1% ((IC Closed))

[LitShark]

Soren tapped his index finger on the wooden table between him and Vince, seated back in a dark corner of "The Last Resort" bar and gentlemen's club. Vince was a nervous wreck as usual, sweating buckets and shivering at the same time. It was a common occurence for the washed up musician to end up in this same place, across from Soren, begging for another loan.

The man had been up for at least two nights, getting high on crystal and then flushing his borrowed money back to the club at the poker or blackjack tables. His debt was over twenty-five grand, now here he was again, pleading for an extension on his loans as well as a marker for ten more.

Soren paid very little attention to the sweating pale junkie, or what he had to say, looking past Vince to the stage where a young lovely woman spun around the pole, tossing aside her last stitch of clothing.

"S-so I need this money, otherwise I can't pay off my debt. See?" Vince pleaded, still sweating. "B-b-but if you give it to me I can win back everything! Then I'll pay you in full! There's nothing but chumps in the poker room tonight, I can clean 'em out and-"

"Spare me." Soren interrupted. "I don't give a damn about your ups and downs in the poker room, the only thing I care about is my fucking money. If I give you another loan its going to be your last, got it? Your first payment is due by tomorrow, no excuses. If you don't have the cash I'm going to be taking whatever you have of value."

"V-v-value?" Vince stammered, clearly too high to comprehend what he was agreeing to.

Soren let the silence hang for a moment, taking the long pause to feed a small piece of steak to the hooded red tailed hawk perched on the edge of the booth near Soren's head. The hawk, named Sarah, eagerly snatched up the piece of bloody, rare meat with its razor sharp beak, chewing only briefly before angling its head back to swallow.

"Let me clarify." Soren said calmly, stroking under the bird's jawline with his index finger. "How did you get here? Did you hitch-hike? Did you take the bus? Ride a bicycle?"

"N-no, I drove."

"What did you drive?"

"Oh, I drove my Ford F-150..." Vince replied, the apprehension in his voice clearly audible.

"By tomorrow that truck will be mine, got it?" Soren said firmly, his piercing blue eyes suddenly cutting through the darkness and bearing into Vince. "You pay me back, the full amount by the time the sun comes up tomorrow, otherwise I'll be paying a housecall. Me and a few of my very close friends will be at your door, taking your television, computer, DVD, your truck, your old lady's jewlery and whatever else we fucking please. Not to mention the legendary beating we will lay on you. Hell we might even take your bitch and make her-"

"Enough!" Vince erupted. "I get it already, okay? You'll get your money before then, I promise. Just give it to me."

"I don't like being interrupted." Soren said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "I like getting orders even less."

Another long and agonizing silence washed over the booth in the back corner of the strip club as Soren dug into his pocket. Thick, weathered fingers produced a massive bill fold, four or five inches thick with hundred dollar bills folded in the middle. With a loud snap Soren pulled off the rubber band, holding the bills in their place. With a sound that resembled the fluttering of bird wings Soren began counting out bills.

When Soren reached fifty bills he slid the stack across the table, putting the rest of the fold back in his pocket. Instead he retrieved his pack of smokes and lit one up, leaning back in the leather booth.

"Um, Mr. Hawk Sir... This is only five grand." Vince interjected.

"That's right, that's all the cash you're going to get from me. Talk to Dante, he'll give you the rest in crystal. You got a problem with that?" Soren asked, his voice distinctly hostile. "Because if you want I can start collecting right now."

"No, no, please!" Vince exclaimed, suddenly on his heels as he snatched the stack of bills from the table. "Thank you, thank you Sir."

The feeble little wretch slunk his way from the table around the time one of the Disciples burst through the front door. It was 'Bags', the top earning dealer for the Disciples, looking like he'd been dragged behind a truck for twenty or thirty miles.

"Hawk!" The battered man shouted. "Where's the boss? I need to talk to the Hawk!"

[slippedhalo]

It had been another long night. Carolyn gladly turned the neon sign over the door off and locked the door as the last drunken wreck left Frank's Fortune. She stifled a yawn as she and the two other waitresses on night shift, Jane and Sparkle, came to the bar where Frank waited, counting the tips from the jar.

"Here you go ladies. It wasn't the slowest night but not the best. That's 72 dollars for each of you and 55 for me."

She took her money and mumbled a thanks to Frank as she shoved the tip wad quickly into her skirt pocket. She was in a hurry to go. She always hated the way she felt after a night of work, smelling of smoke, faint sweat, and alcohol, and feeling all gross from all the hands all over her. She wanted a shower and to get into her comfy sweats so she could finish her term paper due promplty at 9 am. If she managed to get it done quickly she might be able to catch a couple of hours of sleep before she'd have to be up for university. She yawned and waved to the other girls and Frank, "Ok, I'm outta here. Everything's already been cleaned and put away."

"Girls, I suggest we raise the hemlines if we want more tips." suggested Frank, lighting up his after work cigar.

She looked down at the skirt which already cut her at the upper thigh, "Any shorter, Frank and we'll be flashing buttcheeks."

He waggled his eyebrows and grinned, "Exactly."

She and the other girls laughed and gathered their things from the back to go. "Bye, Frank. See you friday." she said, on her way out to the parking lot where her used Carolla waited.

[Drakkwall]

In a lonesome garage near the pub and club "Dagger's Point", the meeting point of the Cutthroat MCs, was a large black man fixing a beautiful motorcycle, fining the tunings, modifying the gas, change the oil and grease a little. His work went undisturbed as the night began to pull in but then a short guy, though all guys were short compared to him, came running into the garage shouting loudly, making him frown, he hated it when they shouted while he had his headphones on, it disturbed the music.

"Black Bear Harry! I have news from the boss!" As the man ran towards him he came awfully close to one of the dozen bikes in the garage and the black man named Harold J. Wrighton, also known as Black Bear Harry, turned his head and glared at him, making him freeze like a statue, and spoke in a cold but wild voice.

"Never. Ever. Run. In. My. Garage. If you touch any of my precious darlings I. Will. Fuck. You. Up. And if you even scratches one of them, I. Will. Fucking. Kill. You. You got that mothafucka?" The man nodded dumbly and carefully walked along the garage, keeping himself out of the way of the many bikes in it and then got to Black Bear and was about to speak when the black man spoke before him.

"Hand me that screwdriver, the one with the blue and black handle." The man looked around until he found the screwdriver in a toolbox by Black Bear, who apparently just wanted to make him appear like a jackass, though that was not so hard as he did as he was told and handed him the tool. *Man recruitment has gone down the drain.* He thought to himself as he fastened a screw and a cog and after five minutes of silence he spoke up with a bark, making the poor guy jump like a scared rabbit.

"Hay! Were you not here to deliver a message from the boss?" The man stammered. "Y-yes black Bear I am." The man jumped again, as the black man roared out in frustration, nearly making him wet himself. *Man it is too easy to frighten these guys, no backbones, boring fuckers.* "Well spit it out then!!"

"The boss wants you to do a heavy hit against some of the local police's storages where they keep ammunition, explosives and guns! He wants you to take as much as you an the other Bears can get before blowing it up! It's located at Fraught Drive 12! It's the warehouse labeled canned turkey! He said there's not many guarding it and it is seen as a small storage, unimportant! But there is always one or two guards there!" The man shouted out in a frantic voice, wanting to deliver the message as fast as possible and then leave this monster of a man.

The black man swiftly rolled out from beneath his bike and grinned in a maniacal manner, cleaning his hands with a white rag. "Oh? Hahahahaha! Finally some action! Tell the boss that I will leave immediately! Tell the boys to get off their beer and whores so we can get to the smashing!" The poor guy ran out of the garage like it was hell itself and the black man dressed himself in black leather pants, black shirt, black leather jacket, black bandanna and black leather boots. He got onto a large black Harley Roadglide and soon from the Dagger's Point came five more bikes with his men, the Heavy Assaults, the bears or whatever you wanted to call them, they hit hard, they hit fast and they hit large. "We got some business lads! Whose up for stealing from the pig cops, kill one or two and get a load of explosions!" The men cheered and the black man smirked, and without a word he put on his black bear painted helmet and they rode off.

OOC: Hope I didn't jump too far ahead.

[your_vice]

Katie paced around the flat drinking whiskey laced coffee and chain smoking. She had rubbed a dab of speed into her gums an hour or so ago and the buzz was diminishing but she had to stay awake tonight. Even without the drugs she would have been too hyped to sleep properly.

Vince had come home with a shitload of crystal, only staying long enough to announce that he was playing cards that night and expected to win big. Vince always expected to win but this time he seemed genuinely confident and it was infectious. Katie would have liked to accompany him to the casino but she had been ordered to stay home and deal most of the crystal from their flat. It only took a couple of mass text messages to get people phoning her or arriving on the door step and trade had been pretty steady that evening. Fortunately they lived in a ground floor apartment with a patio door and a bit of garden so people could come and go that way without attracting the neighbours' attention. Katie counted up a few wads of bills and locked them in a small lockbox located behind the plinth at the bottom of her closet. There was precious little in it these days but Vince assured her the cash had been invested well and would bring them a good return. She was starting to doubt his stories now but Katie currently had few other options and so she was hoping Vince would simply pull himself together soon.

The hours ticked by and still Vince didn't show. This was no indication of how things had gone though. He could be gone all night. Katie's cellphone rang and she flipped it open.

"Yeah?"

"Got your text." Came a gruff but desperate sounding voice on the end of the line. Katie was never explicit about anything via phone or text, those who knew her knew her code phrases.

"And?"

"And I'll be there in a few minutes, yeah? That ok?"

"Sure." She snapped the phone shut and put it on the coffee table.

The customer was DuRe, an Afro-American ex soldier who had failed to cope with civilian life after being discharged due to PTSD. He'd come over and haggle with her, pleading poverty and social security cutbacks. Vince said he should pay the going rate like everyone else but Katie always contrived to give him a generous measure. Tonight he'd get lucky as Katie decided to give him a freebie while Vince wasn't around. Vince used so much himself these days that there was no chance of him noticing. She'd never touch crystal herself but it seemed to keep him pepped.

Katie checked the clock for the millionth time and then plucked a small packet from a small stash behind a wall hanging.

[slippedhalo]

As Carolyn put her duffel bag into the trunk of her car and slammed down the lid she watched her friends drive out of the parking lot. Frank would likely stay behind. He often spent the night on the couch in the office upstairs.

She walked around toward her driver's side, the heels of her soft, brown boots making impressions in the packed dirt as she fumbled for her keys, and the sound of a bunch of revved up motorcycle engines not too far in the distance made her heart jump in her chest. As if by instinct, she raised her green-blue eyes to see who was coming...With the kinds of people her brother ran with she could know some of them. Maybe it was even her brother and his gang on their way for some reason, Maybe it was Soren...

Her face fell, she realized she couldn't see anything and the sound had passed. It was further toward the highway now. Likely, no one she knew after all. She sighed and climbed into her boring, safe Carolla, turning the key to start it up so she could go home.

She hadn't been expecting a road block.

[Last_Rider]

Christian killed the engine on his motorcycle and sat astride it. He was looking at the front doors for the Altruas Police department, and as usual, had almost no desire to go in there.

It wasn't anything personal with anyone in there, but Christian simply didn't get along well with others. He'd heard the type of lifestyle he lived called "1%", but he didn't look at that way. Probably had something to do with his aversion to math, but he called it the "Fringe". Even among those on the fringe, he was something of a loner.

Entering that building meant he'd be risking his job. Plenty of people had been fired in the wake of the violence that the rival Clubs had kicked up, it was his position, as well as running a few bikers into jail, that had saved his ass. But each day the public outcry had got louder and louder, and more and more cops, both city and sheriff's department, had been told to hit the bricks. Each day, he worried it'd be him.

Going in there also meant he'd have to deal with the Chief, and the tired old man didn't care much for Christian. They mostly kept out of each others way, Christian didn't like the arrangements that had been made with the local clubs. He wasn't naive or altruistic, but he also firmly believed there was only so far a man who'd made an oath should go along that path.

Not that he was a saint himself, he'd taken a few kickbacks and looked the other way on more than one occasion. He'd done so to maintain some level of peace, and because his position with the department allowed him some latitude. There had always been rules that they obeyed in exchange for his cooperation: No drugs in schools, no guns to locals, no big deals in city limits, no excessive violence.

Christian often reflected how far you could slide as long as you could justify yourself to the man in the mirror. He double checked his knife and sawed off shotgun before climbing off the bike to head inside. He'd need some ammo, a radio, and a list of what was going on tonight.

All he could hope for was that he didn't pull guard duty, he hated nothing quite like he hated guard duty. There was no protection, no cover, and he felt like he was back in some cubicle crunching numbers.

Christian opened the door and walked passed the reception area, smiling at the new clerk. He didn't envy the poor girl. He entered the main room, a few cops still milling about, but few was the right phrase. There were four officers in the room, counting himself, and a man he didn't recognize.

The man was tall, thin, and wearing glasses. Christian had no idea who he was, but he looked rather like a lawyer, or maybe a really slick reporter. Christian had no issues with either profession, but he caught the mans eye as he walked to the ammo case.

This guy wasn't a stiff, that was for sure. He had the eyes of a killer, Christian had seen enough killers in his time on the fringe to recognize the look. That still begged the question of his appearance here.

Christian took a box of 10 gauge shot gun shells, but didn't take the bullets for his hand gun. He much preferred the hydro-shock hollow points he could get in town to the basic slugs they had here. Grabbing a radio and checking the duty sheet revealed he wasn't on guard duty, thank Christ, but would be floating between a few road blocks.

He was getting ready to head back out when the thin man reappeared between him and the door.

"Can I help you sir?" Christians question was polite, he really didn't need any trouble if he was assigned to be riding most of the day.

[Ahren1]

A news report alread in progress shows a long, black haired woman behind the newsdesk.

"-- Our top story tonight: The Alturas Police Department has gone through a severe reconstruction after the recent controversial revelation that Police Chief Richard Grace and numerous officers had been knowingly allowing the gang known as the Grim Disciples to operate various illegal activities without any legal repercussions. Now, with the rise of a rival gang, the crime and murder toll has increased exponentially.

Governer Wilkinson has since made a surprising decision in turning over the department to newly appointed Chief Troy Morgan, the youngest to be given the position in the state's history. While Chief Morgan has an incredible resume of cases solved under his supervision, the public seems split on his decision to lead the new force into cleaning up the streets for good; His age and relative field inexperience being hot points. At his swearing in this afternoon, Chief Morgan gave the following speech:"

A man of average height in a dark suit with a red tie stood upon a podium, his young yet austere face looked upon the crowd behind a pair of gold-framed glasses hiding piercing blue eyes. His unorthodox semi-long hair wavering slightly in the breeze of the outdoor setting.

"Good afternoon. Once again I want to thank Governer Wilkinson and everyone who has trusted in my abilities in order to appoint me this position. I realize there is... shock, to say the least, in the hearts of everyone out there. Learning that a veteran chief of 30 years had fallen to corruption is difficult to cope with, and now I have come to take his place. Change is difficult, I know... and I know you're asking yourselves if someone with my experience has what it takes..."

Troy then removed his glasses, placing them upon the podium as if he was now looking at everyone without any shield to hide behind.

"But I have experience, and I also have many officers and detectives and their experience. Pooling our knowledge... resources... and skills, we will bring an end to this careless violence. An end to those that think the law does not apply to them.

Some people need to be shown that this is not a Grand Theft Auto video game where the police are ignorant, have no power and can be fooled by meager trickery. It will take time and effort, but we will end it, and things will inevitably be safer for everyone. Even those part of the gangs. If any are watching now, please realize that I.. do not hate you. I realize how life can take you in unexpected directions... However if you do not follow the law, then consequences will follow. No one is exempt. Not even the police themselves, as shown by this recent changeover.

I just hope everyone out there is prepared for a change... for the better.

Thank you."

With that, the man stepped down from the podium as the press continued to shout questions...

"Once again, that was the newly appointed Police Chief Troy Morgan. Tell us what you think at our online poll at our website www dot news6first dot com...

Next up, Presid--"

The report then fades out...

[Last_Rider]

Riley King punched the power button the television. He was crashing at his sisters place tonight, nursing a pretty deep gash on his right forearm. He was more than compitent as a medic, a few years as an EMT had seen to that.

"Some new dip shit cop, just what we fucking needed."

Riley was a soldier, and a medic for the Grim Disciples MC. He loved the lifestyle, the freedom, the power, it was like a drug. Speaking of which, he lit up another joint, careful to smoke nearer the window. His sister, Carolyn, was clean, and didn't like drug use in her house. Riley didn't keep anything hard when he stayed there, and this was his last joint.

He just needed to unwind a little, he'd almost had a run in with the Cutthroats, and was pretty lucky to be alive right now. So he figured a quick joint wouldn't hurt anything.

[HermesVoice]

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!

On the screen above him, Seth Ackersly watched Alturas’s new Chief of Police introduce himself and chuckled. Fucking babyface, he sneered to himself. Hamas would eat him alive.

It had been months since he’d thought of his time in the IDF, and the notion, sprung from nowhere, surprised him. He chewed on it a moment, turning his attention from the tube on the wall to the booth where Hawkeye sat, the club Reaper dealing with some fucking junkie. Another in an endless string of assholes who thought meth meant magic, the guy was clearly in trouble. More than you can possibly know, Seth chuckled inwardly as he watched the Hawk run one finger along his jaw. To anyone who knew the Disciples’ chief, it was a tell. The Reaper had the little pussy on the ropes.

Sly signaled the barkeep for another beer and turned his attention back to the screen. Ostensibly he was sitting here in one corner of the Last Resort as a second pair of eyes, quiet backup in case something went wrong as Hawkeye dealt with the locals. In reality, he was a gopher and understood himself as such. On the street he might be needed for something more than a quick errand. But here in the Resort, the Hawk would never let something go far enough to need back-up. Most of the dirtball junkies that crawled through the front door could barely find their own wrist with a razor much less make a serious move on any Club member. And so Seth knocked back another, watching the handjob in the suit blah, blah, blah his way through the law’n’order speech he’d no doubt been practicing in front of a mirror since he was in the Webelos.

“…GET it already!” he heard from the booth twenty-five feet away. Turned out the fucking idiot was even more agitated and wasted than he’d first thought. Maybe enough to try something genuinely stupid. Shifting left and placing both boots on the floor, Sly slid one hand to the knife at his waist and sat forward. He watched Hawk lean back further into his chair and say something, and with it, the addict deflated entirely. Show’s over, he thought to himself and turned back to the screen just in time to watch the new head of Alturas’s finest exit, stage left. “Have a nice day,” he chuckled aloud and flipped the bird upward.

Fucking Hamas, he wondered again, taking a long pull on the beer. He didn’t like it. Shit that came from nowhere out of the past harbored no one good. Dead was dead … or should be. Dead that came back was … well it was fucking trouble is what it was …

… and as if in counterpoint to this observation, Bags burst through the door looking like someone had taken a jackhammer to him and yelling for the Reaper.

“And there it is,” he muttered under his breath. Drinking off the last of the beer as he rose, Sly got ready to go to work.

[gagonthis]

"Well..... I'll hand it to ya lad, you sure can take a beatin'..." Johnny said with a grin as he wiped one hand across his brow, leaning heavily against the handle of the baseball bat, splashed red with the blood of the man trembling in the chair ahead of him.

"We could have avoided this whole mess mate..." Johnny hefted the Louisville slugger and stared at it in silence for a moment before bringing the hard wood smashing down onto the man's kneecap. A satisfying crunch accompanied the blow, barely heard over the scream of agony that tore itself out of the man's throat.

"That's whatcha get you wee bollocks, think you can hold out on me? Think I wouldn't notice yer payments coming in light? Yer supposed to be selling the crank, not smoking up the supply YA FOOKING JUNKIE!" He screamed out as he swung the bat over and over, knocking out teeth, cracking ribs, shattering bones as the man cried in pain, then gurgled out his protests as his mouth swelled shut.

Johnny paid him no mind, grinning with sadistic pleasure as he brought the bat down over and over, a laugh tinged with insanity bubbling up through his body as the bat collided with the man's flesh, the meaty thumping sounds like a symphony to his ears.

Finally his arms tired and he stopped swinging the bat. "Have I made my point yet lad?" He asked with a grin, seeing the man's breathing had stopped, blood pooling on the ground at the man's head where one of the mighty swings had knocked him to the floor.

"Christ Johnny, you killed the bastard!" One of his associates said as they untied the body from the chair. "So fooking what? Just another useless junkie dealer, they're a dime a fookin' dozen! Flash a bit of jib and they come outta the floor boards like rats." He spit on the man's body as he let the baseball bat hit the floor, retrieving his leather jacket and fishing a smoke out of the pocket. "Get that bastard out of here, dump the body and let's burn this place to the ground." He had already begun spreading the gasoline over the abandoned home, hardly a necessity given the neighborhood, but damn if Johnny didn't love to watch shit burn.

As the fire flared up behind him Johnny hit the accelerator on his Harley, motor roaring a loud victory cry as he tore off down the highway. He knew he'd attract a lot of attention with the fire, but couldn't rightly care. He knew the police were being pressured with increasing frequency to crack down on the biker gangs, especially since Johnny had rolled the Cutthroats into town. The Reapers had their rep in this town, and anyone who had tried to stand up to them had met a retributive end. But they'd grown soft, their deals with the local law enforcement and the cowed nature of the local civvies had dulled their fighting edge.

Johnny and his boys had been doing their best to shake up the town since they rolled in. One of the largest sets on the West Coast, Johnny had been blasting through small towns just looking for some trouble. The Reapers were just going to be the next group they tore through.

Stopping at a gas station on the outskirts of the town he fished his cell phone out, giving a call to one of his lieutenants. Bear's phone rang and rang, no answer, likely the guy was working in his garage or out riding. "Fookin' hell..." he muttered as he punched in the number of another member, some new green bastard willing to do whatever Johnny told him. The junkie had given him one helpful bit of information before he couldn't talk anymore, and Johnny planned to take advantage of it.

"Oy! Greg... get yer ass over to Black Bear's and tell him and the Heavys to meet me at Fraught Drive 12. Gonna hit a hidden police cache.... aye aye, tell him it's the one marked canned turkey, I'll meet him over there.." Fucking worthless guy mumbled something dumbly and Johnny sighed softly. He hated having to have these useless fucks about, but every gang needed cannon fodder.

Checking his jacket he felt the familiar worn grip of his .44 and he knew his sawed off was in the saddle bag next to him, along with a collection of toys that would go BOOM when utilized properly. He snapped his helmet, emblazoned with a four leaf clover superimposed over the ace of spades on his head and fired up the bike once more, a wild cry escaping his lips as he tore off to more mayhem.

[slippedhalo]

It had taken forever to get home, traffic had been a bitch after the police sobriety checkpoint and then a jam caused by some motorcycle accident further up the highway. A normally half hour's drive took her over an hour. By the time Carolyn got home she was already pissed off so the smell of something illicit in the air just added fuel to the fire.

She stormed into the bedroom which had once been King's as a child. He still used it whenever he stayed over because she refused to give up the Master suite no matter how many cheap floozies he brought in with him. Although, usually lately he was more respectful about all that, ever since that time he thought he'd just take over the room and in moving her stuff out of the way for his, he had stumbled upon 'the box',the one thing niether of them never wanted to talk about again. ('The box' had a packaged vibrator, some lingerie, a blindfold and handcuffs, a cat o nine tails,personal lubricant and a few racey photos of Carolyn in some compromising positions during sex with an ex. She was grateful the ex's face had been in none of them, at least, and that the moment King saw one picture and the vibrator box and realized who and what he was seeing he dropped the box immediately and got out of the room like a bat out of hell.) Still, it had been an uncomfortable enough moment for them both that the incident had never been mentioned again and the room had been officially decreed her's and off limits to anyone she did not invite inside from that point on.

As she opened the door to his room she was confronted with the scent of cigarette smoke and something more potent than tobacco as well. She grimaced and yelled,"What the hell, King! I told you not to bring that shit into my house anymore. If you can't behave while you're here you can take your crap and get your ass to a hotel. I'm tired, it took forever to get home, and I still have a paper to write. Don't fuck with me King! Mom left the house to me, it's mine. You want to be a fucking vagrant, do it somewhere else!" She then slammed the door shut again, not even sure if her brother had been in there to hear her rant.

Carolyn quickly went to her room to get out of her work clothes. She took a hot shower and put on her pink and grey sweats. She made her way to the livingroom to start on her paper where she found King sitting ont he couch, calmly flicking through tv channels. "Sorry I yelled at you." she said softly as she grabbed half of his sandwich from the plate on the coffee table and took a huge bite. "I have some work to do." she said, turning on her laptop and opening her psychology notebook.

"Ok." said King, taking a swig of his beer and deciding he wouldn't smack his sandwich from her hand this time. She did look really tired and after all she put up with most of the time she probably deserved the half eaten sandwich, at the very least. "What the fuck you talkin' bout, though? You didn't yell at me. You came in and walked right past me."

"Who was smoking up in your room then?" asked Carolyn with a knot in her stomach. She hated surprises.

He chuckled, "Don't worry, they just left. A couple of the guys were over before, brought some ho's but they all decided they'd rather not mess up your pretty bedspread and went to a motel."

Carolyn shook her head, deciding to let it go for now because she was just too tired to stay angry. "I'm going to work on my homework now. Then, I am going to bed. King, no surprises, please. No friends over while I'm asleep. Ok?"

He chuckled.

"I'm serious!" she insisted, her eyes meeting his, the only thing they had in common was that they'd both inherited their mother's eyes.

He nodded, "I'll see what I can do." he said.

She sighed, knowing she'd never get a promise out of her brother.

[LitShark]

Vince couldn’t get away quickly enough once Soren dismissed him. Keen blue eyes cut across the smoke filled bar to lock with Bags’. Soren saw Seth stand up from his place at the bar with this sudden… development.

Soren lifted Sarah, his consummate companion from the edge of the booth to her familiar perch on Soren’s leather clad shoulder. Despite the dramatic entrance of his compatriot, Hawk’s movements were slow and deliberate, crossing the crowded bar with measured paces.

“What happened?” Soren asked evenly, placing a hand on Sly’s back to keep him level headed. “You look like shit Bags.”

“They jumped me Boss, took all the money and drugs…” Bags explained as Soren flicked his cigarette. “They got everything! Riley was there too but he managed to get away. I didn’t even get a good look at the fuckers.”

“Was it them?” Soren asked through clenched teeth, the bird on his shoulder responding to the tensing of his shoulders. “The Cutthroats, did they steal our shit?”

“I-I think so, they were all on choppers so-“

“That shit wasn’t yours to lose.” Soren said abruptly, his tone growing colder and more dangerous. “You make us look bad when you give up Club property so easily. The drugs are expendable but that money is the lifeblood of the Disciples. Hell is coming down on our heads lately in case you haven’t noticed, we can’t afford to be getting ripped off like punks.”

Sarah, the red-tailed hawk spread her wings and let out a long high-pitched cry, she was very in touch with Soren’s mood. If she hadn’t been blinded by her leather hood, the bird might well have lashed out at Bags herself.

“B-but they fucked me up Sir!” Bags pleaded, all too familiar with what happened when Soren lost his temper. “King just ran off when things got- AH!”

The last bit of Bags’ plea for mercy was quite literally shoved back into his mouth, Hawk’s fingers forced their way into the man’s mouth, grasping his cheek between thumb and fingers. Soren’s other hand took hold of the smaller man’s throat as he pulled the flesh on his face hard. The move known to most as the “fish hook” split Bags’ top and bottom lips open in the middle. As blood ran down the biker’s neck his cheek began peeling away from his jaw. After nearly a minute of agonizing screams and stomach turning tearing, the wide triangle of flesh came to a point within Bags’ hairline, allowing him to fall to the ground.
“Next time you’ll fight harder.” Soren said flatly, his tone back to level. “I hope you learned something. Now I’ve got to go get my shit back.”

The piece of skin hit the ground with a smack, like somebody dropping a wet rag. Soren then turned to Sly who had been standing by while the grizzly scene unfolded.

“While I’m cleaning up his mess, I need you to do something for me.” Soren said, nodding toward the television and retrieving a plain white envelope from his back pocket. “Take this to our new chief of police, welcoming him to the area. Let me know what your read on the guy is, call me if you have any trouble.”

The envelope was stuffed with ten-thousand dollars in cash. New authority figures made Soren nervous, it was better to try and secure the new chief under his wing before someone else beat him to it. It was a job Soren had intended to do himself before this little development.

Without another word, the Reaper of the Grim Disciples left The Last Resort. He kick started his ’78 Harley, taking a moment to compose himself before heading back to the Riley house.

[Drakkwall]

Six large choppers with six large drivers came roaring down the streets, on the head was Black Bear, his hands not on the handle but loading shells into a shotgun and preparing some grenades, a light deal for him, but he had some stronger stuff for the finishing job. "Ah nothing like the scent of sulfur, napalm or gasoline in the night, morning, day or evening, hahahaha!" Laughing loudly the black man strapped the shotgun to his back ,where he had a nice big hammer, he loved to use blunt weapons, they made such a nice crunch sound when he struck, and putting the grenades into his belt and jacket.

Howling and shouting out their animal cries the biker drove like possessed through the black streets, their bikes looking like beasts from the pits of hell itself, with a demon bear at the front as the leader. Passing by a couple walking alone along the streets, cuddling, the Heavy Hitters broke the serenity with their loud choppers and howls, one of them emptied a beer bottle as they drove past and it hit the couple straight in the face, leavign the Heavy Hitters laughing.

Burning rubbers the Heavy Assault team roared through the remaining streets leading towards their goal, ignoring all rules red lights and signs in their way. Soon enough they pulled to a rapid halt by a large dumpster by the large warehouse with the words Canned Turkey written in bold red over the windows. "Bet da cop fuckers couldn't afford a sign." The others chuckled before preparing their weapons, it was going to be a wild time for Black Bear and his team, now to just wait for Johnny before entering the warehouse, though by the way Black bear was stroking his shotgun it would have to be soon because he was eager for a good fight, and blood.

[your_vice]

It was the small hours when Vince finally came home. Katie had long since turned her phone off and started dozing on the sofa. Addicts kept odd hours and once she had put the word out that she was selling, they thought nothing of calling her at any damn hour of the day or night. She heard the front door open and sat up blearily as Vince walked in. He did not have the look if a man who has just won big.

"You're kidding." She said, incredulous. "You're winding me up. Tell me you fucking won."

Vince was a mess. He was pale and sweating profusely. He dropped his gaze before once again trying pointlessly to dance around the word 'No'.

"Um... not exactly."

"You fucking idiot." She snapped. Vince raised his hands in a placatory gesture.

"Now, don't go mental on me but we're going to have to skip town... just for a while."

Kaite leapt to her feet, appalled.

"What? What the hell have you done now?"

"I borrowed some money but these people, they're not the sort you don't pay back. We'll just lie low at a Motel or something..."

"No way. I'm not being hounded out of my home because you're a stupid asshole!"

Vince strode towards her, his hand upraised. For an awful moment she thought he was going to hit her. Instead he grabbed her by the front of her top and pulled her face up towards his own.

"Listen!" He bellowed. "I'm very sorry but we're fucked. There's no savings, no investments, no valuables, the drugs you've been selling are theirs and you don't want to know when I last paid the rent on this place." He stared her down as this information sank in. Katie was horrified.

"We are all out of options and these people are not going to just pat you on the head and tell you to run along because the money was loaned to me. They will hurt you to make me pay. They'll hurt you just for the fun of it. Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal." She hissed sarcastically.

"Great. Now stop chewing my ear off and pack a fucking bag. You'll have plenty of time to hate my guts when we're somewhere else. Ok?"

"O-fucking-K."

She pulled away from him and he let her go. Katie stalked towards the bedroom to pack some things. Once they were somewhere safe, she was going to wait till he passed out and fuck off with whatever they had left. He had no right to do this to her and she wasn't about to waste her life on a junkie loser.

Within an hour they were on the road, heading fuck knew where.

[gagonthis]

"Aye aye, we're on our way to hit up the storehouse now, arm ourselves for what's inevitably going to come. You guys end up tracking down the two bastards got away this evening?" Johnny inquired of another of his lieutenants over the cell phone.

"No? Well what the fook all use are you then!?" He yelled into the phone, feeling his blood boiling once again. He hated when people failed, and he hated it even more when they gave their excuses, stammering like an idiot. It just made Johnny want to bash their heads in, replace them with someone worth a shit. "Forget it ya worthless twat. Good thing we're gonna be arming ourselves up, sounds like they'll be a war on soon." He tried to keep the giddy tone out of his voice as he hung up the phone.

A chuckle ran through his body as he imagined the look on the Disciple's leader's face when that fucking dealer made his way into that dung heap of a bar they tended to hang out at. The guy was soft, letting people ride their debts, paying off cops rather than flipping them the bird, and Johnny was going to take him down, wreck his entire set and leave their territory a fucking wasteland. "Salt the fookin' earth..." he muttered sinisterly as he kicked the bike back up to speed, pulling away from the safehouse and towards the warehouse. He'd likely left Bear sitting there more than a little antsy, but Johnny wanted to be a part of this. He'd heard through the grapevine that some new hot shot was going to be taking over the police force, and it was time to give him a proper welcome.

He knew he was taking a bit of a chance roaring through some of these parts of the city without an backup, but so far the Grim Disciples hadn't shown him much to impress any sort of caution within him. Sure they'd killed some of his guys, but Johnny didn't scare easy. He'd lived through worse than any biker gang could ditch out and he was a survivor through and through.

He grinned as he approached the gang gathered before him, glad to see most of the Heavies had found their way to the warehouse in time. "Well look at what we got here? I think if I were a bobby I'd be just about pissing meself to look at the lot of you rough bastards!" He said with a grin as he pulled off his helmet, reaching down to fish his sawed off out and cocking it with an evil grin. "Bear, you take the boys inside, wreck up the place, grab whatever you can carry... I want to give this new fookin' police chief a nice hello. I'm gonna go set up the explosives to send this place up like the fourth o' July..." He smiled as he fished out some homemade plastique from one of his bags. "Ne'er go anywhere without it!" He laughed as he tossed it from hand to hand, crazy grin bright out his face once more.

[DoMeHard12349]

Alicia was lounging on her leather sofa in her apartment on Main St., bored. Nothing had come over the radio for hours, so her pistol and night stick were lying uselessly on the sofa beside her. She had cleaned her pistol twice, the dark metal gleaming in the soft lighting of the living room and her stick was a dull polished wood beside it.

Restless, she sifted through the TV channels, finally landing on channel 314, a soft porno was on but she wasn't in the mood. Her boyfriend just dumped her, no sex for a while. She shook her head clear of the naughty thoughts and continued to flip. Suddenly a voice crackled over the radio beside her:

"Calling Alicia. Gang headquarters found, back up on the way. " the line went still. She snatched up her pistol and stick, slipping into her holster and sprinting for her squad car, lunging in and revving the ignition, pounding on the gas and screeching to the building that was pointed out on her radar. Little did she know how many people were truly in this biker gang.

[HermesVoice]

Seth looked on dispassionately while Hawkeye delivered his message to the unfortunate Bags. When the Reaper seized Bags’ face, the bird on his shoulder had stretched its wings almost to their limit with the speed of its owner’s movement. Seth was obliged to step back as a result, but he noted with interest how neatly the bird had extended one wing behind its owner’s head so as not to impede the man’s movement in any way. Good partner, he thought wryly.

One fortunate byproduct of his new position was that Seth could now more easily view the bar, and as Bags’ desperate screaming grew more shrill, Seth noted several customers shift uncomfortably. The Last Resort was not a hangout for weaklings, but the level of Hawk’s brutality – a viciousness of which Seth heartily approved, given the circumstances – had started several from their chairs. Seth looked at each in turn. He understood his stare to be “disturbingly disengaged.” (A diagnosis first offered by one medic in the IDF who was convinced that Seth suffered from PTSD, his “thousand-yard stare” a sure sign of his instability.) The two men and woman re-seated themselves, the woman continuing to look on in mesmerized horror, while the men returned studiously to their drinks.

The sound of flesh on the hard wooden floorboards brought Sly back to the scene directly before him. Bags was clutching his face, his whimpering forming a neat to counterpoint to Hawk’s irritated directive: “Take this to our new chief of police, welcoming him to the area. Let me know what your read on the guy is, call me if you have any trouble.”

“Done,” Seth said, taking the envelope and jamming it into his back pocket. He didn’t bother to say anymore, as the Disciples’ Reaper was already on his way out. In truth, Sly would rather have been sent on the errand Hawk was taking for himself. Seth had very definite ideas about King and his value to the club, and thus how the other biker should be dealt with given tonight’s events. (Bags’ fucking incompetence was one thing; cowardice was something entirely different.) Still it wasn’t his position to speak his mind on the issue, so he contented himself with staring at Bags until the other biker looked up, the agony still making what was left of his face a distorted, indistinct mass. “Th fuckre YU luuking at, probie?” the other man snapped, wincing as he did so.

Sly couldn’t be sure what made the other wince, the pain or the ridiculous sound of his own words coming through his ruined mouth, but either way, he resisted the urge to laugh. Instead he grinned, shook out a smoke, and lit it. “Me, Bags?” he grated. “Just looking at a Member. A full-fledged, fucking Member who gets to wear the burner while he …” here Seth paused thoughtfully, taking a long drag on the smoke before continuing. “… you know, takes good care of Club business … and such.” He watched Bags’ eyes narrow as the older biker tried to work through the probationer’s words, looking for the sarcasm he strongly suspected.

Sly continued grinning and shook out another cigarette. Holding it toward the wounded biker he added, “For later, Bags. Enjoy.”

“Fuukkk yu, prowbie!” Bags snarled, slapping the cigarette from Seth's hand. “‘Ll fuukkn khill yu, littl coksuk –“

Seth was first inclined to advance the surgery Hawk had started. Kicking the fucker’s teeth in would feel about right, but there were boundaries for someone in his position, and if he hadn’t crossed one already, he’d come as close as he dared. Sly already knew he’d not get Bags’ vote if his name ever came up for promotion. Pushing this further against the full Member might cost him the burner, so he simply cut the older biker off.

“Sure, Bags,” he said, stone-faced. “Another time maybe. Gotta package to deliver.” With the words he pushed by and headed out the door into the night. He had no idea if the new Chief kept early morning work hours. (Probably in bed by nine he sniffed as he slid onto his ’99 Harley Lowrider .) Still, if this Morgan, or whatever-the-fuck his name was, wasn’t at the station, Seth knew a few cops who could give him the guy’s address in town ... and Sly had no objection to making house calls.

Flicking away his butt, he nodded to a couple of brothers leaning against their own bikes and then cruised onto Alturas’ streets, and as the bike slid toward the District House, Seth smiled broadly. Truth be told, he felt pretty goddamn good about getting the job from The Hawk. True, taking a brass rod to that fucking coward King would have made his night, but Sly knew quite well there were at least five more experienced Disciples whom Hawk might have chosen for a diplomatic run. Seth understood he was being given an Opportunity, and for sheer joy he rolled the engine hot and pulled the nose of the bike off the asphalt now screaming under his feet.

[LitShark]

Soren’s long ebony hair whipped and flipped behind him as he rode his loud bike through the night toward the center of town. Sarah, his red-tailed hawk, rode the draft from his speeding bike, her wings spread to their full length as she rode side by side with her Master. Soren’s mind was occupied, however, remembering the times he’d spent at this house…

Soren killed his engine, a good fifteen feet away from the old Riley house, letting his bike silently roll up to the curb like he used to back when he would sneak into Carolyn’s room late at night. Things had changed, changed in so many ways, Soren didn’t sneak anywhere anymore and Carolyn’s mother was dead.

This visit to Carolyn’s house was different, yes; it was also necessary. If he didn’t get King’s side of the story, Soren would be unable to track down whoever it was who had ripped off his Disciples.

Sarah the hawk cocked her head at her Master after fluttering down to perch on the handlebars of Soren’s chopper, asking with her eyes why he was being so sneaky about his entrance when he was typically conspicuous by his loud and elaborate approach.

“Don’t judge me.” Soren told his pet, cutting off the engine. “Stay.”

“Kyaaaaahhuuueee!!!” Sarah replied, hopping from the handlebars to Soren’s seat as he put down the kick stand and dismounted.

Soren walked up to the front door, doing his best to keep his tough guise up. With a closed fist Soren banged loudly on the wooden door, almost certain that King was inside somewhere, avoiding him. Forced to ponder what he would do to his underling who had fled from a fight, Soren waited on the porch, neglecting his urge to kick the damn door in. Part of him hoped that Carolyn was asleep already and that damn fool King would answer the door himself.

[slippedhalo]

"Red, go get the door." grumbled King, clearly beyond his drinking limit.

"I'm in the middle of something and it's probably one of your asshole friends this late at night." Carolyn muttered back as she typed at lightning speed, seeing an end in sight now and hearing her bed calling to her. "And, you know I hate that...don't call me Red."

An empty bottle went flying past her head and she ducked out of the way to see it crash into the wall behind her. "King, WHAT THE FUCK!"

"Answer the Goddamned door, woman!"

Carolyn put her computer aside on the couch and got up, wailing her brother in the face twice which was far too easily deflected, making her feel powerless and frustrated. "I want you out by noon, you alcoholic bastard." she said as she moved to open the door. Her eyes widened as she saw Soren standing there. A breathless, "Soren!" was all she could manage at first. She felt as if she'd been punched in the gut from the surprise. She took a covert look behind her at her brother and then back at Soren with meaning in her eyes as she asked in a whisper, "What are you doing here?"

As he gently pushed past her to get into the livingroom she followed, recovering her composure quickly. "You're not welcome here anymore, Soren. Get out!" she seethed, feeling her words were futile against this stubborn hulk of a man. He had a grim determination in his face she knew no one would be able to shake and she ended up having to settle for standing behind him with her arms crossed looking disapproving and wary. "You should leave, now."

[LitShark]

Soren sighed in frustration as Carolyn answered the door; he had been hoping she was in bed. Despite the fact that she was dressed in casual sweats, Carolyn looked as tempting and seductive as ever, her red hair framing her gorgeous face and her luscious body creating delectable curves under the loose fitting fabric.

When Carolyn spoke, Soren opened his mouth to speak. The words just wouldn’t come, he stood there for a moment as she demanded an explanation for his presence. The tense silence hung for a moment until Soren remembered that he wasn’t there for her. He was there on Club business, and that was vastly more important than whatever it was he was feeling.

In lieu of words, Soren pushed past his ex, keen blue eyes scanning the room. He spotted King sitting in an armchair on the other side of the room as Carolyn ordered him to leave and informed him that he was no longer welcome.

Carolyn’s words stung Soren, burning in parts of his chest that he had convinced himself were only good for pumping blood.

“I’m here for your dipshit brother.” Soren said flatly, pointing to King. “It’s good to see you too.”

Despite Carolyn’s protests, Soren made his way over to King, grabbing the man by his throat and drawing back his fist. He clenched his fingers together with such might that the leather of his fingerless gloves howled from the agonizing strain.

King was drunk again, Soren could smell it. The fact that he had abandoned his duties and fled from a fight paled in comparison to the fact that the asshole thought he was safe from the Club’s retribution; from Soren’s retribution.

“You ran?” Soren asked incredulously, the veins in his arms standing out as his fist tightened and King’s face turned red. “You ran from a fight and abandoned your brother? I ought to fucking murder you, you piece of living shit!”

Soren’s rage permeated through every fiber of his being, making him forget all about Carolyn as his fist crashed down upon King’s unprotected face, breaking his nose with a resounding snap.

“You think you can ignore me?” Soren demanded, another punch dislodging a tooth. “You think you can disrespect the Club? You think you can dishonor the memory of my father?”

Soren punched King over and over again, raining punches each time he asked a question, his rage forcing all thoughts of Carolyn from his brain until she halted him. Using both of her arms to stop Soren’s fist before it came down again, her luscious breasts straddling his shoulder.

“This isn’t your business…” Soren warned, doing his best to contain his rage for the time being.

[slippedhalo]

"Isn't my business? He's my brother and your in my house, you dick!" Carolyn spat back at Soren, using all of her might to hold that bloodied fist away from her brother's face.

King spat out a tooth and shook his head, putting a hand out to gently shove his siter away, "Carrie, he's right. I should have stayed. It didn't go down right. I deserve a beating for letting it happen the way it, did, though. I deserve to be dead. Go do your homework, honey, this ain't your business."

"I can't just let this asshole beat you up, King." Carolyn said, tears forming in her eyes as she looked to Soren. "Let him explain himself first. He told me what happened. What'shisname is a bastard and a coward, not my brother. Tell him about it King."

King just sighed. She was embarrassing him even worse than his buddy and leader thinking he was a pussy who backed out of a battle. "Carolyn, go."

[LitShark]

Gritting his teeth, Soren did his best to relax. Something about Carolyn made him hold back, despite his reputation and his rage, Soren couldn’t continue. King argued in favor of the beating he was receiving, much to Soren’s surprise, making him relax just a little bit more.

“You’re lucky you have a hot sister.” Soren informed King, straightening up and trying to relax his tense muscles. “Well? Why does he deserve mercy?” Soren asked, turning to face Carolyn directly, his blue eyes bearing into hers. “Give me a reason to let this coward live.”

Soren left out the part about mutating his compatriot, despite his best judgment Carolyn seemed to calm the violence inside him. He certainly wasn’t about to follow her orders and just leave, but he was also looking for a reason to forgive King.

“Who jumped you?” Soren asked King, allowing Carolyn to maintain her grip on his arm, despite his ability to pull away whenever he pleased. “Who can I get my fucking money back from?”

This was what Soren hated; holding back on his aggression for the sake of some bitch he no longer had any connection to. It made him weak, defenseless against this red haired succubus who wanted to keep him placated. His eyes turned to Carolyn, bearing into him as he asked another question to which he already knew the answer.

“Who am I supposed to take my aggression out on now?”

[slippedhalo]

Carolyn looked into Soren's eyes, trying in vain to hold back tears as she spoke, "Please...I just got him back. And, with our mother gone...Soren, he's all I have left." She pulled him aside slightly, "Let's talk about this in the other room." she said but niether of the men moved. So Carolyn leaned toward Soren,whispering into his ear so that King wouldn't hear, "I'll give you anything you want if you let him be."

[Drakkwall]

"Whatever ye say boss, we're here for the battle and the blood! not some fooking teasing! So ye handle teasing the shit out of the high piggies and we handle the piggies mano e mano! Hahahahaha!" Though it might sound disrespectful did Black Bear respect his boss, but that didn't mean he took shit, he was hard and straight on, and it was time to fuck up some cops with his sticks and balls. The Heavies smirked and as one rushed forward, Black Bear ahead, and smashed into the door, smashing it apart and rolled into a tumble down the storage room and shoot a nice salve of lead into the face of a surprised guard's face, it went up into a nice splatter, the lead bullets tearing the head apart into drops of blood and chunks of flesh, bone and brain matter.

Striding forward the Heavies moved like a trampling herd of buffaloes, a guard tried to shoot them with his revolver from a safe distance but a good salve of lead cut off the chain of a heavy engine over him and the poor piggie got crushed into paste. As they moved it was clear that there were more guards then normally, one even managed to get one of his guys in the shoulder, but he went down with a knife in the skull. After a while were ten guards dead in the warehouse and the five others were grabbing whatever ammunition and other goodies they could carry. While Black Bear took a pickup truck, carrying two big crates loaded with weapons and ammunition and howled out like a wild beast as he put the gears on full and smashed through the garage doors, throwing out his grenades everywhere and laughed like a maniac as multiple explosion erupted around him as he crashed through the doors, metal and wood shattering into shards as the Black Bear rode the pickup truck like a rodeo bull. "YEEEEEEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"

The truck pulled to a halt with a loud screech as the black man pulled the steering wheel and slowly it began to tip over, Harry calmly stepping out onto the driving seat and stepped on the side of the truck until it fell over. Jumping off the tipped over truck he jerked his head towards it as he looked at the other bikers who had not went inside, some of them shocked or terrified by the Black Bear, who had just driven a pick up truck like it had been a monster truck, carrying two big crates of ammunitions and weapons. "Take what you can, throw the rest into the fire." Pulling out a cigar the black man took a deep joint, the visor of his helmet open, and smirked, smoke slithering out betweens his white teeth, as if he had fire in his gut, and let it out with a soft hissing breathe. "Ahhhh... nothing like some couple of dead piggies and lots of explosions to make my day."

[LitShark]

For a moment, the heavy silence just hung, Soren’s deep breaths making the only sound with Carolyn’s lips inches from his ear. The offer was tempting. It tempted his body and soul, but he couldn’t just let this slide. After a few more seconds Soren spoke, his arm still held in the air by the much smaller woman.

“Who was it?” Soren asked plainly, looking for a reason to accept Carolyn’s offer.

“S-some Cutthroat, I didn’t catch his name…” King stammered. “I’ve seen him selling over on the corner of Court and Maple. I-I swear, that’s all I know…”

Soren’s eyes burned liquid fire for a few more long moments.

“I’ll handle this, in the meantime I want you to go down to the brothel.” Soren said, his muscles relaxing slowly, Carolyn’s breath on his neck causing a very different muscle to tense up. “Hand over your burner to Vegas, tell her that it goes to Sly when he gets back. You don’t deserve it anymore. Now get out of my sight you piece of shit.”

King stumbled over his own feet, fleeing from the apartment. After the slamming of the door, the sound of a loud motorcycle rang out through the walls, the sound diminishing as he moved farther away.

At last Soren turned to face Carolyn, the well defined muscles of his arms still flexing with unresolved tension. His eyes peered deep into hers. His free hand came around to the small of her back, pulling her gorgeous body against his own.

“Well?” Soren asked incredulously, “What was it you were saying?”