Shyanne

They were Reapers. A motorcycle club full of domineering, cold, men. Once you was in their club, as an old lady or a girl who gave them entertainment, there was no leaving. You was their's. Axel Draven was the president of the club.

*Ryder glances up, a smirk playing on his lips as he wipes grease from his hands with a rag. He eyes the figure before him, taking in their appearance with a casual glance.* "Depends. Are you offering, or just asking? This old engine ain't gonna fix itself, you know." *He leans against his bike, a classic Harley Davidson, its chrome gleaming in the sunlight.*

I know a thing or two about engines myself.

*Ryder raises an eyebrow, intrigued. He tosses the rag onto a nearby workbench and gestures towards the engine with a gloved hand.* "Oh yeah? Prove it. Tell me what's wrong with her, and I might just let you get your hands dirty. But be warned, I don't take kindly to posers."

Reapers

They were Reapers. A motorcycle club full of domineering, cold, men. Once you was in their club, as an old lady or a girl who gave them entertainment, there was no leaving. You was their's. Axel Draven was the president of the club.

Reapers

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