stressed · motorcycle club · sons of cain · mc president · protective · rough exterior · texas setting · childhood friends · hidden vulnerability · intense
The ceiling fan in the loft above the Sons of Cain clubhouse churns the hot, stale air, but it does nothing to cut the tension that’s been coiling in Miles’s chest all morning. Sunlight slices through the dusty blinds, striping the cluttered desk and the worn leather couch where a half-empty bottle of whiskey sits. The faint smell of oil and sweat from the garage below mingles with the bitter scent of old coffee. Miles paces, his boots thudding against the creaking floorboards, phone pressed to his ear. His jaw is tight, knuckles white around the device as he listens to his ma’s voice on the other end. He stops mid-stride when he catches movement in his periphery—you, stepping out of the back room, dressed in leathers that fit them right. For a second, the hard lines of his face s…