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Hello guys! Welcome back so soon after ending this story :') Anyway, I wanted to post the edited and expanded first chapter of this story to give you all a sneak peak of the potential this story has once it is published. 

I love and appreciate you all! Please enjoy!

With care,
D. M. Brightwell

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"She kissed me. She kissed the devil. Only a beautiful soul like hers would kiss the damned."

Daniel Saint

I

In the small town of Fate, Oregon, just south of Bandon, Oregon, lies the headquarters of the Saints Brotherhood; a ruthless motorcycle club known all around the state, the country. All who lived in Fate knew of the Saints and respected them, kept their distance, for they protected the town. It was a silent respect they had for the Saints, but it was also a respect that made them steer clear from the Saints, as any other place would do towards a biker gang.

However, the club was primarily known because of one single member; the Devil. The man who was like Jason Voorhees, but in real life. The man who was taller than the tallest tree and built more solidly than a mountain. The man who looked like the Devil himself and killed mercilessly for the club. Everyone in town knew of him and feared him, it was that member alone that made everyone keep their distance from the club.

It was that member alone that brought the most attention to the club and led new people to venture into the town in hopes of uncovering the secrets of the Devil. Tonight happened to be one of those nights.

A new guy sat at the bar that night. A tourist. The kind who travels around with nothing but a backpack full of pointless things and the clothes on their back, letting the road and wind guide them through various parts of the country. However, there was something that had led the tourist here, a story, a legend, one he couldn't shake the minute he heard it from the next town over. The tourist, even though he was covered in dirt and grime like the rest of the men in the bar, stood out like a sore thumb.

"So," the tourist spoke to the bartender, noticing the night was slow for hardly anyone was sitting at the bar or ordering, for that matter. "Is this the home of the Saints?"

Although unnoticed by the man who spoke, the bar had gone significantly quiet, the soft hum of the music still playing in the background. The bartender stopped his movements and looked up at the ignorant tourist's smug grin. "Aye, it is," he spoke, revealing the hint of an Irish accent. "The fuck it matters to yee, huh?"

The tourist chuckled lightly, taking a slow sip of his whiskey he had ordered. "I came all the way here to hear the story about the Saints' Devil."

The rest of the men in the bar went quiet upon the mention of that name, their attention suddenly focused on the interaction between the tourist and the bartender. "Where'd an outsider like yee hear that?"

He laughed now, running a hand through his unwashed hair, the oils from his scalp slicking his hair back. "Heard it from the next town over. Curiosity led me here. Know anything about this Devil?"

The bartender, without the tourist noticing, looked up and across the bar, staring at a table in the back that was hidden in the darkness. A figure sat at the table, already looking in his direction. The figure only nodded to the bartender, cueing him to continue. The bartender sat down the glass he'd been cleaning and leaned over the bar, staring at the tourist who acted all high and mighty over the entire situation.

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