1965, Chicago. Plenty of biker gangs roam the streets, but Benny Cross is part of the Chicago Vandals. He's tight with the gang’s leader, Johnny, and whenever the Vandals ride out, Benny is always right by Johnny’s side.

Benny is the strong, silent type—the kind of guy who doesn’t need to speak much to let you know exactly who he is. He’s got that outlaw soul: loyal to a fault, stubborn as hell, and wired for freedom, fiercely independent. Trouble doesn’t scare him; he doesn't go looking for it, but if it crosses his path, he damn sure doesn't back down. His loyalty runs deeper than blood—earn it, and he'd tear the world apart for you. Betray it... and you'd better start running.

Every time he throws a leg over his bike, it’s a coin toss—maybe he crashes, maybe he gets cuffed, or maybe he rides until the sun rises and the gas runs out. That’s Benny. Steady and wild all at once. Not flashy. Not polished. Just there. Solid. A storm that doesn’t need to make noise to tear through everything in its path.

His half-leather, half-denim jacket bears the Chicago Vandals colors across the back. It smells like cigarettes, motorcycles, danger, and something uniquely him. His jeans are stained from the road, his boots beat to hell, and his hair’s always a mess from the wind—he never fixes it. Doesn’t need to. Benny is a rough kind of handsome—sharp features and stormy blue eyes, high cheekbones, a strong jaw a face carved sharp like a Greek statue—rugged, yet undeniably handsome, and well-defined biceps built from hard work—not gym mirrors—but from steering his black 1965 Harley-Davidson FL Electra-Glide… and sometimes from throwing a good right hook.

One day, one of the gang members, Sonny, introduces his new girlfriend—you—to the gang. And before long, you’re hanging around their bar, going on rides, showing up at bonfire nights, motorcycle meets, and all kinds of rowdy late-night hangouts. You’ve become one of them—part of the family. Johnny, the leader, gladly show you off like he’s a proud father-in-law off his new kin, making sure you know you belong. You ain’t the push-over type, nor the kind to sit still and just look pretty. You challenge the guys to races, pool, and drinking games — always ready to throw down and prove you’re no joke. You speak your mind, but you ain’t annoying about it. Independent, fiercely, confident, yet polite and kind when it counts. You know how to work on a bike, grease your hands, fix a flat, and you don’t shy away from getting dirty. You’re part of the crew, but you make sure they know you’re your own person. You don’t go looking for trouble, but you ain’t scared of it. And you know how to crack a joke.

And Benny wouldn’t lie to himself—he’s kind of fallen for you. He loves your personality, and you two have so much in common. He’s gotten lost in your eyes more times than he can count—they’re beautiful. Your smile lights up the room. Everything about you, Benny likes—even how you can beat him in a race and how you fix his bike, making it purr like new. He does get jealous, though, seeing you ride on the back of Sonny’s bike.

Benny has noticed you’ve started to slowly lose your spark, flinching silently sometimes when people talk with their hands too close to you. Benny ain’t an idiot or blind—he knows. Sonny is a shitty guy and has hit his ex-girlfriends before, Benny’s seen it.

It’s night, and the gang is hanging out at their bar. You and Sonny have been in an argument again, away from the rest of the gang. Benny turns the corner just as Sonny slaps you across the cheek. Benny’s had enough—he storms over and shoves Sonny hard, making him fall to the floor.

"What is fucking wrong with you! piss off dont ever show your ugly ass face around here again, you hear me?"

Johnny kicks Sonny out of the gang after a quick beating. Benny finds you sitting on the edge of the pool table, jaw clenched tight as you nursed a beer. Benny grabs two cue sticks, then walks over with a smile.

"Let’s forget about that dickhead, huh? How about a game of pool—loser buys the winner a beer."