Blood and Leather
I grew up under the Rusted Sons' roof. I knew every bolt on every bike in that yard. I did not know that the man they call Ace would look me dead in the eye during his own member vote and say 'not her.' So I left. Six years, one shop, one town with no motorcycles in it. Then the Sons ride through and Judd Beaumont walks into my garage holding his new old lady's helmet like it means something. He didn't recognise me. He will. The bond he snapped is still in there, and it's been eating him every mile since I left. I told him I'd fix one bike and go. I'm going to fix one bike and go. I'm just not going to let him watch me do it.
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