Fallen Bast*rd

Prologue Two Years Earlier

Family day at the Soulless compound has always been chaotic, with children weaving through rows of Harleys and around guests. Dogs chasing anything that moves.

As smoke swirled lazily from oversized BBQs, two soon-to-be ex-Presidents argued over who made the best chargrilled steak.

Classic rock blasted through the speakers, competing with laughter, shouting and the occasional engine revving as more brothers arrived.

For two afternoons every month, the Soulless Bastards and the Fallen Sinners were one; club business paused, nobody talked shop, argued over territory or cared what happened outside of the compound gates.

And today should have been no different.

The clubhouse door opens. "I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world…"

The song explodes through every speaker throughout the building and yard.

Conversations stop, and half the kids burst into laughter. Someone inside shuts the door, and the music stops.

"What in the f**k was that?" One of the prospects muttered.

Nobody answers.

Then someone else walks out the back door.

"Life in plastic…"

The garden erupts into laughter.

Bear doubles over laughing. Butch slaps the BBQ with tongs in his hand.

"I don't know who did that," Bear wheezes, "but I'm buying the little bastard dinner."

Another door opens. "It's fantastic…"

People start deliberately opening and closing doors just to hear it. One prospect stands in the entrance like a child discovering a new toy.

Open. "You can brush my hair…"

Close. Silence

Open. "Undress me everywhere…"

Some of the patched brothers struggle to school their faces. Not Gunner though. The club's Sergeant-at-Arms marches out of the clubhouse looking like a slapped arse.

Right on cue. "Imagination…" His jaw tightens.

"Right!" He barks. "Which little bastard thinks this is funny?"

Nobody answers, because most of them are trying not to laugh too hard. Even Ally, his wife, is struggling to hold back a smile.

"Honey, you've got to admit," she says, stroking his arm, "it's creative."

"It's a security breach, is what it is."

"Ohh, come on, it sang to you."

"It mocked me."

Bear points toward the workshop. "Get your boy."

As Gunner storms through the door, Zero looks up from the computer spread across his workbench.

The faint sound of Aqua echoes through the corridor. "Come on Barbie…"

Zero sighs. "Seriously?"

"The clubhouse is singing."

"So I hear."

"You find this funny?"

Holding his hand up, Zero pinches his thumb and index finger together, leaving an inch gap. "A little bit."

Gunner crosses his arms. "Fix it."

"I was in the middle of something."

"You are now."

Sighing, Zero reluctantly saves his work before picking up his laptop.

"You know," he mutters, "most people tend to spend family day with their actual families."

"You are."

"…Fair point."

Ten minutes later, Zero isn't laughing anymore. Whoever had written the exploit had absolutely no respect for rules. The code was messy.

Variable names included 'thingy and oops', to name a few. Dent was optional. Comments wandered into utter nonsense.

It should never have worked, and yet somehow it had.

Not elegantly, efficiently or creatively.

Instead of attacking the firewall or brute-forcing passwords, whoever this was found an abandoned maintenance script left behind after a software update.

Nobody checked for forgotten code; they always assume it wasn’t important—everyone except this person.

Zero leaned closer.

“Clever…”

“What?” Gunner asked.

“They didn’t beat the system. They cheated it.”

“Ain’t they the same thing?”

Zero smiled “No. It’s better.”

Finding the connection took another eight minutes. When he’d finally isolated it, he opened a secure terminal.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

• Sloppy.

Rude.

• You left fingerprints.

You found me … Eventually.

• Eventually?

Eighteen minutes!

• I was eating.

mm excuses.

Despite himself, Zero smiled—cocky little s**t.

He chuckled.

Behind Gunner, looked worried. “You enjoying this?”

“Maybe.”

• Why my clubhouse?

Because I was bored.

• People don’t hack biker compounds because they’re bored.

Maybe… or maybe I’m just a board, little Bastard.

Zero stopped typing. They used a capital B. It wasn’t an insult. It was a title.

Someone inside the compound, who understood exactly what that word meant.

Interesting.

• Your code’s s**t.

It did the job.

• Barely.

Still got your attention.

He laughed to himself, fair.

• You left clues.

Breadcrumbs

• Same thing.

So teach me not to leave em.

Zero stared at the words, a challenge. One he shouldn’t accept.

Whoever it was had broken into club security.

He should trace em, tell Gunner and the brat’s parents, and let them deal with it. Instead, he found himself smiling.

• Why should I?

Because Jedi should have an annoyingly smart apprentice.

Zero laughed, like really laughed.

Gunner frowned. “You’ve finally cracked.”

“Possibly.”

Another message appeared.

Come on… teach me, Yoda.

He stared at the blinking cursor for a few beats.

Then, against his better judgment, he typed.

• Tomorrow.

I knew you’d cave.

The connection vanished, as if it’d never been there.

Gunner folded his arms. “So?”

Zero closed his laptop. “Problem solved.”

“You find the little bastard?” he asked, glaring.

Zero looked to the workshop window,