Tabitha Mellancamp. It was the only time the MC had missed their mark. Tabitha had been taken the night before thanks to someone giving up her location.
Locals had fingered Molly for the misfortune. Either way, Tabitha Mellancamp was the first Southern girl transported to the East Coast Slave Distribution Center. The Great Age of Innocence armies had bombarded her family’s home and snatched her from her bed while she lay sleeping.
The motorcycle club had earned quite the reputation soon after they missed their first intended mark. Several women had been saved right after the Mellancamp situation. Now best known for harboring young and innocent women, the riders showed up at night or smack dab in the middle of broad daylight.
The time didn’t matter. The significance of their presence marked another drawn name, another young woman doomed for darkness. For whatever reason, the Sins of Wolves had been able to save more young women in the South than any other renegade group in the country.
Some said they were tough; smart, but Romy’s father had taken the time to cover a lot of territory prior to her departure from the old world. He’d told of his suspicions and encouraged her to pay attention. He’d said “befriend the women but never trust them.”
The MC stood as a collective symbol of strength, but one woman could bring them down.
Her father believed the MC gained their knowledge through female companions, women who would turn on them in an instant if something didn’t go their way.
Still, the riders were tough rebels, real rogues. Draped in weapons, their long hair shot straight down their backs. Most of them sported bulging muscles that rippled under their leather pants or bulged around cuffed half-sleeves, but their physical strength didn’t give them their advantage plays. Romy’s dad believed the MC worked with a secret society of sorts, a network of young ladies who made it their business to find out which young woman was marked for transport.
And he had a theory.
Those same women who helped some escape the governor’s wrath would one day cut their ties in order to score the deals that would save their lives.
“You just gonna stand there with your eyes watering and your tongue hanging out or did you walk all the way over here to give me a piece of your...” Molly dragged a slow hand between the fullness of her voluptuous breasts. “Mind?”
“Get over yourself, Molly.” Brittany thrust her arm behind her when Romy took another step in Molly’s direction. Placing her hand on Romy’s hip, she quickly added, “Don’t pay attention to her. You’ll only stroke her ego.” She glared at Molly once more. “Leave them both alone.”
“And if I don’t? What are you going to do, Brittany Marshall? Up here in these mountains, your daddy isn’t king.”
“My father is the only reason we’re not halfway across the Indian Ocean by now.”
“Is that right?” Molly smirked. “A hero, is he?”
Yes he is. You’d better thank your lucky stars that he made nice with the MC. When you have a minute, you should pray to God. Then, you should silently thank my father because he not only saved those who needed saving, he looked out for those here who were destined to become notorious tramps, too.”
“Why you little bitch!” Molly jumped off the bike and rushed her.
Brittany stood her ground and squared her shoulders as the vroom of the bikes topped the ridge and bounded over the last hurdle, the final hill topping the crest where the clubhouse perched. Romy released a hearty sigh and wished she could take it back as the hot air fell from her lungs and painted the cold air with a frosty breath.
“Scared were you?” Molly laughed.
A stroke of bravery or perhaps just downright mischief provoked Romy’s actions. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and strutted by Molly, grabbing Natasha’s hand in passing.
“Come on, Nat. The guys are probably hungry.” She stopped then, convinced the
Locals had fingered Molly for the misfortune. Either way, Tabitha Mellancamp was the first Southern girl transported to the East Coast Slave Distribution Center. The Great Age of Innocence armies had bombarded her family’s home and snatched her from her bed while she lay sleeping.
The motorcycle club had earned quite the reputation soon after they missed their first intended mark. Several women had been saved right after the Mellancamp situation. Now best known for harboring young and innocent women, the riders showed up at night or smack dab in the middle of broad daylight.
The time didn’t matter. The significance of their presence marked another drawn name, another young woman doomed for darkness. For whatever reason, the Sins of Wolves had been able to save more young women in the South than any other renegade group in the country.
Some said they were tough; smart, but Romy’s father had taken the time to cover a lot of territory prior to her departure from the old world. He’d told of his suspicions and encouraged her to pay attention. He’d said “befriend the women but never trust them.”
The MC stood as a collective symbol of strength, but one woman could bring them down.
Her father believed the MC gained their knowledge through female companions, women who would turn on them in an instant if something didn’t go their way.
Still, the riders were tough rebels, real rogues. Draped in weapons, their long hair shot straight down their backs. Most of them sported bulging muscles that rippled under their leather pants or bulged around cuffed half-sleeves, but their physical strength didn’t give them their advantage plays. Romy’s dad believed the MC worked with a secret society of sorts, a network of young ladies who made it their business to find out which young woman was marked for transport.
And he had a theory.
Those same women who helped some escape the governor’s wrath would one day cut their ties in order to score the deals that would save their lives.
“You just gonna stand there with your eyes watering and your tongue hanging out or did you walk all the way over here to give me a piece of your...” Molly dragged a slow hand between the fullness of her voluptuous breasts. “Mind?”
“Get over yourself, Molly.” Brittany thrust her arm behind her when Romy took another step in Molly’s direction. Placing her hand on Romy’s hip, she quickly added, “Don’t pay attention to her. You’ll only stroke her ego.” She glared at Molly once more. “Leave them both alone.”
“And if I don’t? What are you going to do, Brittany Marshall? Up here in these mountains, your daddy isn’t king.”
“My father is the only reason we’re not halfway across the Indian Ocean by now.”
“Is that right?” Molly smirked. “A hero, is he?”
Yes he is. You’d better thank your lucky stars that he made nice with the MC. When you have a minute, you should pray to God. Then, you should silently thank my father because he not only saved those who needed saving, he looked out for those here who were destined to become notorious tramps, too.”
“Why you little bitch!” Molly jumped off the bike and rushed her.
Brittany stood her ground and squared her shoulders as the vroom of the bikes topped the ridge and bounded over the last hurdle, the final hill topping the crest where the clubhouse perched. Romy released a hearty sigh and wished she could take it back as the hot air fell from her lungs and painted the cold air with a frosty breath.
“Scared were you?” Molly laughed.
A stroke of bravery or perhaps just downright mischief provoked Romy’s actions. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and strutted by Molly, grabbing Natasha’s hand in passing.
“Come on, Nat. The guys are probably hungry.” She stopped then, convinced the
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