Blood in the Water

Blood in the Water - Chapter One

      The sound of fist colliding against another person could be heard. A fight had been ensuing until the distinct sound of a switchblade being drawn, then another.

"Really think this will end well princess?"

"Well, for a matter of fact I do"

As the two lunged towards one another, a siren could be heard going off. Swearing under each other's breath, one another quickly made a run for it, going their own ways, not making it far. Getting tackled to the floor mere inches from their bikes as a muffled groan is heard, "another Hound versus Vulture? When will you idiots learn..." cuffs locked around the pair of wrists for each of them. Tossing them into separate police cruisers.

Growing up in Vegas teaches you a few things. Knowing how to read a person, to know if you need to worry about them. Growing up as a biker and as the daughter of a infamous motorcycle club president teaches you another thing or two. The heiress to the title of leader carries a lot of wait within the club, it also carries a lot of baggage when crossing paths with gangs.

The bright lights of Vegas streets are normally quite a sight to drive by. Being in the back of a cruiser ready to be thrown into a holding cell and knowing your bike probably has been impounded is quite the mood killer. Being booked and processed before being thrown into a group holding cell. Looking around a single person caught my eye.

Another teen, wearing a pair of torn dark blue jeans, a crimson leather jacket with a crest of a bird with a curved beak and sharp talons, having a lowered hood attached to the jacket itself. Having black hair with the ends bleached and dyed white having an undercut sided over to the right, a studded choker having the leather onyx with the studded part matching that of his jacket, and what I physically remember as a pair of crimson steel tipped boots. That young man is Justyn Taylor Jr, or more prominently known as Slackjaw.

"Seems like the officer threw me into the same cell as a filthy Vulture," I smirked.

"Well if it isn't Seven, didn't take enough of a beating?" Justyn groaned.

"Don't know what you're referring to, you're the ass who kicked me with steel toe boots."

"You're the crazy bitch that pulled a knife on me!" he narrowed his eyes at me.

"Shut up in there," an officer approached the holding cell, "we've contacted your parents, consider yourself lucky that we're only confiscating the blades, not holding you over night, along with contacting your school about this. Don't make me change my mind."

Remaining silent for the rest of that fateful night till getting picked up, exchanging glares and sly smirks. Taking a few hours till a man dressed in blue jeans and a worn, aged, leather jacket with a variety of different sorts of patches, all meaning their own thing, having their own stories, along with swept back greasy hair along with a goatee. This man was my old man, Deacon Madison, also known simply as 'Deek'.

"Hey kid," dad approached as the officer unlocked the cell, "ready to get out of here?"

"Hell yeah," I quickly jumped to my feet, fixing my jacket, "the sooner the better!"

"Well then Seven, let's be on our way."

My father and I got out the doors and quickly to his bike. Quickly throwing my hands up, catching my helmet from him. Hearing the roaring motor and engine from the bikes. Getting on the back holding on before we begin to drive. Riding through the streets back to the club house, dad parking his bike before dropping the kick stand.

It doesn't take long for us to take our helmets off and begin heading to the door. Once that door opened, we could hear the crowd of Hounds shouting and cheering upon the arrival of their leader. Father didn't waste any time grabbing himself a drink and getting up onto stage before everyone, giving a toast to my safe return and my fight against a Vulture.