life continued on. I wouldnt hear from them for years, it was almost a bad dream that wouldnt leave.

Lane had tracked me down, waiting until her sisters left for the day before she confronted me, asking me why I turned on her father that way. Asking me why I wasn't there when she was laid up in a coma, if I even gave a damn. The woman standing in front of me had taken the life she'd been given and made it her own, made it work for her in ways I never could. She'd told me she was pregnant, she knew I was dying, all she wanted to know was why I'd turn my back on my family. The answer was out of my mouth before I knew it, my family was here, in this house, this new life I built for us. She'd nodded, her eyes hardned and she'd pushed past me, I caught the flash of a crow, it was the last I saw of her.

I died in my bed surrounded by my children, my body had shut down due to all the abuse I had put it through, coupled by the shooting. I watched my family mourn my loss as much as I could, Allie and Cami had barely shed tears, my husband was there, arms wrapped around his new blonde. I stayed and watched as Elaine Quinn-Lowman cried at my grave when everyone left, heard her forgiveness. I was finally free of the hurt and the pain, of the choices I regreted the most.