How Do Motorcycle Clubs Organize Charity Rides?

On my birthday, Hazel Mosley posts about preparing a surprise for me that night on social media. However, I see a photo of her taken that afternoon. She is riding a horse with her assistant, Cecil Wilcox. In the photo, her clothes are fluttering, revealing red finger marks on her waist. Cecil's caption read, "My first ever experience is thanks to her." The comments section is full of teasing remarks. "You've got bold intentions, young man." "That position is hard to maneuver." Unbelievably, Hazel likes that comment. My heart sinks to my stomach. I always think she's just more open with me, but I never expect that it could be anyone. I personally wash the horse to wipe away every trace of intimacy. Then, I transfer the entire ranch to her. "You can give the rest of the horses to whoever you want. Feel free to pick." Looking at how overjoyed she is, I agree to the marriage arranged by my family.

"Ms. Smith, a complaint has been filed with HR. You have been accused of misusing your personal vehicle for unauthorized commercial activity." The administrative manager dropped a printed copy of the so-called joint complaint onto the desk, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. The company had decided to issue me a fine, placed a formal warning on my record, and revoked my performance bonus for this quarter. I stared at the handwriting on the complaint, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. I recognized it instantly. It was Selena Rogers. The same coworker who had been hitching rides with me to and from work every day for the past three years. It was all because of last night's storm. She had insisted I take a long detour to drive her to the mall so she could pick up her boyfriend, and I had said no. Then, in the break room, Selena's voice carried loud and clear. "Jennifer, I didn't have a choice. "We have to keep work and personal matters separate. The transportation stipend from the company isn't for you to make extra money." Around us, coworkers glanced over, whispering and pointing, as if they had completely forgotten how eager they once were to ask for a ride home. I took a slow breath. "Fine. I accept the company's decision." Then I pulled out my phone and made a call. "Mr. Wallace, I won't be renewing the lease on those two vans. "Yes. The ones that have been picking up and dropping off the admin and sales teams every day, free of charge." For three years, I had been the easygoing one, paying out of my own pocket every month to lease those vehicles so my coworkers could treat it as a perk. If that was now considered unauthorized business activity, then from this day on, everyone could figure out their own way to get to work.

We had been married for three years, and together, our income was decent at twenty-six grand a month. Yet, we barely had two hundred bucks in savings. My husband was a nice guy, lending practically his entire wages to our next-door widow and her daughter. He covered their expenses when the daughter needed money for school, when the widow needed a little time at the spa, and when they wanted to give their home a new facelift. The moment my father fell ill and needed surgery, I went next door to ask for the money back. However, my neighbors slammed the door in my face. “Your husband chose to give us the money. Why should we pay you back?” Enraged, I sought help from my husband, only to be criticized. “I felt bad for them. Why did you demand payment when they are already struggling? What’s wrong with you?” I smirked. That night, I decided to do a good deed by spending my entire paycheck to help a broke college hunk. The next day, our power was cut off for unpaid bills, and my husband lost an unfinished document he hadn’t saved. Putting his finger up my nose, he gave me a piece of his mind. “Where’s your money? Why didn’t you pay the bills?” I replied with the most innocent look on my face, “I helped a struggling college student. His life was falling apart because he had to deal with a sick mom and a deadbeat dad. His needs should come before the utility bills.”

First day of school, and my roommate Sharon hits me with a $50k guilt trip over some "limited-edition" suitcase. "You're blind or just too dumb to walk straight?" My boyfriend? Useless. Classmates? Total sheep. The dean? Clown. Then I really looked at Sharon. Wait a sec—wasn't she the same scholarship case my family covered?

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my wife, who had struggled with fertility for years, suddenly felt nauseous. The college student we had been sponsoring panicked and rushed her to the hospital. Half an hour later, she called me. "I'm pregnant." I was thrilled, until her next words froze me in place. "The father's the college student, the one we've been supporting. He got sick that night and I felt bad for him, so I stayed over. I didn't think anything would happen. We have to keep this quiet. He's graduating soon and joining our company. We can't let this mess things up for him. "And you need to quit your job, so he can take your position. I'm going to need you home to take care of me." The sheer audacity left me speechless, but I kept my voice level. "Okay." She hung up, satisfied. What she did not know was that years ago, someone had made me a promise. If I turned 30 years old and still did not have a child, she would give me one. Today was my 30th birthday.

I was once a beggar on the street until I met him, Zero. He took me, fed me and clothed me. He convinced himself I was a damsel in distress. But what if I tell you I was once a beggar by circumstance, but when I got older, I remained one by choice. Zero thinks his love for me will change the direction of my bullet, but what he doesn't know is that his love for me will only delay the expiration date. Follow the lives of the Satan Sniper's as they learn about love and the women who will own them.