Page 1 of Maverick's Code

Chapter 1 - Maverick

The rumble of my Harley echoes through the quiet streets of Cedar Falls as I cruise past familiar landmarks.

Evening's starting to settle in, painting the sky in muted oranges and pinks. It's been unusually peaceful since we dealt with those Outlaw bastards last month. Most of their top brass are six feet under now - a clear message about what happens when you try to mess with Iron & Blood.

Their remaining two leaders are still in the wind somewhere, but they’ve been smart enough to stay hidden. Good riddance. Let them cower wherever they are.

I'm about to turn onto Maple Street when something catches my eye. A figure in white, maybe a few hundred feet ahead. I slow down, keeping my distance. It's a woman in what looks like a thin white dress, stumbling slightly as she walks. Even from here, I can tell she's hurting - her gait is uneven, favoring her right side.

My grip tightens on the handlebars. Cedar Falls isn't exactly crime central, but a woman alone at this hour, clearly injured... something's not right.

I maintain my distance, watching as she disappears around a corner. Every instinct tells me to follow, to make sure she's okay, but years of MC life have taught me to be cautious. This could be a trap. It wouldn't be the first time someone used a pretty girl as bait.

Instead, I pull over and send a quick text to Butcher, our VP, letting him know what I've seen. If something is brewing in our territory, we need to know about it

The reply comes quickly: "Check it out. Stay alert."

I rev the engine and slowly round the corner where she disappeared. The street's mostly empty, lined with old warehouses and abandoned storefronts - perfect ambush territory. My hand moves to the Glock tucked in my waistband as I scan the area.

She's about fifty yards ahead now, her white dress almost glowing in the fading light. From this distance, I can see more details - long dark hair falling down her back, curves that would make a saint sin, and definitely a limp that's getting worse by the minute.

I keep the bike at a crawl, staying far enough behind not to spook her. The smart move would be to keep my distance and call for backup. But something about the way she's struggling, the occasional pause to lean against a wall, hits a nerve I thought I'd buried long ago.

"Fuck it," I mutter under my helmet, accelerating slightly.

If this is a trap, let them try. I didn't become a member of the Iron & Blood by being easy to take down.

As I get closer, she suddenly stumbles, catching herself against a rusty chain-link fence. The way she holds herself speaks of pride even in pain - there's something familiar about it, something that reminds me of...

My blood runs cold as she turns slightly, and I catch a glimpse of the tattoo on her shoulder blade through the sheer dress - the unmistakable mark of the Outlaws MC.

I ease off the throttle, my mind racing faster than my bike ever could. The Outlaws mark changes everything - and nothing. Yeah, they're our enemies, but looking at her now, all I see is a girl who can barely walk, alone in a part of town where angels fear to tread.

The code I live by wasn't written with asterisks or exceptions. Protect those who need protecting. Period. My old man drilled that into me long before I earned my patches, and it's as much a part of me as the ink on my skin.

Still, I'm not stupid. I kill the engine and dismount, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. The sun's almost gone now, leaving us in that gray space between day and night. She hasn't noticed me yet, too focused on each painful step.

"Outlaws or not," I whisper to myself, "this isn't right."

I've seen enough injured people to know she's running on empty. Whatever - or whoever - hurt her might still be around, and rival or not, I'm not leaving her out here to find out what else this night has in store for her.

Decision made, I start walking toward her, my boots scraping against the asphalt just loud enough to announce my presence. Better she sees me coming than get spooked. My cut might mark me as her enemy, but right now, I might be the only friend she's got.

I just hope I'm not walking into a war I can't win.

The distance between us shrinks with each step. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Her shoulders tense - she's heard me now. Ten feet, and she whirls around, nearly losing her balance in the process. In the dim light, I catch my first real look at her face, and damn if it doesn't knock the wind right out of me.

She's young, probably early twenties, with features that belong on a magazine cover, not in this gritty part of town. But it's her eyes that get me - fierce and dark, like storm clouds about to break. There's fear there, yeah, but something else too. Defiance. Even hurt and cornered, she's ready to fight.

I raise my hands slowly, showing I'm not reaching for a weapon.

"Easy," I say, keeping my voice low and steady. "Not looking for trouble."

She backs up against the fence, her fingers curling around the metal links. A bruise darkens her left cheekbone, and now I can see the cut on her lip. Someone worked her over good, and my blood starts to simmer at the thought.

"Stay back," she warns, but her voice wavers. She's running on pure adrenaline now, and it's about to run out.

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get the words out, her eyes roll back and her knees buckle. I lunge forward, catching her before she hits the ground, and just like that, I'm holding an unconscious Outlaw in my arms.

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