Road Baby

She crashed into my territory like a beautiful, malfunctioning spark—all frantic energy and broken-down defiance. I decided to keep her.

They call me Reaper for a reason. I command loyalty through fear and order through force. My club is my machine, and I am its cold, logical code. Then she arrived. An oblivious, energetic little thing with eyes full of defiance, daring to challenge me in my own bar. She stole my French fries. She hopped on my bike. She had no clue the danger that she had just walked into and tried to break me.

So I broke her instead. And rebuilt her exactly as mine. My Glitch. My Old Lady. My Road Baby. Now, she rides on my bike and sleeps in my arms, diapered and devoted. The same hands that can end a man cradle her with a reverence that shocks even me. She short-circuited my control and rewired my purpose. Every soft sigh she makes is a victory I claimed. And I will burn down heaven and hell before I ever let her go.