The Queen of Hearts

CH. 29

Kylie Jones

Striker had been one of the prospects I'd been secretly listening to when I arrived here at my ceremony. He had went on and on about my father's rampage and how he put my father on a golden pedestal.

Pride had surged through my body then and still is now. My father's behavior was so similar to my own when we got cornered, angry or bored. It was borderline creepy if you ask me.

He hadn't had the best childhood growing up, considering my grandpa been a total jackass. No offense to you Gramps! I'll most likely party with your drunken ass in hell.

Striker and I had bonded over our similar experiences, not that he could come close to mine. He had been abandoned as a child, let on the streets to rot at six years old.

A man had taken him in, forced him to be a running boy for the man's drug business. Striker got involved with the wrong crowd, having a target on his back caused by some bad blood, money and his cocky attitude.

The scrawny boy had fought his way, tooth and nails, to safety at Hells Dragons. Robert was a sucker for a dramatic backstory, believing that the worse their story was, the more loyal and focused they were.

I can definitely stand behind that. Experience gives a person some needed perspectives at the dark world we live in.

My sassy ass had caught him cussing out a punching bag in the middle of the night when I went to train. He had sassed me off at first, not really believing the rumors about me and my accolades.

Definitely a man after my taste. You shouldn't believe everything you hear when you have the opportunity to find out from the concerning person.

We got on like a house on fire, siblings separated at birth but stumbled across one another as adults. He was like the brother from another mother I never had.

The time I spent at the clubhouse had sneakily managed to melt a layer of my stone heart. Taking interest in the people around me wasn't something I thought necessary.

Just ask Gio or Dominic. It took them years to break through to me, after gallons of alcohol and physical fights. My nickname is and will be a careless bitch, and I chose to live up to that with all my might.

In the world I live in, you can't afford lose ends or loved ones. They would immediately become your weakness and I wasn't one for weaknesses.

Striker though has sailed right through my walls, closely followed by the remaining prospects. I was always good with kids, and this lot was grown three-year olds.

***

Striker and his crew of prospects gathered around me as I once again explained the importance of a balanced stance.

It felt like we had gone through this a thousand times but they couldn't seem to manage the obvious change of balance. Maybe one of Anatoly's methods would come in handy for once.

"Boys, you will carry your combinations out on the bags. For the love of god, keep attention to your feet"

My demanding voice had them in action before I could finish my lecture. Yeeesus, these boys have a lot of painful learning ahead of them.

They carried out their practiced combinations, not paying attention to their feet at all. Motherfuckers. Mumbling under my breath had a closely inspecting Damon chuckling under his breath.

"Do you train your boys at all?"

Damon frowned as he caught my sarcastic jab. I swear to god, the only remotely functioning men around here was Cyber, Deadshot and Axe.