Back in Bandidos

(Lena's POV)

Right in the middle of the street, there I was, back in the old stomping grounds, Bandidos town. I was decked out in my black, armless crop top and bum shorts, a familiar outfit in a place that was once home. My shades were perched on my nose, a barrier between me and the memories that were flooding back.

The boys in blue were still running the show, their sirens wailing like a bad case of déjà vu. They were trying to keep the peace, but the miscreants, the Roadrunners and the Bandidos, were stirring up trouble like it was their job.

I'd been away for a while, though the town might've changed. But as the bottles flew and the bullets sprayed, it was clear that some things stay the same. The cops brought in reinforcements, and soon, the streets were as empty as my hopes for a new Bandidos.

I found myself asking a dame about the ruckus. She was all dolled up, but her makeup was running, and her eyes were red from crying over her boyfriend. He was now just another casualty of the never-ending turf war.

I'd left this town thinking I could escape the chaos. But sitting there, watching the drama unfold, it was clear that Bandidos was still the same old town, with the same old problems. And I was back, right in the thick of it.

Just as I was taking in the scene, a fine-looking guy with tattoos darted past me. He was light-skinned, with short blonde hair, and was holding an AK47 like a suitcase. He was coming out of a supermarket, probably laying low until the heat died down.

Seeing the opportunity, he made a break for it. And there I was, in my car, watching this all unfold. On impulse, I popped open the back seat, letting the tattooed Adonis dive in. Almost immediately, another guy followed suit. He was wearing a black jacket with the Bandidos badge and had short black hair. He slammed the door shut, and I hit the gas.

My Porsche roared to life, and we sped away, leaving the chaos behind. But not without a parting gift from the boys in blue. Bullets rained down on us, pinging off the car.

But we were already gone, swallowed up by the city streets. Bandidos town was in my rearview mirror. And I was watching it with these two fine ass boys in the back seat of my Porsche.

I glanced at the guys in the rearview mirror, a small smirk playing on my lips. "You guys want some?" I asked, holding up a small bottle of vodka. It was a rhetorical question, really. We all needed something to take the edge off.

The guy with the jet black hair didn't miss a beat. He snatched the bottle from my hand, muttered a quick "thanks", and tipped it back. The liquid disappeared down his throat faster than a rabbit down a hole. The empty bottle clinked softly as he set it down.

I had to toss the second bottle over my shoulder to the other guy. He was quiet, his AK47 resting beside him like a faithful companion. He caught the bottle with ease, staring at it for a moment before popping the cap. He took a sip, the vodka burning a trail down his throat. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

I pulled up to a motel, the neon sign flickering in the night. I killed the engine, expecting the boys to get the hint. But they just sat there, looking like a couple of deer caught in the headlights.

"Boys, get down. We gotta clean up," I said, breaking the silence. The one with the jet black hair shot me a look. "Who do you think you're talking to?" he snapped.

I raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. "Excuse me, I'm talking to the two boys I just saved, who haven't even said thank you yet," I retorted. He muttered something under his breath, sounding a lot like "whatever," as he hopped out of the Porsche.

"You don't have to be so rude," I called after him, "I'm getting us a room here. For all of us. 'Cause guess what? I'm on the run with you guys. The po-po saw my face too."

The guy with the jet black hair just sighed, rolling his eyes as he muttered another "whatever." He strutted into the motel like he owned the place, leaving me in the dust.

Meanwhile, I was trying to catch the eye of the second guy. He was quiet, his gaze as cool and unreadable as a winter sky. I was falling for him, hard. But he was giving me nothing, his expression as stern as a judge. He looked unloving, but damn, he was cute.

I let out a sigh, throwing my hands up in a 'what can you do' gesture. "I've already gotten myself into this," I muttered under my breath, "The po-po is after my ass and I've got to do whatever I've got to do, not minding these boys."

We stepped into the motel, the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener hitting us like a brick wall. I walked up to the receptionist to pay for a room to spend the night. The receptionist was a knockout, dressed in a revealing green and yellow Gucci gown that left little to the imagination. Her lips were shiny with gloss, her smile as sweet as honey.

I could feel the tension in the air as I handed over the cash. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the fair, handsome guy, his gaze fixed on the receptionist. I hoped he wasn't falling for her, even though I knew how tempting she was.

With a sense of urgency, I paid a little above the price for the room, grabbed the keys, and turned to the boys. "Start moving fast," I ordered, "We need to get to our rooms immediately." And with that, we disappeared down the hallway, leaving the receptionist desk fast before she steals away this fine light skin guy that I'm craving for.