We went to bed a few minutes later despite Hugh's protests, I silenced him with a look and told him to sleep. "I can talk a lot dad, and you have a big MC to run. So you either go to bed now, or I knock you out and you can sleep that way"

He had sulked and walked to his bedroom, mumbling about 'headstrong women' and 'he'll have no balls now.'

The morning was crisp and biting, as the fire had burned out during the night. I threw some socks and my scuffs on, yawning as I went to the kitchen.

While I was making coffee I heard sounds outside, bikes pulling up and another gut wrenching familiar sound.

Metal beating against skin.

Running to the door, I whipped it open, stomach dropping when I saw what was happening. A young boy, 19 at the most, was being beaten with a metal pipe, blood on the grass around him as he refused to scream.

And Ripper was beating him, grunting with the exertion it took. His swings were harsh and unrelentless, the whistle through the air as he swung showing the force at which he hit the boy. Tears spilled out of my eyes, and I clutched at my stomach, trying to keep the vomit at bay.

And everyone just stood there. The whole club was there, large men leaning against bikes as they watched, some nodding as if the boy deserved it.

So was Hugh. But there was one man, one man with the same hair as the boy, who was being restrained by two hulking men, rage and grief plain on his face.

"STOP" I shouted, berating myself for standing there for too long. Hugh's eyes flicked up and he paled, seeing my tear-stained face. "Fuck" He cursed, quickly striding up to me. I avoided his arms, ducking out of his reach.

"Sweetheart, this needs to happen-"

I spat at his feet, ignoring the growls of angry men. Ripper hadn't even eased up, still beating the boy as he knelt on the grass, spitting blood and barely containing his groans.

"This is torture. No boy, especially at his age, deserves the feeling of a fully grown man beat him with an iron pipe" I snarled, throwing my hand out to gesture to the hardly conscious boy. Hugh frowned, noticing something else behind my words that I refused to acknowledge- and Ripper still hadn't stopped.

I tore past Hugh, standing in front of the boy as Ripper brought the pipe down. Gritting my teeth, I braced myself for the familiar pain of the metal, but it never came. Opening my eyes slowly, they met hard, unflinching honey brown eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He growled, the only emotion on his beautiful face. I turned to the boy, assessing his wounds quickly. "This boy has a broken jaw you fucking prick" I snapped, laying him down and fluttering my fingers over his blood covered shirt.

Possibly more broken ribs too.

Ripper snarled again, throwing the pipe on the ground. "Just because you're the fucking Pres' daughter-"

I whipped around, fury igniting my blood. "I don't give a fuck about my status!" I screamed, a sound of exasperation erupting from the back of my throat. "I just want to help this boy, because no one else will"

Ripper stilled, stepping back as his face hardened. "I care-"

"No you don't. None of you do. Even if you say he's a prospect or some family shit like that, you don't care. I've seen this before, and you're all exactly the same" The words came out unbidden, and I turned my attention back to the boy.

Peeling back his clothes as gently as I could, I winced at the bruises already forming. Definitely broken ribs. Especially with the power in Ripper's body, the boy was lucky he wasn't dead.

I took my hoodie off and tore the sleeves, tearing as much as I could off before tying it around his larger gashes, the white material immediately going a dark red. I looked up for a split second, seeing them all just watching. For all the leather, they weren't that into action.

I looked to the man who was being restrained, an odd look on his face as he watched me. "Call whoever it is you guys have for these situations, I don't want his death on my hands." The man immediately nodded, phone coming out and straight to his ear.

They had gone too far. I understood the workings of MC's and gangs alike, but beating him to the point of death was unheard of. Especially for one as young as this.

Someone kneeled behind me, going to grab my elbow but I leaned away from his touch as I worked. "Don't touch me. If he dies, because you let Ripper beat him to half an inch of his death, it will be on your hands."

And judging by the intake of breath from Hugh, I knew he knew I was right. A slim man emerged from the sea of leather, glasses perched keenly on his nose. He kneeled immediately, bright blue eyes flicking to me.

"You've saved his life. I'll take over from here"

Knowing this man was probably extremely qualified, I walked back inside, glad that the men parted as I left. There was an anger inside me, and it wanted to be let out.

A few minutes later, the front lawn had cleared and my father was sitting in the kitchen with Ripper again. I was dressed now, and breezed past them as I went to the door.

"Corin?" My father called, anxiety and angst plain in his voice. I turned my head slightly, heart breaking as I knew he thought I was leaving.

"I'm coming back. I just don't want to be here with you and him right now"

Then I left.

It was nice getting outside, back in my element. Sure I loved staying in and getting diabetes with tubs of ice cream, gorging myself on food, but outside was so underappreciated, and I reveled in the frost covered land. Walking to a small park, I looked out across the lake surrounding, pulling out my phone.

It rang a few times before a sleepy voice picked up.

"Yo, this is Biancs."

I grinned, immediately feeling calm. "Hey fam, it's Cor" The sound of crashing and a big thump ensued, probably Bianca falling off her bed. "Yo! How's it been Cor?" I heard a male voice in the background, lowly asking who I was. Another male to fall to Bianca's muse-like charms, inevitable really.

I shrugged, then leaned back into the park seat. "I found my dad"

Bianca quietened, then spoke up. "And?"

"He's great. A motorcycle club president." I said, voice blank. But Bianca knew, she always knew when something wasn't going good. "But?"

I sighed loudly, "It's the whole MC thing. This morning they were punishing a teenage boy. They were beating him with a pipe Biancs" My voice broke, and silent tears coursed down my cheeks. She would understand more than most what that entails exactly.

Bianca cursed lowly then replied, a quiet force behind her words. "Fuck them up if you won't regret it later. And since it's your father, try to understand his lifestyle. But, don't back down in standing up for what you know to be right"

Then, she added as an afterthought "And remember, just because they are our values, it doesn't necessarily make them the best for others"

Considering she knew what it was like to be beaten, I took all her words in. When she wasn't absorbed in her music, or being a complete savage, she had the best words of anyone I ever knew. Part of the reason why we were such good and fast friends.

"Yeah, I'll remember. Anyway, since you're probably going to the Halls today to perform, I'll let you practice. Kick some ass okay?"

Bianca laughed, the sound light and easy going. "Yeah fam. You too, and I mean it literally"

We both laughed then cut the call, and I walked into town, needing just a bit more time to myself.

Bianca Morimoka was a half Japanese musician who was tatted and pierced to the max. She lived and breathed her music, and anyone who met her felt relaxed just by being near ner. But a few months after we met, she was beaten with metal pipes and bats by a gang that was stuck in their racist ways, people who didn't believe in mixed race individuals. But she soldiered on, testifying against those men over and over again, even when people didn't believe her.

I was glad she was my best friend.

When I came upon the bustling town, much busier than it was last night, lots of people stopped to look at me. Was it because I was foreign or because I was mixed? Never knew. I was a half italian half irish mix, and had pretty strange features for anyone who was normal. But I was fine with my looks, more than fine, I knew I looked good.

I was tall, lithely curved and had the colouring of my mother and features of my father. Ebony hair that fell to my waist, cat shaped green eyes, a fully curved mouth and tattoos for years, I loved my body.

I looked around, seeing a few cafes, retail stores, supermarkets and finally the one I was looking for- A tattoo studio. Opening the door I walked in, admiring the works of art on the walls.

"Ah, Pres' daughter" A familiar voice hummed, the hot piece of hell stepping out from the shadows. He stood, relaxed, in dark wash jeans, a short sleeve top that showed his sculpted arms and wearing a smile that should be classed as sin. He grinned, white teeth gleaming in a predatory way. Still hot as fuck though.

"My name is Corin. Now, I want another tattoo, can you do it?" I snapped, really not in the mood to be joking, no matter how hot the male was. The man looked me up and down, raising a scarred eyebrow.

"You sure you can handle it girl?"

I scoffed, pulling my hoodie off to the sports bra I was wearing underneath. (Don't judge, you do it all the time) Tying up my hair into a loose bun, I turned around, showing him my covered back. A dream catcher with a single detailed wolf coursed up one arm, a lion was wrapped around the other. On my back were two wide, feather wings that drifted down my back, stretching out across my sides and down to my navel. 40 hours under a needle.

"Can't handle it? Come again?" The man nodded, impressed, and then gestured for me to enter a booth. I didn't miss the way his eyes had ran up and down me hungrily. "Who designed these?" He asked, fingertips hovering above the wolves and dream catcher on my right arm. "You're looking at her buddy"

The man sat back, a crooked smile on his face. "You ever tattoo before?"

I nodded, turning over so he could get to where I wanted my next tattoo to be. The very small of my back, at the base of my spine. "Yeah, did a couple of stints at different tattoo studios in Italy, Spain and America"

I couldn't see him, but I knew he was impressed. "Wanna job here? I'm looking for someone new"

I shrugged, pulling a piece of paper out of my jeans. "I'll think about it. But I want this at the base of my spine."

"My name is Slater. In the club anyway" He said after a few moments, brushing his now gloved hands over my bare skin. I shivered, closing my eyes.

And when the needle touched my skin, I felt at peace.