A/N: Hi guys! Alright, so this is the second-to-last part of this story. It delves into the story and plot more, and so you'll realize that the romance and fluff between Klaus and Caroline has taken a back seat. Rest assured, there will be smut in the final chapter!
Enjoy!
xXx
CeruleanBlues
Blue Jeans
Part 4
I will love you till the end of time
I would wait a million years
Promise you'll remember that you're mine
Baby can you see through the tears?
His name was Atticus Shane, a fresh prospect to one of Crescent Wolf Clan's allies, The Five, and it didn't take much for Klaus and the rest of The Originals to figure out that Silas, the club's president, was behind the orders to snoop in the bar and gather Intel. No foot soldier carried out plans without his leader's instructions, and the Mikaelson demanded to know why an informant had been planted to target Caroline. She had no relation in this feud.
Word had probably made it back to the club that Atticus was as good as dead, and Klaus was geared up and ready for the fight that would await them as soon as they arrived. He wouldn't put it past the Labonairs to stick their filthy noses in and poke at matters like the cowards that they were, hiding behind other outlaw motorcycle groups.
Tyler rode upfront, leading the pack, twenty bikers behind him as they thundered down the highway in their chariots. The rumbling of the engines was their battle call; their colors proudly displayed on their backs, fueling the power flaring up in Klaus' being. He turned to face his brother, the Vice President, rolling next to him, and knew that the little squirt was just as antsy to get his hands dirty, the need for vengeance radiating off him in waves, and in a rare moment, Klaus was filled with a sense of pride. He caught Stefan's reflection in his side mirror that extended to his other fellow brothers and grinned.
Mikael would've loved this.
As a tribute to his father, Klaus revved his bike. The sentiment was echoed back to the group, all the way to the last prospect, and as a final salute, he pulled a pistol out from his shoulder holster, raised it to the sky, and fired three punctuated rounds.
"Hello, ladies."
Caroline glanced up, pausing in her task of chopping some carrots, and found a dozen or so men flooding into the clubhouse. Almost immediately, she recognized Marcel. With his confident strut and domineering presence, there was absolutely no question that the dark-skinned man at the head of the group was the President of the Ohio chapter. Despite his intimidating demeanor, he greeted her with a warm smile.
"Well, well, well," Rebekah crooned from her spot on the couch, where she had been meticulously painting her nails a bright shade of rouge. "Look what the cat dragged in."
"Always a pleasure to see you too, Bekah." His molten eyes twinkled impishly. "Might I remind you how ravishing you look in red?"
Arching an eyebrow, the blonde simply flipped him off with her middle finger. Marcel chuckled good-naturedly—obviously used to the woman's volatile personality—and turned his searching gaze at the other Old Lady in the room. His interest was piqued.
"And you must be the intriguing Caroline Forbes."
She refused to falter under his intense scrutiny, because damn it, she wasn't a piece of meat to be ogled by anybody. He could be fucking Zeus for all she cared; she wasn't going to be objectified like somebody's property, no matter how the men in the club perceived her to be. She wasn't Klaus' toy, so she wasn't as hell going to let them think she was. Perhaps it was as such where they were from, however, this was Klaus'—and by association, her—territory, and she wouldn't hesitate to put Marcel in his place, with or without shooting his balls.
"I see you've heard of me," she replied, sarcastically sweet.
"Ah," he nodded. "Klaus did mention about that feisty attitude. Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm not here to cause you any discomfort, and I'm sure your President would hear about it if I were to stir some shit, so you can relax. My men and I are here to hold the fort down; nothing else."
Caroline tilted her head, faking contemplation, but knowing that every word was true. "Well, in that case, gentleman, make yourselves at home."
They pulled up at a tattoo parlor—a two-storey shop house that was most definitely used as a front to disguise any drug-related activities—and lined their bikes up in a neat row directly facing the six other Harleys belonging to their rival MC.
It was show time.
Kol had a bat in his grasp. Stefan preferred his trusted bo staff for easy wielding. Damon loved his firearms too much to bother jumping into a brawl, and Tyler had multiple knives on his person. Klaus, though, he was a man after the old-fashioned fistfight. He thoroughly enjoyed the crunch of bones underneath his knuckles and the cracking of skulls against hard surfaces. To him, that was more satisfying than sending a bullet straight through someone's head.
They stalked up to the shop and barged in.
There were four customers on the ink beds being attended to plus three others in accompaniment, all of whom either screamed or gasped at the sudden intrusion. Aside from the artists, two other patch members were present. Reflexively, they jumped to their feet, reaching for their nearest weapons.
"Sorry, folks," Klaus announced as he flipped the sign on the door. "Shop's closed."
People scrambled to leave the premises—that one terrified teenager barely able to cover her torso with her shirt—and when the last of the civilians had fled, the two motorcycle clubs faced each other in a stand-off. Klaus cocked his head, studying his enemies—bloody prospects sent as sacrificial lambs—and that in itself ought to tip him off that something wasn't adding up. Sure, these imbeciles were showing their loyalties to the club, but at least one Enforcer was usually there to lead the charge.
"I see Silas sent some fucking cockroaches to do his bidding," Kol sneered, languidly swinging his bat back and forth. "Let's make this easy. Which one of you would like to live, and then run back to daddy and cry on his shoulders?"
Klaus strode back to the tip of his group. "Come on, lads. We're giving you a choice, because you and I both know that the only way you lot are getting out of her are in those fucking body bags we've brought along with us."
"Or," the other Mikaelson chimed in. "You could just tell us who killed our Chapter President, and maybe we'll think of letting you go."
Either way, that didn't spell good news to any of those six members cowering before them. Snitching was a punishable offence in any biker bylaws; some would rather die than tell on the club.
"How about some motivation, then?" Klaus took another sinister step forward before gesturing at the exit. "Open the door," he instructed one of his men, and then with a theatrical swipe of his hand, he added, "now, who would like to go first?"
Apparently, nobody did.
Calculative glances were mutely exchanged.
Klaus heaved an impatient sigh and plucked the knife from Tyler's belt. He weighed the weapon in his hand, and then tossed it languidly straight in the air before catching the sharpened blade by its tip. "I really don't have all day for this shit." With effortless grace, he launched it across the room, impaling his intended victim right between the eyes.
Man down.
"Son of a bitch!"
All hell broke loose.
It was a suicidal attempt on his enemy's part, and for a fraction of a beat, he pitied the fools dumb enough to surrender their lives for a patch that they might never see on their backs. They might have better luck begging on their knees and kissing his arse for mercy, but he knew that they wouldn't crawl out of that shop alive.
Klaus had a prospect by the front of his shirt, his face a bloodied mess and was fast losing consciousness. Perhaps he ought to carve his heart out of his chest and feed it to the vultures out in the dessert.
"When you see him in hell, tell Silas I said hi."
Marcel had stepped out for a while to answer a call, and Caroline took that opportunity to pull Rebekah into the kitchen in the pretense that she needed some help with the cooking. If the others found it odd—considering the youngest Mikaelson couldn't crack an egg to save her life—nobody made a mention of it.
"What is it that's so important that you can't wait for my nails to dry?" she huffed, inspecting the damage on her layer of coating.
"Something's not right. I don't trust Marcel," Caroline murmured as she turned to continue stirring the broth in the pot. "He's being a bit too shifty for my liking. Did you realize how he hasn't once sat down? He'll run a hole in the carpet with the way he keeps pacing back and forth."
Rebekah rolled her eyes. "He's on guard duty, Caroline, what do you think? Obviously he's not here to lounge around and sip on cocktails."
"Yes, but why isn't he getting his damn prospects to patrol our perimeters instead of cooping them all in here like a bunch of chickens? It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that a look-out would do wonders in case of an attack. Where did they learn their tactical strategies from, Spongebob Squarepants?"
"You know, if I didn't know what a neurotic control freak you are, I'd just think you're a delusional whack job," the other blonde snickered. "Look, Marcel's been with The Originals since forever, and his loyalties to the club earned him the Ohio chapter. He's paid his dues and he's definitely got blood on his hands for Mikael, so believe me, you have nothing to worry about. Let the big boys handle their shit and we'll just do what we do best."
Caroline arched an eyebrow. "Which is…?"
"Be the fucking eye candy they come home to, of course."
"That's tragically shallow."
"You don't get to talk," Rebekah countered. "You're the president's Old Lady."
Scrunching her nose up, Caroline pointed the ladle in the other blonde's direction. "You know, I don't think it means what you think it means."
"It means," Rebekah paused to snatch the utensil out of Caroline's grasp. "That you don't have to tolerate anybody's bullshit. You get to fuck people up every now and then, and you get to come up with some really creative ways of hazing the prospects."
"That's just—"
Gunshots rang high out front, cutting her mid-sentence, and before Caroline could register what the hell was going on, Rebekah had tackled her to the ground. They landed hard against the center island as the violence escalated on the other side.
"Stay down," she hissed.
They were under attack.
Shouts and yells could be heard coming from the common area as the two women hid behind the cabinets. Curled up in a ball, Caroline's first instinct was to shield her head and squeeze her eyes shut, but her terror-stricken muscles were hardly cooperating. She flinched at every loud crash, every trigger pulled, every agonizing cry of pain, and willed to every God and deity above to end the horror.
"Where is she? Find Klaus' bitch!"
Caroline gasped. "What?"
"Fucking hell, why the fuck are they after you?" Rebekah asked through gritted teeth.
"Search the rooms, you piece of shit!" someone else hollered.
Glass shattered overhead. Shards rained down on them like a deluge of razorblades, and Caroline winced as they sliced through her skin. A couple of them were lodged in her arm, but the sharp stings were fast forgotten in the height of her adrenalin as she darted her gaze around in search for a safer place. Pressed up next to her, Rebekah muttered curses and promises of death under her breath.
They needed to get the fuck out of there.
"Rebekah, listen," she whispered urgently. "There's a truck out the back. Do you know how to hot-wire it?"
Blood was trickling down the side of Rebekah's flawless cheek. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Do you know where the keys are?"
"How the fuck should I know? That truck belongs to Damon," Rebekah grumbled. "He could be keeping the keys between his arse for all I care."
Caroline released a shuddering exhale. "Well, let's just hope it's in there, then."
"What? Why?"
"We're making a run for it."
"You are clearly out of your fucking mind," Rebekah shrieked. "We'll get ourselves killed!"
The shots have subsided, and Caroline could only surmise that the majority of them were either dead or seriously wounded, which meant that it was the perfect time to make an escape.
Her bluish-green eyes blazed with determination. "If we stay down here, they'll find us, and we might or might not get shot either way."
"Check the fucking kitchen, Ray!"
Rebekah groaned. "Fine! But you get to go first."
"Alright," Caroline nodded. "On three. One, two, three!"
She made a dash for the back door—a good couple of feet away—and scrambled to turn the knob. Her hands were shaking; the beads of sweat clinging to her forehead, and heavy footsteps were approaching, but the damn thing just wouldn't open.
"It's stuck!"
"Jiggle it!"
The door finally gave way, but before Caroline could take another step, a shrill scream had her whipping back around. She froze at the sight: a terrified Rebekah Mikaelson on her knees, lips trembling and tears streaming down her blood-stained face, with a gun pointed to her temple by a member of The Five, and a chill ran down her spine.
"Make one move and I'll blow her fucking brains out," the low-life minion viciously threatened.
"No, don't!" she blurted out. "Let her go. It's me you want, right? Take me then."
A figure loomed behind her.
"With pleasure."
The last thing she felt was a sharp jab to her neck before the world turned black.
"What the fuck—"
Klaus had ever been truly scared only twice in his entire life—when he had to break the news to his mother that her husband had been murdered, and when he received Elijah's life imprisonment sentence—but the instant he stepped into the clubhouse and saw the grotesque carnage, he very nearly crumbled on the spot. Horrified by the sheer bloodbath, he stumbled in with the others in tow. His chest constricted as the scenes uncovered, only becoming worse the deeper he ventured. Once the fear ebbed, the anger took over, encompassing every fiber of his being.
"Marcel!" he bellowed, his booming voice reverberating off the walls. "Marcel!"
"Shit, Bekah!" Stefan ran past him towards the kitchen, and Klaus didn't hesitate to follow him. His sister was sprawled on the littered floor, knocked out cold with scrapes and bruises marring her porcelain skin, and the Seargeant-at-Arms wasted no time cradling her in his arms as he gently tried to coax her into opening her eyes.
"Fuck, where's Caroline?" the irate president demanded. "Caroline! Bloody hell, Caroline!" A gnawing dreadful feeling churned in his gut when he failed to receive a response, but he refused to believe that she was dead. Turning to the others lurking about, he barked, "Damn it, find her! Now!"
The men immediately scattered off in different directions, and Klaus averted his attention back to his beloved sister. "Please tell me that she's breathing, Stefan."
"She's going to be fine, Klaus," the younger Salvatore assured him calmly. "I'm going to take her to the ER, alright? Get her checked out, make sure there's nothing serious."
His response came instantly.
"Go."
Klaus stood at the center of the room, glaring down at the array of discarded weapons and the seas of bodies bathed in crimson, and sought to search for one that belonged to his fellow chapter president. He spent a good couple of seconds with his head bowed in respect for his fallen brothers, vowing to scour down even the smallest of cracks in search for the ones responsible for this massacre, and to avenge each and every single one of their deaths till the very end.
It had been a trap. He knew that it had been way too easy taking down those prospects, but it was nothing more than a cheap distraction. How had he fucking missed that? Hadn't he learned anything from Mikael? And now, his complacency was going to cost him dearly. If anything were to happen to Caroline, he didn't think he would ever forgive himself. Grabbing the first object he could find—a cheap factory-made glass ashtray—he flung it across the room in frustration.
"Klaus?"
He spun around as Marcel staggered in from the back door, battered, with a gunshot wound to his left arm that he had managed to wrap up with a strip of cloth. His bottom lip was split open and there was a nasty gash across his forehead, but other than that, he appeared like any sane person would after such an ordeal; exhausted and defeated. Two other members crept up behind him—both equally as thrashed as their leader—and although the sight of his family alive should spark some sense of relief, the only thing that Klaus could see was their failure in defending their fort, and he was certain that if his father was still alive, he wouldn't accept such incompetence. Chances were, Mikael would probably put a bullet into his boys' heads himself, no questions asked.
And Klaus was positively livid.
Marcel could sniff the other president's fury a mile away, and at once, his hands shot out in surrender. "Klaus—Klaus, you've got to believe me, we tried—"
He drew his gun and pointed it straight at his friend just as Kol re-entered the room.
"Whoa, hey, Nik—"
"Mikael would've shot you and not batted an eyelash," he snarled, his cold blue eyes glued to Marcel's stunned expression. "But I'm going to extend the courtesy that my father never did and grant you the mercy of explaining yourself. Where the hell is Caroline?"
"They took her," the quaking man declared. "Silas came with an ambush; we didn't see it coming. They came with trucks instead of their bikes, and we didn't have a lookout. Nobody heard anything, and then all of a sudden, they attacked. I was busy and I couldn't protect the girls, and before I knew it, Silas had taken Caroline and Rebekah without me knowing."
"He left Rebekah here," Klaus informed him darkly. "We found her lying in the kitchen unconscious and Stefan's brought her to the hospital. Count yourself fucking lucky, mate, because if Silas had taken Rebekah too, you wouldn't be here breathing right now."
"I—I'm sorry," Marcel apologized, visibly despondent as he gestured all around him. "I let everybody down and it kills me; I lost my chapter, damn it. I shouldn't have allowed that to happen, and in any case, it wouldn't have happened, but we were grossly outnumbered."
Slowly, Klaus lowered his firearm as he regarded the other man with a certain degree of suspicion. "What do you mean we were outnumbered? The Five isn't a big MC. At most, they have about ten to fifteen full-patched members, and those prospects that they had sent to bait us were nothing but filth. How were we outnumbered?"
"Some of the men didn't have any colors on."
Kol nudged at the nearest corpse with his boot, rolling it over on its stomach, and true enough, its back was bare. "He's right, Nik. Bloody bastards. You know what that means, right?"
"Nomads," Klaus spat out.
"They're recruiting free riders now?" Damon piped up, his face contorted in disgust. "Hiring them as hit men?"
"For the right price," Kol added.
"But who's got that much money? The Five's got shit," Tyler retorted. "They couldn't even afford their own dope, and have you seen their Harleys? They're all stock, right off the shelves; no mods."
"The Labonairs," the Vice President shrugged. "CWC wouldn't miss a chance to take us down from the ringside. They don't want to get their pristine hands dirty, so they send in the missionaries."
"Alright, look, I don't care who's fucking responsible for this," Klaus snapped. "I need to find Caroline, and I need to find her right now. Comb the woods of Virginia if you have to. Just. Find. Her."
Blinking against the harsh brightness of the spotlight beaming down into her eyes, Caroline willed the haze out of her vision, fighting against the blurriness until she came to realize that she was alone in an empty basement. Her skull was pounding; a dull ache throbbing along the nape of her neck from where she had been clocked, and she groaned in annoyance from such a cheap shot. She tried to stretch her stiff muscles, only to find that she had been firmly tied to a chair with thick ropes. An experimental twist of her wrist made her wince from the chaffing.
"Goddamnit," she ground out hoarsely, knowing that there was no way in hell she could escape without chewing out her arms and legs. "Son of a bitch."
Sighing in resignation, Caroline slumped back in her seat and tilted her head away to avoid blinding herself with that damn spotlight. Seriously, was it really necessary to torture her corneas that way? There was probably a military base somewhere in the Middle East that could definitely profit from that. She squinted into the semi-darkness and was able to discern a bunch of stack-up boxes at one corner. Other than the bout of random articles strewn about on the concrete flooring, she was surrounded by nothing but four blank walls. There was a set of stairs that led up to a door, and she didn't doubt that it was her only way out.
Was she in someone's home?
A warehouse?
An abandoned building?
"Hey!" she called out. "Hello? Anybody up there? Hey!"
For all she knew, Caroline could be miles away from Virginia—probably a state away in some deserted junkyard—and it wouldn't be long before she found out who the fuck had abducted her so rudely, had gone against The Originals so boldly, and had a death wish, as to risk being on the receiving end of Klaus' wrath.
"Damn bikers."
Just then, she heard a faint clicking of the lock before the door creaked open and a slither of natural light fell upon the room until it was completely blocked by a tall silhouette. He took his own sweet time making his way down; each punctuated footstep a stark contrast to her galloping heart until he emerged from the shadows and smirked down at her.
"Hello, Caroline," he drawled. "I believe we haven't met. My name is Silas, and I'm the president of The Five."
Klaus testily scrolled through the list of contacts on his cellphone, his grip on the device so tight, he reckoned he might just crush it in two. He listened as it rang once, twice on the other end, before someone finally answered.
"Hey, Klaus? What's up?"
"I have no time for pleasantries, Matt," he growled. "There's a bike waiting for you out in your driveway and a bottom rocker in the saddlebag. Get your arse on it, and in ten minutes, you'd better be on the fucking road."
"Wait, what? What's going on?"
"Caroline's been taken by Silas and his crew. Your first task, prospect, is to help me find her."
The man bent over, his lips curling into a grimace as he invaded on her personal space. Their noses brushed, his beer breath vile against her skin, and Caroline struggled not to cringe. Valiantly, she kept her piercing eyes glued to his bottomless russet orbs, injecting as much contempt as she could in her penetrating glare.
"My, my, my," he crooned, reaching out to twirl a lock of her blonde strands around his index finger. "Aren't you a pretty little thing? You know, I don't think I've ever remembered a time when Klaus was interested long enough to have his own Old Lady. He treats all his cunts like the whores they are, but you're different aren't you? You're something else."
She refused to be intimidated. "Are you going to kill me?"
"And waste such a mouth-watering treat?" He gave her hair a tug. "No, I think I'd like to have some fun for all my troubles."
"Screw you."
His salacious grin grew. "Well, aren't you being generous, now? Unfortunately, I don't take that bastard's sloppy seconds."
Caroline did the one thing she could do.
She spat in his face.
Before she could think to regret her impulsive actions, Silas had a handful of her blonde tresses in a tight grasp and was yanking her head back. A gasp flew out of her throat as he seethed next to her ear, and she swallowed hard.
"You're going to pay for that."
He drew the other arm back, ready to strike her when the door swung open and halted his attempts. Miffed at the interruption, Silas released her and whirled around. Her savior—a young woman, blonde, and around Caroline's age—cautiously descended the steps with a tray in her hands.
"What the fuck, Camille?" he roared. "Who the hell gave you the right to come down here?"
"Shut up, Silas," she muttered, dodging past him to kneel in front of their captive and set the tray down on the ground. Caroline warily peered at its contents—a plate of grilled cheese sandwich and a small bottle of water—before narrowing her eyes up at the man still fuming silently on the spot. "Relax, I'm not trying to poison you or anything. I just so happen to possess better hospitality skills than some people."
Silas scoffed, and then promptly stormed back up from where she had entered, slamming the door behind him that caused a reverberation throughout the basement. Camille didn't appear the least bit bothered by his temper, and instead coolly uncapped the bottle and held it up to Caroline's lips. Greedily, she took four hearty gulps.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Look, Caroline," she began, before hesitating for a split second, looking rather conflicted. Picking the sandwich up, she offered a bite of it to the other woman. "I'm sorry that you're caught in the crossfire, but I'm just carrying out a responsibility. I'm not even supposed to be speaking to you."
"Are you Silas' Old Lady?"
Camille snickered. "Yeah, he wishes. Marcel would skin him alive if he dared to try."
The earth stopped spinning.
Her windpipe closed up.
"M—Marcel?"
Seconds turned to minutes.
Minutes turned to an hour.
An hour turned to two, and then three, and then four.
The sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon; the cerulean sky had darkened to a blanket of star-splattered velvet, and the sterile conditions inside the hospital ward did nothing for Klaus' foul mood. He sat by his sister's bedside, in one of those incredibly uncomfortable couches, and kept watch as she slept. With his arms folded across his chest, the President waited anxiously for his youngest sibling to wake up.
A quiet knock on the door alerted him to Stefan's presence as the latter came into the room carrying a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. The Sergeant-at-Arms was frazzled, his usually artfully tousled hair now falling flat over his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot from the lack of rest.
"Thanks, mate," Klaus murmured gratefully.
Stefan took a seat. "Any news on Caroline yet?"
The mention of her name sent his guts churning and his fingers twitching to wreck havoc across the state of Virginia. Every negative update he'd received had been followed up with slews of cussing and more death-related threats on people's lives. He loathed this unfamiliar sense of helplessness, of not getting the upper hand, of failing to be one step ahead of his enemies, and as a result, the woman he loved had to suffer the consequences. His promise to keep her safe was broken; and he was utterly disgusted with himself for allowing it.
"Nothing of significance." His tone was acidic as he pictured burning Silas on a stake. "I can't risk sending anybody over to their territory until I've received confirmation of their location. We've already lost nearly the entire Ohio chapter; we can't afford to lose anymore brothers."
Stefan was silent for a beat. "Klaus, I know that this is not something you'd want to hear, but I think we need the sheriff's help."
"No."
"Hold on, just listen," Stefan implored, ever the voice of reason. "Caroline's her daughter; I think Liz deserves to know that she's missing. She can dispatch her deputies and put ears out in The Five's territory."
Klaus turned his sharp gaze on his best friend. "We don't deal with law enforcers, Stefan. Which part of an outlaw biker group do you not understand?"
"This isn't about the club anymore," he appealed. "We need the sheriff's resources if we're ever going to find Caroline. We have no idea what Silas wants—"
"I do."
"What? What do you mean—"
"What else would he fucking want, Stefan?" Klaus hissed. "What does any MC want? Territory. Silas is just a puppet to CWC's plans to take us down, and I'm a hundred percent certain that he and his men were the ones who killed Mikael. They're using Caroline to get to me. They want me to go after them."
"And it's going to be another trap."
"I don't fucking care," he shot back. "They took her from me. I'll stop at nothing to get her back."
"You will," Stefan replied, an edge to his tone. "We'll tear those sons of bitches apart. They hurt Bekah too, and I'll be damned if I let them get away with it, but we can't just ride up there and attack because I can guarantee you that we'll have CWC to deal with as well. They've already outnumbered us by taking down our Ohio chapter. We need to play this smart and not let them think that they have the upper hand."
The primal side of Klaus was screaming to be released, to fuck it all and charge off with everything he's got, but his Sergeant-at-Arms was right.
"What do you have in mind?"
Stefan pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and began scrolling through his list of contacts.
"I've got a plan. But first, I'll need to make a call to the police department."
Love you more
Than those bitches before
Say you'll remember, oh baby, say you'll remember
I will love you till the end of time
A/N: And the plot thickens! One more chapter before this story concludes. As always, this fanfic is co-written by my good friend (sneakercladbrunette on tumblr), so don't forget to let her know what you think, too, yeah?
AnnaTom23: Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you loved the previous chapter; it really means a lot to me! Also, I hadn't written this story alone. My best friend came up with the idea and had a couple of bits and pieces written, but she wasn't confident enough to publish it on her own, so I've decided to team up with her for this story. So, I guess it's safe to say that this story wouldn't exist if it weren't for her. If you're on tumblr, do check her out (sneakercladbrunette) and let her know what you think too. I'm sure she'll really appreciate it! The decision to write that scene so explicitly was one that we deliberated over quite a bit, but then we agreed that it would add to the value of the story and the character of Klaus, so in the end, we've kept it in. I think we both enjoyed writing Klaus and Caroline's relationship a bit too much as well, lol! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!
Ashlytorres24: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving such a wonderful review! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked how Caroline is in this story! She's always lived a black and white life, morals that she grew up with, and those won't magically go away because that's just not realistic. Clearly, everybody around her has secrets, and somehow she's always the last one to find out, and it's going to cause some friction between mother and daughter. The next chapter will surely address that, amongst other things that are happening. Well, there wasn't much interaction between Marcel and Caroline, but I hope you've enjoyed that small bit between them. This is a five-parter, so the next chapter is going to be the last one, I'm afraid, but my co-writer has brought forth a couple of possible story ideas, so there might be another fanfic in the mix. I'm not on Tumblr, but my co-writer, sneakercladbrunette, is on there and she helpfully explained what Klaroline Awards is, and I'm really flattered by your lovely compliments! Perhaps you can chat my co-writer up; I'm sure she would love to hear from you! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!
Quills and Inkwells: Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it, especially since you mentioned that you were wary about the genre at first, but thank you so much for giving the story a chance anyway. I'm glad you liked it so far! We've obviously taken several liberties with the characters, and tweaked it here and there, and as for the plot, it was kudos to my co-writer who came up with it and brought me on board to help her out. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!
Justanotherfiveminutes: Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving such a lovely review! As always, I really appreciate it! I'm glad that you've enjoyed the previous chapter, and I completely agree on your point about possessive Klaus. He's always such an intense character, sometimes it can be quite intimidating to write. I'm glad you agree on Caroline's reaction. We try to keep the emotional turmoil as realistic as possible, because at the end of the day, these characters are people, and you'd want them to be relatable. It has certainly been a roller coaster ride for Caroline as she delves deeper into the world of outlaw biker gangs, but it's nice to know that you're enjoying it all! Hope you've liked this chapter! Cheers!
Song used: "Blue Jeans" by Lana Del Ray