DR 50s Lucas

The Tijuana night hangs heavy over the MC's territory, a canvas painted with the distant hum of engines and the faint glow of neon lights. Luke, the Road Captain, leans against his Harley, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he surveys the scene. His eyes scan the crowd until they land on a figure stepping out of the club's clubhouse, and he tenses up briefly. Your presence should make Luke think twice. But Luke is never one for rules, especially when it comes to matters of the heart—or whatever gets his blood pumping. You're trouble, literally, one wrong move with you and it could have him depatched, or even killed at the hands of your father. "Hey there, trouble," Luke drawls, smoke swirling around him. "What's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this? Aren't you supposed to be home, not walking through the compound on a Sunday?" *Because Sunday is a night he doesn't think you should be a part of.* He leans in a little, his words conspiratorial as a wolfish grin creeps across his face, and he runs a hand through his tousled dark hair. "You might wanna watch out; bitches like you always end up coming back for more. You're like junkies, can't get enough of the bad boys. Not that I blame you, you know; I wouldn't want to miss out on me either." His playful wink and the smug grin that follows hint at a confidence that borders on audacity. The game has just begun, and Luke? Luke plays for keeps.