Tennessee Breeds

They called him Breed but it was a sign of respect, not disrespect. The name his mama gave him when he was born was Jericho Moon and he was the leader of The Tennessee Breeds MC. They were a group of misfits who had come together to form a family of sorts. They lived on the top of Tarron’s Ridge for a reason.

Tarron’s Ridge was in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, somewhat near the town of Chattooga, Tennessee. Tarron’s Ridge also overlooked the Tennessee River and the place where Jericho grew up. He’d grown up as part of a small tribe of Cherokee living in the mountains and while his mother was a full blooded Cherokee, Jericho wasn’t. But he was so much more than just his father’s bastard son. People looked up to him as the President of the  MC, not out of fear but out of respect. He protected his people and everyone else that lived on Tarron’s Ridge.

Breed was a big man, he stood six foot four in his stocking feet. His boots gave him another inch or so and he was close to three hundred pounds of pure muscle. His long black hair was caught in a ponytail, hanging halfway down his back, and his bright green eyes, the only thing he got from his father, were squinting in the full daylight’s sun rays.

Today, he and some of the others in the MC were out looking for an intruder to their home. They had noticed signs of someone unfamiliar on the Ridge and Breed knew where there were signs, there was usually trouble. His men and family were tight knit and their lives were hard enough without someone else making trouble for them. Whoever the intruder was, they were making themselves a pest and leaving potential problems for those who lived here.

He'd been traveling close to the river, looking for signs of anything that shouldn’t be there when something caught his eyes. A small dingy sitting in the river shallows. It bumped and swayed with the current of the water. Breed stopped his motorcycle and walked over to where it was. Looking down into the ravine where the boat sat in the underscrub, he could see that it seemed to be intact.

Looking down into the dingy, he saw a woman. She was tall and slim with short blonde hair. The tips of her hair were dyed lime green and Breed just shook his head. What really bothered him though... she was covered in bruises and didn’t seem to be conscious at the moment. Her skin looked sunburnt. Her lips were dry and cracked, as if she hadn’t had any water for some time.

Not that he blamed her, the water she'd been caught in was nasty, and green with scum it didn’t look drinkable. But he saw nothing in the dingy with her, so she hadn’t prepared very well for her adventure or rather misadventure, he concluded.

Breed knew he couldn’t leave her here, so he gathered her up in his arms and carried her back up to the road. He called his VP and told him he had a passenger but he would need a truck to haul her back home. While he waited, he studied her again.

Her skin, although bruised, seemed to be clear and smooth. She was a beautiful woman and it appeared she had money but if that was true why was she floating the river in a small dingy? Her clothes were jeans and a tank top. The material was good quality, certainly better than anything he’d ever owned. She wasn’t wearing shoes of any kind which he found odd and her wrists were rubbed raw, almost as if a rope had been around them at one time.

Breed couldn’t help but wonder why she was in the dingy in the first place, and why was she so bruised up. Where had she come from? Why was she here?

When Greer, his VP pulled up in an older truck he stopped and a cloud of dust flew around the vehicle. Greer opened the door and got out. He frowned when he saw what Breed was holding in his arms. “What the fuck?” he asked. “What you got there, boss?”

Breed looked at his VP and drawled, “It’s called a woman, Greer.”

Greer shook his head. “Ha-freakin-ha, funny joke there, boss. I know what a woman is, you prick. Where did you find her? And why is she all beat to hell?”

“No freakin’ clue,” Breed grumbled. “I found her in a dingy, caught in the underbrush.”

Greer checked her over again as he noted her sunburnt skin and her dry lips. “Wonder how long she’s been there?”

“Sorta why I called you,” Breed told him. “We need to get her back to the compound for Cowboy to look at. Then after she answers some questions, we’ll all know more about her, won’t we?”

Greer rolled his eyes. “Just get in the truck while I load your bike,” he muttered.

Breed shook his head and walked over to the truck. He got into the vehicle with her still in his arms. While he settled her in the seat on his lap, he watched as Greer loaded his ride. On the way back to the compound, he studied her face again.

The bruises looked to be a couple of days old already and were starting to fade. He couldn’t wait to see what color her eyes were and ask her about what happened to her. He saw dried blood inside the collar of her tank top and he moved the material to one side to check it out.

What he saw there had him sucking in a breath and it turned his quizzical feelings into rage.