Lone River Chronicles

They don’t belong here. Look at them all, throwing themselves on your friends, your brothers.

They’ll ruin them, too.

Like they ruined you.

“No,” he whispered under his breath. He was sitting at the end of the bar in the clubhouse, far in the corner where no one else was around. Nursing a glass of scotch so aged, it was almost like drinking gasoline. “Stop.”

You’ll save them again, right?

Like you always do.

Wring their pretty little necks.

They don’t d e s e r v e to live.

“No, that’s not t-true,” he reached up with a shaky hand, scrubbing it over his face. “I’m not like that anymore. I-I’ve changed.”

Pierce gripped the thick glass in his hand, the amber liquid inside trembling. His heart rate was starting to pick up, the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling almost painfully, and he was trying not to look at the person that was currently pressed up against Jericho. Completely throwing themselves at the president of the Sons.

“How pathetic,” he and the voice whispered together.

He made a disgruntled noise, picking up his glass and downing the rest of the burning drink inside, wrinkling his nose. He set it down on the bar top with a thud and pushed up from his seat. He was about to make his way to where Jericho was when he heard another voice.

“Pietr!”

That soft and beautiful tone of yours.

Like a sweet sanguine lullaby.

His cerulean eyes flicked around and almost panicked until he settled on your face as you walked up to him. “Hey, you’re here,” you said, smiling at him.

A smile that was like a spotlight in a dark room, shooing away the shadows and dark tendrils in his mind. “B-bunny,” he called you that adorable nickname as he always did. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“Yeah, my shift ended early and I know Fridays are kind of busy for the club,” you explained. “I wanted to surprise you. So, surprise!”

You waved your hands a little and it was adorable. Pierce’s normally hard-set expression softened into a smile. “I see,” he murmured.

“Well? Come on, let’s go sit somewhere quiet. I have so much to catch you up on,” you grabbed his hand in yours, and the warmth of it sent a shock wave through his entire being.

He couldn’t help but be pulled along by you as you led him through the common room and the kitchen, out to the back porch. No one was out here right now. Usually the others used it for grilling and hanging out on evenings when there weren’t club parties.

You chose to sit on one of the picnic tables, leaning back against the table part and looking out into the field behind the clubhouse. The light remained off and before you both spread a gorgeous inky indigo sky, dotted with thousands of stars.

It was one of the things Pierce loved about Lone River. It was far enough away from any major cities that light pollution wasn’t a thing. The skies were always beautiful at night.

On this rather warm fall evening, Pierce sat next to you, crossing his arms lazily over his chest. His long legs stretched out in front of him. There was a silence between you two that stretched for a few minutes, before he finally broke it. “What’s your news?” he asked curiously.

Pierce listened as you rambled on about the new things in your life, some big event that happened that you were excited for. He relaxed against the table, his eyes closed as he focused on your words, a soft smile on his face.

A smile only reserved for you.

For you were the only thing in the entire world that made him feel normal. That made him forget what a monster he truly was. Forget the moments in time that he let the rage take over, only to come out of it to blood soaked hands, gasping for air. To see another body beneath him, snuffed out like they were a candle left on for too long.

The blood washed off, but the memories didn’t.

You continued talking until you glanced over and noticed his expression, pausing mid-sentence. “… Pietr?” you called softly.

He jerked like he’d been forced awake, turning his head to look at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his. You always thought he was so damn gorgeous, you were lucky to have his attention at all. If you really knew what he was, you’d probably change that opinion real quick.

“Yes?” he blinked.

“Oh, nothing, really. You almost looked like you were sleeping,” you chuckled, looking away shyly. Sometimes his gaze was so intense when it was focused solely on you like it was now.

“Mm,” he hummed, smiling a little more. “I was just listening to you, bunny. Your voice is relaxing.”

“R-really?”

“It is,” he insisted softly. “It…”

Calms the voices in my head. Soothes my inner monster. Reminds me that I’m human.

“… makes me feel better, I guess,” Pierce finished with that instead.

You looked at him again, studying his face. He looked… tired, almost. But that wasn’t quite the word for it, was it? “Are you doing okay?” you asked, genuine concern in your tone.

He raised his eyebrows, blinking at you again. “I’m…”

Drowning in c r i m s o n when you’re not around. A M O N S T E R, not unlike those in the scary books you like to read.

Pierce sighed, “I’m fine, bunny.”

You weren’t convinced. “Hey, you can… talk to me, you know? It doesn’t always just have to be me rambling here,” you laughed a little nervously, looking at your hands and fidgeting. “I want… I want to be able to be a soundboard for you, too, you know.”

The admission made the feeling in his chest flutter with something warm and sweet. He reached out to you, his fingers ghosting across your brow and brushing your hair from your face. “You help just by being here,” he murmured. “With you around, I feel like I can breathe.”

The vulnerable and soft look on your face as you turned to gaze up at him almost seized his aching heart. “Pietr…” you didn’t know what to say.

Pierce’s knuckles caressed your cheek just so. These little touches, the barely-theres, were the only things he allowed himself to do to you. If he let himself give into temptation with you…

Well, there’s no telling what he might wake up to.

And he couldn’t do that. Not with you! Not when you provided him a sanctuary and reminded him of what he was like before Vanessa, before the assault when he was younger. When he was still ignorant to the horrors of this cruel world.

“Don’t stop talking,” his voice was a strained plea as he withdrew his hand from your face.

You nodded a little and turned your face skyward as you picked up where you left off. Pierce’s heart rate relaxed again, and he allowed himself a moment of mercy to lean against your arm slightly, enough to feel your presence next to him. His eyes closed again as your voice carried on.

She wanted to be anywhere other than here, that was for damn sure.

Don’t say that.

The harsh voice of her father scolded her in her mind, even though he appeared to be calm and in a pleasant mood as he unlocked the heavy oak door to the church. The twins, her step-mother’s children from a previous marriage, stood off to the side, whispering between each other and shooting her glances with their identical pale blue eyes.

Eyes that reminded her of a dead fish.

“Audrina,” her father said, his voice stern and nasally. Her cornflower blue eyes, a blue that was actually pleasing to look at, jerked towards him like a deer in headlights. “Make sure the pews are clean and everyone’s hymnals are in their place.”

He was a shorter man, rather portly in the middle even if he refused to acknowledge it, if the strain on his white button shirt was any indication. His round face was clean-shaven and there was a tiny cut on the side of his jaw he hadn’t noticed. The blood had dried on their drive to the church and it was what her eyes focused on as he issued his demands.

Always so demanding.

She’d been free of it for the last ten years, at least. But now she was home, back in this tiny awful town somewhere in Nowhere, Colorado. They could hardly be considered a part of what the lower states were often called: the Bible Belt.

Since she was a good daughter, though, she nodded and walked through the door he held open for her. Inside the church, it was dusty and humid, typically in this time of year. It was still early summer. She’d only returned from college a few weeks ago and already she hated this place. The dust was almost thick enough to choke her, and she almost wondered why none of the parishioners helped clean the place up.

She took her time making sure everything was neat and organized like she had been taught as a young girl. They always arrived hours before service anyway. In the background, she could hear the twins still whispering, watching her like the creepy little things they were. Mary Louanne’s daughters might just be the devil’s spawn, she thought to herself.

Some time had passed and about a half-hour into the service, Audrina slipped out the back of the chapel, making her way to the front door. She was suffocating in this heat, made worse by the many bodies occupying the pews and the thick wafting perfumes that hung heavily in the air from women fanning themselves. It was a church, not a gala. She never understood why the women dressed up to talk about Jesus.

Audrina pushed open the heavy oak door, closing it behind her and turning around, wiping the sweat off her brow. Her thick wavy chestnut brown hair hung almost sadly around her shoulders, also weighed down by the humidity. If only she had an elastic, or a ribbon–

She paused in her motions, taking on the deer in the headlights look again. There was a man some odd ten feet or so from the oak door. He had his hands shoved inside the pockets of his leather jacket–Who the hell wears leather in the eighty degree summer heat?

His dark eyes flicked to her face, startled to see her as well. He shifted his weight from hip to hip for a moment, looking away, his expression troubled. She lowered her hand and folded it in front of her with the other one, watching him carefully. She’d seen him around before, usually after services, hovering on the edge. Watching the parishioners leave. Watching her father thank people and talk with them about the day’s sermon as he always loved to drone on about it long after it was over.

The man reached up to run a hand through his sandy blond hair, a messy thing that fell in loose waves around his face and down his neck. He had ear piercings and tattoos, and there was stubble on his face like he hadn’t bothered to clean up. “So, uh-“ his voice was a smooth and deep timbre, like the low hum of a bass guitar in the rock songs she sneakily listened to sometimes. “Sermon not… good today?” His question was awkward and it was clear he didn’t know what to say.

Audrina looked down with a small smile, trying not to be impolite by laughing. She glanced up at him, shaking her head slightly. “No, no,” she stuck her hands in the pockets of her dress skirt, pockets she’d sewn in herself. “It’s rather… muggy in there. I needed some fresh air, although… it’s not much better out here, is it?”

She raised her hand, blocking the hot sun and looking up in the clear blue sky. For a summer day, it was wonderful. For a Sunday, it was torture.

The man chuckled and scuffed his black boot against the ground, “Yeah, I suppose it isn’t.”

Feeling a little less on edge, she took a few steps towards him until she stood beside him, turning to face the church and look at it as he had been. “Do you need… help, or anything?” she asked with a side glance.

He seemed to stiffen a bit when she came near, even though she’d kept a polite distance between them. “Ah, no…” he hesitated. “Guess I’m just… curious, maybe.”

“About… the church?” she pressed.

“Sorta,” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly struggling with what he was trying to say. “I don’t know.”

His sigh made her turn her head to look at him. “Well… do you want to go in for service?” she tried a different approach.

His brown eyes met hers as he scoffed, wrinkling his nose. Up close, she could see a smattering of freckles on his face. “No,” he said quickly.

Audrina shrugged, “Alright, then.”

As she looked back at the church, her hands resting in her pockets, she could feel his gaze on the side of her face. Like he was studying her. He spoke up after a minute or so of silence, “What’s your name? I see you around with the priest and his wife sometimes.”

“Audrina,” her blue eyes flicked to him as she answered, before moving back to the church. “Audrina Montgomery. The priest is my father, and his wife is my step-mother, Mary Louanne. Her daughters, the twin girls that are usually hovering around, are Sarah and Jane.”

“Mm,” he grunted in response, looking away. “Those twins, your step-sisters… they’re kinda freaky looking, yeah?” he pointed out.

That brought out a surprise laugh from her, and she tilted her head down, unable to hide her grin. “Yeah, yeah they are,” she agreed. She turned her face towards him again. “They’re always together and always whispering and watching me. It’s definitely… freaky.”

He chuckled in response, and she found it to be a comforting noise for an odd reason, “That’s fucking weird.”

Her lips twitched a little at his cursing. She wasn’t entirely a prude, she’d heard people cursing in college and occasionally did it herself, but she wasn’t used to it. Not in Lone River, at least. “So, who are you?” she questioned, keeping her voice casual and friendly as she looked at him once more.

The man shifted his weight around again, as if debating on telling her. “Miah Banks,” he finally said.

“Miah? That’s a name I haven’t heard,” she raised an eyebrow.

“It’s short for Jeremiah,” he shrugged. “Reagan gave the name to me a while ago.”

“Reagan?” her eyes widened.

As in Reagan, Reagan? The scary ruthless leader of that biker gang on the edge of town her father warned her about when she returned home? Did that mean he was also a gang member?

Miah frowned slightly, his guard going up immediately. “… Yeah, Reagan,” his tone was flat.

Audrina’s face softened, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like that. Truth be told, I haven’t been in Lone River for a lot of years, so I’m still unfamiliar with all… well, you know.”

He nodded, relaxing a little, “I see. I guess I’m just used to people writing us off as devils in leather, or somethin’.”

She let out a soft snort. “Now, Devils in Leather would kind of be a cool name,” she smiled playfully.

Miah’s stoic-looking face cracked into a lopsided grin as he chuckled, “It does sound good. Maybe I should bring it up to Reagan and see what he thinks.”

“Speaking of leather, how are you not melting?” she looked pointedly at his black leather jacket. He didn’t even seem to be sweating.

He shrugged one of his broad shoulders, “Used to it.”

“Well, I’m not, so I’m going to move over that way for some shade,” she started walking towards the tree line. She could already feel the cooler wind from the forest beckoning her, wrapping around her ankles and pulling her forward like invisible tendrils begging her to get closer.

Miah followed behind her without hesitation, his boots crunching against the dry grass and pebble mixture. Audrina sat beneath one of the pine trees, carefully folding her skirt underneath her and behind mindful of the pine needles. He sat down near her, raising one of his knees and draping an arm on top of it. “So, you’re the priest’s daughter, then?” he asked, wanting clarification.

“Unfortunately,” she rolled her eyes, sighing. The cooler air beneath the shade of the trees was already helping her feel less like she was boiling.

He glanced at her curiously, “And you sound happy about that, I see.”

“It’s not that-“ she sighed. “It’s… complicated.”

“Well, life’s kinda like that, I noticed,” he offered casually. “Something you want to get off your mind?”

Audrina studied his face for a moment, wondering if he was being genuine. He wasn’t anything like the monsters her father tried to paint the Sons of Night as. If anything, he seemed rather… calm. She looked away, back to the church once again. “He sent me away,” she explained. “To a private school. Catholic. I lived there until I graduated, and then I went to college, and now I’m home, and it’s…”

“Complicated?”

She glanced at him and smiled. “Yeah. Complicated,” she ran a hand through her thick locks and sighed.

“… It sounds like it might have been rough on you,” Miah stated. “That school, I mean.”

“It was,” she nodded. “I wasn’t able to mail letters to any of my friends back home, and they all moved on and grew up without me. Everything had to be done according to their rules or we were punished unfairly. My father remarried and didn’t even invite me to the wedding. I didn’t even know I had little sisters until I came back, so that should tell you how much he kept in touch with me.”

She looked down at her hands, scratching at some dry skin on her cuticle. Just the thought of that awful school almost made her shiver out of habit. Miah’s voice was gentle as he spoke to her, “You must have been pretty lonely, then. Still, even.”

Audrina looked up at him, not bothering to hide the vulnerable expression on her face. “Yeah… I am,” she huffed a bitter laugh.

Miah’s eyes were filled with something like understanding as he met hers. “Sorry you went through that.”

She shook her head, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s… fine. I’m fine, really. Just figuring out where to go from here,” she let out another sigh.

“My old man wasn’t much of a father, either,” he sympathized. “He tried, but his mind was too… messed up, or somethin’.”

Miah had pulled a cigarette out of the pack he pulled from his jacket, sticking it between his lips and lighting it up. He hesitated for a moment before offering the pack to her.

Audrina stared at it, her heart suddenly skipping a beat. She reached out and took one, leaning towards him as he lit it. She took a careful drag, wrinkling her nose at the vaguely familiar taste of tobacco and nicotine. She’d smoked a few times, mostly socially, in college, but even so, she still coughed a bit.

Miah chuckled a little, exhaling a plume of blue-white smoke himself. “First time?”

“No,” she mumbled, her cheeks heating up a little out of embarrassment. “Been a while.”

“Rebellious,” he said, amused. “I like it.”

Audrina couldn’t hide the smile that comment caused, “S-shut up…”

“Anyway,” Miah continued after a moment. “My dad was the kind of person that just couldn’t handle life, I think. He ended up offing himself when I was sixteen.”

She took a drag and it went down easier this time, exhaling and looking at him in surprise. “S-suicide?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“Jeez,” she let out a breath, “I’m sorry, Miah.”

The blond shook his head, “Don’t be. It’s a selfish thing, suicide. You think you’re keeping others from being burdened by you, but really you’re just leaving behind people that need you.”

She looked at the church again. Her mind wondered what sort of deity would be so cruel to afflict someone’s mind with such torment that their only relief was to no longer exist. “Do you believe? In God, religion, or anything like that?” she asked suddenly.

Miah laughed bitterly, “Hell no. What about you? Did your little school girl pinafore and habit leech your beliefs out of you?” His tease was almost on the mark.

Audrina scoffed, shooting a glare at him. “I wasn’t a nun, jeez,” she grumbled. “But that school certainly didn’t help. I also experienced a lot in college, and that kind of helped me separate the church from reality, as it is.”

“Yeah? Were you the rebellious preacher’s daughter once daddy’s eyes weren’t on you?” he continued his almost-mocking tone, but she could tell there was no malice hidden in his words.

She rolled her eyes, taking another drag and pausing before answering. “I experimented like any other young adult, I suppose. I definitely feel like a fish out of water being back here, though.” she frowned.

“Mm, I can imagine,” he nodded solemnly, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out in the dirt, flicking the butt away.

Audrina followed its trajectory until it settled on the ground somewhere. She finished hers as well and flicked it away in the same manner. “What about you? How… have you been, after what happened with your dad?” she asked.

Miah took a deep breath, “Better now. I was just a runt back then, so I didn’t have much goin’ for me. Reagan actually found me and took me in. Wouldn’t let me prospect until I was eighteen, though.”

“Prospect? What’s that?”

He glanced at her and smiled, “Right. It’s when you first join a club, like a probationary period. A test trial, if you prefer. Gotta prove your worth and your loyalty to your brothers and all that before you get patched in.”

Audrina took a closer look at his leather jacket, noting the various patches on it, “I’m assuming ‘patched in’ means you get something like that, and you’re official?”

“Yeah. It’s called a cut. We always wear our cuts no matter what,” he explained, and she could hear that hint of pride in his tone.

“You also said ‘brothers’. Is that what you guys are? A brotherhood of sorts?”

“Something like that. It’s hard to explain, but once you’re in the club, you’re in for life. It becomes your life, and the other members, your brothers, are your family. We protect our family, always. We always have each other’s backs,” Miah spoke in a somber tone, and she could tell that this ‘club’ of his was very serious for him.

It made her think of the church again. Always was she making comparisons, but she couldn’t help it. Religion had been her life for so long, and this biker, Miah, was speaking about something that seemed deeper even than the bond the parishioners had with their priest. Almost like a blood oath or something.

Audrina was envious. “It sounds incredible,” her voice was quiet. “That sense of family and loyalty, even if you aren’t actually related… I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

She could feel his brown eyes on her again, watching her. Probably seeing if she was teasing or being mocking. “It is,” he agreed. “Like nothing else.”

She was about to say something else when the old brass bell on top of the church suddenly tolled, its rings clanging out into the still summer heat. It made her flinch and she looked upset that their conversation had to end now.

Together, they stood up and walked back out into the summer sun, now a comfortable warmth rather than a blazing heat on her skin. The door to the church opened and people started leaving, looking red and sweaty and uncomfortable. Audrina crossed her arms over her chest and turned to Miah. “Will I see you again?” she furrowed her brows a little, frowning.

It should have been embarrassing, the almost desperate tone in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. He was like nothing she’d ever seen or experienced before. If anything, he was far more understanding than any of the ‘devout Catholics’ that were currently coming out of their sardine can.

His smile was a warm one, and he reached out to poke her cheek with one of his calloused fingers. “Smile,” he said, and it wasn’t a demand nor a suggestion. “Whatever bad shit is going on, just keep smiling, okay?”

Her breath left her, her blue eyes widening. She could feel her cheeks heat up again. “I…”

Miah reached up to brush his thumb over her eyebrow, where that strawberry birthmark marred her face like a splotch of red paint staining her skin. A mark that her father had said she was kissed by an angel, while Mary Louanne said she was branded by the devil. A mark that she was otherwise self-conscious of until this moment.

“I’ll be around again,” he answered her question, dropping his hand.

“… You promise?” she whispered.

Almost like it was ingrained in her, she could feel her father’s gaze boring into her back, knowing he’d have words for her later. Miah glanced over her shoulder, and she knew who he was looking at without turning around. “Yeah. I promise,” he said softly.

He nodded at her and turned to start walking away. She stood in place and watched him head to the old black Harley that had been parked at the edge of the gravel lot in front of the church. The roar of the motorcycle felt like something ignited inside of her.

“Audrina? Who was that?” her father’s voice sounded huffy and impatient as he strolled up next to her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.

Miah turned and shot her a wink before revving his bike and riding away.

“No one important,” she smiled as she lied, knowing she might have just found something—rather, someone—new to put her faith in.

Moniker: Scarface Status: Alive Rank: Soldier Age: 37 years old Birthday: May 5th Height: 6’6” of pure Grecian manliness, muscular and broad Build: tall, broad chest and shoulders, very muscular. Grizzly bear of a man with the scars to match Gender: male Hair Color: gray Eye Color: left eye has been permanently sewn shut, but his right eye is a pretty hazel color

Notable Features:

Left side of his face is severely scarred with long gashes.

Deep voice and speaks with a thick accent.

slightly hairy on his arms and chest

Personality Notes:

timid, shy, quiet, friendly, observant, perceptive, intelligent, hardworking. If Ferdinand the bull were a human, it would be Kostas.

His Story:

Kostas was born and raised in Greece by his wonderful father. His childhood was one of warm summers, swimming in the ocean, and laughter. His mother had left after he was born but his father never made him feel her absence. When he was a young teen, he went to America with his father to pursue a better life. Within a week, his father was murdered for his twenty dollar watch, leaving an adolescent Kostas alone in a country he was unfamiliar with. He learned to handle himself, take care of himself. Fall in with shady gangs to make it through the night. He's not proud of the things he's done, but it's just survival to him. He's now a soldier in the Scarsbee Syndicate working in Bison Point, a little farm in the sticks that serves as a rendezvous spot.

Moniker: Vel or Dino (pronounced dee-no) Status: Alive Rank: Caporegime  Age: 42 years old Birthday: August 4th Height: 6’3”  Build: many scars from working over the years and his hands can’t open completely flat due to how many times his knuckles broke or dislocated. Broad-shouldered with lean wiry muscle, like a cheetah almost. Gender: fully transitioned man Hair Color: pale blond Eye Color: hazel

Notable Features:

Always covered in bandaids or bandages

High pain tolerance, but he likes to put on an act to get sympathy from ladies.

Always nicely dressed with his hair neat.

No piercings or tattoos

Personality Notes:

Cocky, sure of himself, playful, surprisingly spry, acts ten years younger than he is, unserious. When the mask is off, he’s rather cynical and pessimistic. And lonely.

Moniker: Aero Status: Alive Rank: Caporegime  Age: 38 years old Birthday: February 11th Height: 5’10”  Build: curvy with a little bit extra since she’s had children. Soft around the middle but her arms and legs are toned Gender: Female Hair Color: brownish blonde Eye Color: clear blue

Notable Features:

Eyes are very clear, striking. Most defining feature on her.

Has a scar around her finger on her left hand where her wedding band should be.

Always matches necklaces and earrings

Can be found playing piano or making sure her men are fed before being sent out.

Personality Notes:

Charming, sly, cunning, manipulative, liar, sensitive, sweet. She uses her looks against people to get what she wants. Not afraid of using her body either.

Her Story:

Bridgette was never meant to be a Scarsbee. She was meant to marry one of those young aristocrat guys down in southern Georgia, but daddy just had to go and gamble away his finances. So when he couldn’t pay Scarsbee back, they took Bridgette as payment. At first, it was nice. Everything was pretty and opulent. She felt like she was in a fairy tale, a lost princess brought home.

Then reality set in. They put her to work in the kitchen with the chef. She also had cleaning duties. She started showing off her progress and becoming more interested in family matters. It wasn’t long before she became a soldier and worked her way up to where she is right now.

She’s only 9 years older than Jessami, Rohan’s oldest daughter, but she still remembers the treatment she got. She reached out when they were both older and they’re quite close. Bridgette keeps her up to date on the happenings of their family. Knowing how Rohan treats Jessami, Bridgette has developed a resentment towards the don, and does everything she can to defy him or mess up his plans accidentally.

Moniker: Ducky Status: Alive Rank: Consigliere Age: 35 years old Birthday: August 23rd Height: 6’0”  Build: a bit on the thinner side without obvious muscles Gender: Male Hair Color: indigo Eye Color: silver

Notable Features:

Carries around a notebook with him and is constantly seen writing things down. Occasionally loses a sheet or two but never seems bothered by it.

Scars over his left eye and cheek, deep and painful looking, from when he was attacked by a dog when he was twelve. Despite this, he still loves dogs and is able to recognize his own fault in the incident.

No tattoos and only one hoop piercing in his left earlobe.

Personality:

Calculating, quiet, observant, perceptive, easily charming. Manipulative, can talk a snail out of its shell practically. Persuasive. Vindictive. Very honest.

His Story:

Alston grew up in a poor home, much like most of the Syndicate. His mother was a sex worker and his father was never around. He wasn’t sure he even had one at this point. One day, when walking home from school at 17, he saw someone leaving his house in a hurry. He shouted at them and the figure turned around, pointing a gun at him. The shot was fired and buried itself in his shoulder, dropping him to the ground. The shooter booked it and was never located. 

Alston got back up and made his way into the house. Only to find his poor mother, strung up and naked like a doll at a carnival. He cried as he brought her down and called authorities. He was taken away to live at a group home until he turned 18 in a few months. But he ran away, and Rohan found him. Seeing that fire that lived in the boy made Rohan offer a place in the family. Alston accepted without a word.

Over the years, his performance only grew greater. Then he was selected as Rohan’s consigliere, impossible to replace thanks to his incredible attention to detail. These days, he spends his time in his office or wandering about the Scarsbee estate, of which he was one of many tenants. On holidays and the anniversary of his mother’s death, he sits solitary with a drink in hand and her favorite song playing on repeat in the background.

His mother had meant everything to him, knowing what she was going through just to keep a roof over his head and food in his belly. When she died, a part of him did too.

Moniker: Devil Status: Alive Rank: underboss Age: 32 years old Birthday: December 10th Height: 6’4” Build: muscular, broad shouldered Gender: Male Hair Color: black Eye Color: dark brown

Notable Features

Resident playboy, always has a woman on his arm

Dresses nice but with that sort of unkempt feel (unbuttoned collar, exposed chest, etc)

Mole under right eye that's heart shaped

Personality Notes

Cocky, pain in the ass, unserious most of the time. Gets in trouble a lot but Rohan just overlooks it because Orin is all he has. Hypersexual, loves physical affection, hits first and talks after. Freezes whenever someone shows him genuine care. Would never hit a woman.

His Story:

Orin Scarsbee was born in Lone River to Dorothea Scarsbee and Luther Scarsbee, raised in the shadow of the Syndicate whether anyone admitted it or not. His childhood was defined by proximity to power but a complete lack of warmth. Dorothea was distant and image-focused, Luther strict and old-fashioned, raising Orin with the understanding that blood mattered more than comfort. Affection was rare; discipline was not.

From a young age, Orin was exposed to violence as something ordinary—men coming and going with blood on their hands, hushed conversations behind closed doors, the unspoken rule that fear kept order. Unlike other children who learned to flinch, Orin learned to grin. He figured out early that charm, recklessness, and a pretty smile could get him out of consequences faster than obedience ever could.

As a teenager, Orin spiraled. Fighting, drinking, sleeping around—anything to feel desired, touched, or alive. His hypersexuality wasn’t indulgence; it was hunger. Every arrest, every altercation ended the same way: records sealed, charges dropped. The message was clear long before it was spoken—he belonged to Rohan now.

Training was brutal. Pain was instructional. Mercy was absent. Orin learned quickly that violence earned approval and survival earned attention. He stopped asking questions and started hitting first. The chaos suited him. It gave him structure without tenderness, and he clung to it.

Despite his recklessness, Orin proved terrifyingly effective. He was fearless, physically dominant, and unpredictable. His moniker—Devil—came from the way he smiled through bloodshed, how he flirted mid-fight, how he never seemed fully serious even when bodies hit the floor.

Rohan overlooked Orin’s excesses because Orin was alive. Strong. Useful. The last piece of family he believed hadn’t failed him. Orin felt that weight even if he couldn’t name it—so he drowned it in pleasure, affection, and constant motion, terrified that stillness would remind him he was replaceable.

Now, as Underboss, Orin stands as heir-in-waiting and blunt instrument—indulged, protected, and unknowingly temporary. The truth about Mila exists somewhere beyond Rohan’s control, and when it surfaces, Orin’s place in the Syndicate will become dangerously uncertain.

Moniker: The King of Red, King Status: Alive Rank: Boss Age: 63 years old Birthday: March 29th Height: 6’0” Build: Lean muscled Gender: Male Hair Color: Platinum Blond Eye Color: Green

Notable Features

Always well dressed in tailored suits

Never smiles

Good genetics and skin care has him looking like he's 40 instead of his actual age

Personality Notes

Cold, aloof, charming when needed. Always making plans and calculating decisions. Strict with his family and running the Syndicate. Ruthless, merciless, doesn't ask questions or give second chances

His Story:

Rohan was born to a family of six; his mother, his father (the previous Boss), and three older sisters: Adeline, Dorothea, and Beverly. As the only boy in the family, it was his responsibility to take over the Syndicate when his father stepped down. 

Growing up, his life wasn't complicated. By then, the Scarsbees were a name known by many, and their wealth and influence ran deep. He was a young boy when his father relocated their family to the rural town known as Lone River. He watched his father bring prosperity to the area, building it up into the city it is today. He took over the Syndicate in his mid-thirties when his father was murdered in cold blood. They still haven't found the killer, much to Rohan's displeasure. He uses this information to put pressure on the police force when he needs to.

The rest of Rohan’s immediate family withered under the grief. His mother passed away after refusing to take care of herself. Adeline and Beverly married men not involved in the Syndicate and moved away to other parts of the country. Dorothea stayed behind and married their older cousin Luther Scarsbee, giving birth to a son around the same time as Rohan’s first child.

Rohan himself was never a man for love. He knew he'd have to marry eventually to keep up appearances and sire an heir. His first daughter was cast aside when her mother died in childbirth. Such a weak woman’s genes couldn't be allowed in his family. Eight years later, he fathered another daughter, Mila.

Rohan adored Mila. She was perfect. She looked exactly like him, down to his green eyes and white-blond hair. When she got terminally ill at 14, he was heartbroken. He sent her away to the hospital for treatments and didn't look back. He murdered her mother for failing to give him a healthy child. The following years were filled with many hookups and one night stands, trying to fill something inside of him that he couldn't recognize.

When Mila was declared dead, something in Rohan finally broke. His grief turned sharp, controlled, and surgical. With no biological heir left in his mind, Rohan’s focus shifted to blood that still lived. Orin was pulled into the Syndicate in his early twenties, not as a choice, but as a correction. Rohan didn’t comfort him. He remade him.

He didn't have the energy to marry anyone again. His cold, cruel heart remained shriveled in his chest. He became known as the King of Red for the no-nonsense way he killed people, without a second thought. His hands are stained with the blood of many, even innocents.