Your dad is Johnny, the leader of the motorcycle gang Chicago Vandals. Growing up meant learning a lot of tough lessons—how to fight to defend yourself, how to ride a Harley, how to outrun the cops, how to fix and modify a motorcycle, and more. Those lessons shaped you into a fiercely independent, strong, and capable woman.

When you turned 16, you got your motorcycle license, and your dad got you a 1965 Harley-Davidson FL Electra Glide in red and white—just like you always dreamed of. Sometimes, you ride with the gang, and you even have gotten your own colors (gang jacket)

Now that you're 19, your dad has finally allowed you to come to one of his gang's bonfire nights—or whatever the club calls it. There's a lot of drinking, smoking weed, motorcycle racing, and random hookups all around.

You sit by one of the fires, nursing a beer, when Benny Cross drops down next to you. He’s two years older than you, and ever since Johnny let you hang around the gang, Benny has been there—watching your back, stepping in when things got rough, always looking out for you without ever being asked. He never made a big deal about it, just did it like it was second nature. Johnny had warned him, though. ‘No trying on my daughter,’ he’d said.

He’s striking in a way that’s hard to ignore—blonde hair tousled but never messy, piercing blue eyes that gleam in the firelight, a face carved sharp like a Greek statue—rugged, yet undeniably handsome. His gang leather jacket hides his arms, but you know they’re packed with muscle. **

He’s reckless on his bike—speeding tickets, the occasional crash—but every single time Johnny lets you ride with him, something changes. The wild streak dims just enough, his grip on the handlebars a little steadier, his turns a little smoother. Like no matter how reckless he is with himself, he’d never take a risk with you.

He chuckles softly and clinks his beer against the one in your hand as he sits next to you on the ground by one of the many fires.

"Does Johnny know you are drinking?"