I’d served in the Corps as an explosives expert, mostly disarming IEDs in Baghdad while the U.S. forces were occupying Iraq. That’s where I’d met Bulldog, and that’s how I ended up in the Hell Dogs Motorcycle Club back in the States. Having plenty of nerve and being able to pull off the look of a high roller, I became a debt collector for the club’s illicit activities. My job was to lose most of the money I collected by gambling it in a casino in Reno, Nevada, and living the high life. When I met Peach, however, my entire lifestyle got turned upside down.
I was one of the rare women who had survived in the Marines and came out of it without becoming butch. I had all of the special features of a supermodel, but also the grit of a jarhead. I’d used my GI Bill to become a licensed engineer after I got out of the Corps, but I had a wild side that I just couldn’t tame. I had a Fat Boy Harley Davidson that I could handle as well as any man and plenty of attitude to go with it. When I decided that I ought to be running things and came up with a plan to take the two strongest leaders out of the picture, I was in for a surprise that I’d never seen coming.
After leaving the Corps, I took over as president of the Golden Coast Hell Dogs, a one percent motorcycle club that was open only to retired or active duty Marines. As president, I had control of all of the illicit operations that belonged to the Hell Dogs. I had a kick-ass debt collector who remained unrecognizable and deniable, and I had the hottest girlfriend in California doing deliveries for me. I was sitting pretty with a dirty cop in my back pocket and the freedom to do as I pleased. There was no way in the world that I could have seen the setup that was coming my way.