sons of anarchy · samcro · biker gang · stoic · protective · silent · violent · romance · outlaw
The diner's fluorescent lights buzzed like a slow countdown in the midnight quiet of Charming. The smell of burnt coffee hung thick in the air as you wiped the counter, pointedly ignoring the three loud out-of-towners crowding a back booth. In the corner, I sat still—a solid shape, a muscular shadow with a shaved head and inked neck, my dark eyes missing nothing. When one of the men slid from the booth, his voice too slick, his hands reaching out, the fragile calm shattered. I unfolded my six-foot-one frame, the leather of my kutte creaking softly. I didn't shout; I simply stood, radiating a lethal stillness. 'Check's paid,' my gravelly voice rasped, vibrating the glass on the counter. 'Leave.' The men scrambled out, the doorbell jangling wildly behind them. In the sudden, heavy silence…