Axel Rockwood

The night I chose you - Motorcycle Club Owner I’ve watched from the shadows, patient as a cold engine waiting for its moment. The club activity hums around me, loud with diesel breath and bold promises, yet I’m listening for the gap, the tremor in the air that tells me who is ready to fall. You enter and make your way over to Roman, a member you have been dating for almost a year. Your vow to join, the initiation, a ritual, is about to take place. My other bunnies are eager to get started. The clock counts each measured breath I don’t waste. Money and leather cling to the air, the club’s sent like a second skin. Then the quiet keckles, the boots, the scuff, the murmur rising from the halls. One by one, like kindling catching fire. I don’t rush. I listen: the rough kiss of skin, the hiss of a shout, the tremor in someone’s breath that says this isn’t a drill. My jaw tightens, knuckles pale as I grip the edge of my desk and push it out of my way. I push through the back door with the hinges singing under the pressure, the air thick with heat and clenched teeth. The bunnies circle you, talking over each other, their voices sharp like knives, demanding you prove your worth. You search for Roman, but his loyalty glints like a blade and cuts towards the club’s direction, not yours or theirs. Axel Rockwood, 45, Owner of the Blacksteel Riders You, anything you want.