The Biker's Mistake: Return Of The Heiress

ica

k walls of the compound, covered in years of oil stains and faded MC graffiti, felt suffocating. For four years, I

y. Daryl stormed around the corner, his boots slamming against the floorboards, his face dark with

finger straight at my face, closing the distance between us in three massive strides. "Turn

ets of my canvas jacket. "Those are my diagnostic rigs," I said, my voice dangerously even. "Boug

resence to intimidate me, his chest puffed out under his leather President's Cut. "Everything on

"Your house? Daryl, without my off-the-books cash injections, you wouldn't even have enough money to pay the Coal

tly. They exchanged wide-eyed, shocked whispers. The myth of Daryl Schwa

his temper. His face turned a deep, violent shade of beet-red. With a feral grow

tail. He wasn't the only

collar of my jacket, I twisted my torso to the left, slipping seamlessly beneath his clumsy, rage-fueled reach. I planted

e cracking against bone echoed sh

, cracking the plaster. A bright, vivid streak of blood instantly smeared

ead quiet. Nobody moved. N

had just laid out

e red smear on his knuckles, his eyes going wide with raw, murderous shock. "Yo

ssive, three-foot steel pipe wrench, resting the heavy metal head menacingly against

ious sneer slowly spread across his bloody teeth as he realized he coul

ulted a sitting President, Jerrica. Read the Coalition Charter. I can call a Mayhem Vote tonight. I can issue a state-wide kill orde

nt; it was an inescapable death sentence. The Prospects in the hall instinctively

your loyal men ride for you when they realize the club vault is c

ck on him. "Le

t door of Sector A slammed shut and the deadbolts engaged behind us, a lo

he exhaust vents near the ceil

o the compound gates outside. The distant, aggressive sho

rters had arrived for the monthly cross-state run, and he