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o-captain-elcapitan · 4 years

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Steel Horses - Chapter One

Title: Steel Horses Author: ElCapitan Game: Dragon Age Characters/Pairing: M!Adaar x Dorian Disclaimer: All recognizable content belongs to Bioware

Summary -

Valo-Kas M.C. is not a 1% motorcycle club. The security work that they do is above board, legal and licensed, squeaky f*cking clean. What their clients get up to, however, is none of their business. And their strict “look the other way, ask no questions” policy is what keeps them in business. That is until a new Tevinter client puts the MC in federal cross hairs. Ozet Adaar wants to protect his sister and save his club. When a Tevinter ambassador knocks him on his ass his heart is pulled in yet another direction and there’s nothing more terrifying than knowing that he can’t protect them all. His twin, Ozena, might consider herself “barely a mage” but that’s still enough to damn her if the wrong people find her out. Federal scrutiny is the last thing they need. Maker only knows if they can shake it with their lives in tact.

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[Prologue]

Ozena Adaar

Six months earlier…

“Wait, I’m not done.”

River’s sigh was long suffering as they leafed back a page and held the book open with their thumb. She could hear the unspoken, Maker’s breath , in their silence.

Ozena supposed she couldn’t blame them. Things were just starting to get steamy and she was slowing down their pace to The Good Part with her slow and steady wins the race reading speed. She liked to savor the smut, sue her.

She was sure that River’s sigh had nothing to do with how she’d climbed onto the back of the half elf’s bike, draped herself onto their back, propped her chin on their shoulder, and started reading along; out loud at first, until things had started to get good, then annoying River had taken a backseat to the story they were reading. She’d made jokes before when she’d read the title, but Ozena was mature enough to admit when she was wrong. As it turned out Hard in Hightown was a page turner.

No, her complete disregard for personal space had nothing to do with River’s silent, not-at-all-vocal-but-felt-in-spirit grumbling. After almost a decade and a half of riding together, they knew that a little Big Spoon action was the least of Ozena’s mindless affections. This was nothing. It got worse if the mood was right and all parties were willing.

If she knew River --and after all this time she liked to think that she did-- they just wanted to finish this chapter before Shokrakar and Zet emerged from the clubhouse and led the way to their next paycheck. Ozena was slowing them down.

The kiss she pressed to their shoulder, and the gentle squeeze of her arms around their waist, was meant as an apology. When she lifted her mouth from the smooth, cool leather of River’s cut, she murmured, “Okay, next page,” and tried to keep up with their lightning fast reading speed.

Valo-Kas had an escort job tonight, the extent of which was mostly to look tough and dissuade any funny business with a head count. It was easy shit, routine shit, business as usual. With four horned giants --three of which were the size of brick shit-houses, herself included-- and a motley assortment of tough as shit bad asses, all armed to the teeth and decked out in matching leather cuts, most people with good sense knew better than to try anything. Everyone else learned that lesson pretty quickly. 60% of the time they got paid to make an appearance. The other 40% was when they actually got to have some fun.

According to Shokrakar, fun wasn’t on tonight’s itinerary. Their client just wanted a show of force and thought it’d be enough to keep things civil. But there was a saying about the Maker’s attitude on mortals making plans. They’d be ready for anything regardless of how it went down.

A sense of foreboding made Ozena hold River tighter, an ominous uncertainty that niggled at the back of her neck and the back of her mind. It felt like that moment of near realization. The fraction of a second just before you were actively aware that you were about to fall, an instant of knowing and not knowing, the glide before the tumble.

Something was going to happen tonight. Good or bad, she had no way of knowing, but her instincts were coiled tight, springloaded to meet whatever the night had in store.

Her gaze lifted from the page she hadn’t been reading, not out of boredom, but because the tightness in her gut was making it hard to concentrate on the words. She looked around at the other members of Valo-Kas, all milling about, waiting for their President and VP to give them the order to mount up and ride out. A bit of familial warmth chased away the apprehension that had started to cool her blood. These were her people, her brothers and sisters. She’d die for any one of them without a second thought. They were her club, which was more than family, more binding than blood, though Ozet would always be her number one and anyone who accused her of playing favorites was right.

Ozet was everyone’s favorite. Any claim to the contrary was a fucking lie.

They were a small MC compared to others around Ferelden and the Free Marches, boasting a total of nine members in all. Val-Kas was the Mother Charter, the Original club, a ragtag group of ex-cons and former military that felt no need to franchise their brand and spread across the map like an STD at a music festival. Small circles were easier to maintain. Besides, she’d bet on her mismatched nine against any club with the call sheet in the dozens.

There was chill, unflappable River, with their pinstraight, midnight black hair and olive skin. Who leaned so heavily on the elven helf of their heritage that their body was as genderless as their identity. Their build was lean and accompanied by diamond sharp, angular features. Heavy lidded, almond shaped eyes sat under thick, sculpted eyebrows and between a wide nose that gave them the appearance of a cat. They were willowy and agile, and the only thing human about them was their height.

They were still shorter than Ozena, but most humans were, even the tall ones.

Ashir, the MC’s Sergeant at Arms, was bulky for an elf. Full elf, not a half blood like River and Eema --technically Nys, too. The wild waves of his dark brown hair was almost always secured into a messy top knot that --without fail-- looked like one wrong move would snap the hair tie and loose his glorious mane. His Dalish heritage was in his ink, the intricate black lines that covered his bronzy terracotta surface all the way from his brow to his knuckles, even onto this feet. Quick as most were to dismiss the Dalish, she’d seen his prowess in combat outstrip trained soldiers. He’d earned that Sergeant patch several times over.

Their Road Captain, Devlon, was the club’s lone dwarf. His ash blond hair was as long as it was thick, ritualistically braided in intricate ropes, ornamented with gold rings and beads. They made them tough in Orzammar, and Dev was the cream of the military crop. He didn’t like to talk about what brought him topside, and she knew better than to ask. Some walls took longer than others to scale, and then there were those too thick and too tall for even time to make a difference.

Down the line of motorcycles, Eema and Nysris were both lounging on their bikes, propped onto the seats sidesaddle as one thumbed through their phone and the other amused herself by folding bits of paper and flicking the pieces at the field goal of Vercer’s lifted hands. They were both half elves but, unlike Eema, Nys’ other half was Tal Vashoth. They were night and day in a sense that was a stone’s throw away from literal.

Where Eema was the warm golds of a cloudless summer day, Nysris was as dark as an overcast night. The vashoth influence on her genes manifested first in her horns, but also in her black skin. Not umber or plum, black like obsidian, onyx, or the vast infinity between stars. When they opened their mouths to speak the real surprise was that, of the two, Nys’ upbeat personality was the one that shone bright as the sun. Eema was quiet and reticent, with a dark sense of humor that took everyone with a clear line of sight by surprise every single time.

Vercer was Valo-Kas’ only human and newest patched member. Sponsored by Nys, who’d been impressed by his performance in a bar fight, they’d only just voted him in as a fully patched member last night. This was the first job he’d work with a top and bottom rocker instead of the Prospect patch he’d worn for the last year. By the twinkle in his baby blues, the man was thrilled and his excitement was contagious.

The MC was an outlaw’s trail mix, but they were family and she wouldn’t trade any last one of them for anything.

Before she could berate herself for being a sap, the clubhouse’s door kicked open and their two unaccounted for members finally emerged from within. Shokrakar was big for a femal, even by Tal Vashoth standards, with a commanding mein that made the President patch on her chest all but obsolete. With her height and build, the intimidating size of her horns, and the facial scars, there was no question that she was the woman in charge.

Zet also lived and breathed his Vice President patch. He was taller than Shok by only a few inches, wider and bulkier, though significantly less grizzled. His comparable youth was in his musculature, in the well defined, bulging ropes of muscle that hadn’t been sandblasted by time. He had the same dark, coal ash complexion that she did, and also kept his cascading sheets of silver hair nearly as long. He and Shok would have made anything other than their power cruisers look like crotch rockets.

As they approached, Ozena kissed River’s cheek before breaking the circle of her arms from around their waist and lifting her leg over the back of their bike. She moved to the next bike over, where she was parked just beside them, and leaned back in her seat to wait for the club’s officers to lead the charge.

“Mount up, you lazy shits,” said Shokrakar as she walked down the line of bikes to where hers was parked at the end. A wink was aimed at Ozena as she passed her. “We’ve got a job to do.”

Zet, who was close on Shok’s heels, his bike in the spot beside the president’s, gave her a familiar look as he sauntered by. There was a wordless, stay close to me , in the violet rings of his eyes. Her replying nod was imperceptible and Ozena wasn’t sure if she should be reassured by the silent request. Of course she could take care of herself but, that it was made at all meant that he felt it too; that ominous something that made her skin feel tight. Maybe it was just another twin thing. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight tonight.

The raucous roar of engines filled the night as, one after the other, their bikes came alive. Shok pushed off first, rolling toward the gated exit as the others followed suit, falling into formation behind her once they hit the street.

There was a refreshing chill in the air and she breathed in deeply. On nights like tonight it was easy to imagine herself riding into forever, not a worry to her name so long as the road stretched on, but then she glanced around at her club, at her family, and the fantasy turned sour. There was no forever without them, and jobs like the one they were riding towards now was what kept them going. They’d be fine. Just like they always were.

Ozet Adaar

The drive from their clubhouse on the outskirts of Amaranthine wasn’t far from the shipping yard in Seagrave, the location of the client’s meetup. As escort and entourage, they would catch up with the client on the way then accompany them to their meeting, where they were expected to mean mug their associate into rethinking any poorly put together plans involving a forceful renege of any previously established agreements. The arrangement raised some questions that they were paid not to ask. Though that didn’t stop his interest from being piqued.

He didn’t know much about the client. Next to nothing, actually. Shokrakar had done the coordinating and they’d done enough jobs like this one that Zet hadn’t minded letting the old crone do her thing. This was their bread and butter, routine, business as usual bullshit. Valo-Kas was a well oiled machine and could do this hogtied, blind folded, and swinging from a tree like a piñata. He had the utmost faith in his club. So then why was his stomach so tight his abs hurt like he’d spent the last two hours braced for a punch to the gut?

This was one of those times he wished that Shok would revisit their ‘ask no questions’ policy. Capable as they were, there were things they couldn't prepare for if they went into it blind. They’d survived this long because they were tough as shit, crafty as hell, and had some higher power looking out for them. But their luck was finite. Someday it was going to run out.

He gripped the handlebars tighter and stopped himself from looking over his shoulder to where Zen was riding. If he had to pick a night to scrape the dredges of their Good Luck Barrel, it’d be the night they did a job for some Vint high roller cruising through town looking for muscle. They’d been hired because the client had no friends, no connections this side of the Waking Sea, and looking weak was how out of town big shots ended up floating onto shore with a bullet hole between their eyes and the back of their head blown off.

Deductive reasoning and over a decade in The Life made it easy to determine what this meeting was about. If their client had no friends then they had to make some. This was more than a business deal. It was a date, a courtship. Their client was out to woo and the question he wouldn't be asking was: what for?

Zet was trying not to let preparedness turn into paranoia. As VP his job was to think ahead, picture all the possibilities, and prepare for them accordingly. It was a fine line to walk, to not succumb to the anxiety that one misstep could end with members dead or arrested, and the club torn apart.

They’d done this before. Sometimes shit went sideways. It was part of the job and part of the paycheck. If that was the case this go around they’d handle it like all the times before: teeth bared, guns raised, and hell bent on taking as many fuckers down with them before karma did her thing.

His sigh was resolute, determined, and the breath that followed as fortified by the night’s cold air. They rode up on a luxury SUV and he recognized the plates. He and Shokrakar shared a look before he nodded and raised a hand to signal the others. Valo-Kas flowed around the vehicle and lined up in front of it. Their headlights and roaring engines guided the way to Seagrave.

There wasn’t much traffic on the roads this late at night, expediting the drive into the privatized port and shipping yard. The procession drove deeper into the fenced area, between the rusted patchwork of stacked shipping containers, toward the docks. When the SUV flashed its high beams they slowed to a stop. Kickstands were toed out, engines cut, and the few helmets removed as he and Shok both unstradled their bikes.

The others followed suit but stayed behind as he and their president went to officially greet their client. As they strode toward the SUV a tall, well dressed and groomed elf stepped out of the driver's seat. He started for the back door without acknowledging either of them before pulling it open and offering the person inside his hand. An eyebrow cocked when he noticed slender, jewel covered fingers slip into his extended palm.

The sharp click of stilettos on pavement were followed by the reveal of a tall, slender, human woman with dark, russet skin, black hair twisted into an elegant bun, and a sleek, black dress with a harsh, sharp, angled design. She smoothed a manicured hand over her dress as cold, dark eyes assessed their approach. Her gaze was guarded, shrewd, ink blots that dressed them down with a single sweep. Face and features as round as hears might have been gentle on anyone else, but she had the indomitable severity of a businesswoman that specialized in the less than legal. Small as she was by comparison to him and Shokrakar, her presence was strangely commanding.

This was clearly a woman who dealt with their “kind” often.

Glancing between them, her eyes landed on the older Tal Vashoth and she extended a hand in her direction. “You must be Shokrakar, President of Valo-Kas.” her accent had a melodic elegance to it, the chime of an expensive education.

Her grip swallowed her hand whole. With a jerk of her chin she motioned her attention toward him. “And this is my VP, Ozet.” When their hands broke apart the woman offered it to him, smile too cold to be pleasant.

He gave her hand a firm shake anyway, well accustomed to getting greeted with both distrust and distaste right off the bat. Sometimes their clients resented them for the same reasons they hired them in the first place. They were big, hulking, horned bikers that looked more likely to take a lead pipe to your kneecaps than to watch your back. That aesthetic was part of the deal. It was what she was paying them for. By the sharp edge to her stare, he was guessing that she was loathe to acknowledge that fact.

“My name is Livia Herathinos,” she said, turning on her heel with a look toward her elf driver, a wordless command that had him moving with her toward the back of the vehicle. Without looking back at them, she explained, “All that I require of your club tonight is its presence. Of the both of you, I might request a touch more.”

The driver popped the trunk open and, as they followed her to the SUV’s back bumper, he began to unload some reinforced cases. They were wide and thick, built to survive a beating. One was handed off to each of them and Zet was surprised by its weight.

As the cases were distributed, Livia explained, “I ask that you accompany me into the meeting. All this requires of you is to stay close behind me and bring the cases when I signal for them. There will be no need for you to say or do anything beyond stand there and look menacing.”

Shok huffed an amused breath and considered the case in her hand. “You want us to carry your bags.”

“If you think you can manage it.”

The laugh faded from her expression and, for several tense heartbeats, she and Livia just stared at each other. It was Shok that backed down first, grunting dispassionately, not because she was intimidated by her but because carrying bags was part of the job. She was a Vint and obviously came from money, maybe even from some influential family too far north from here for them to care, this was just how their kind treated those they deemed beneath them. It wasn’t personal and, so long as she paid, it didn’t fucking matter.

He and Shokrakar shared another look. At Zet’s raised eyebrow the older female refocused on Livia and nodded for her to lead the way. Her replying nod was satisfied with what she interpreted as submission. She gave her driver a meaningful glance and he shut the trunk and took the space directly behind her as she led them toward the docks.

Driver and bodyguard. Zet had to wonder if Slave was his actual job description. By the way she was keeping him close, he was guessing yes. That was the way of the Tevinter Elite.

After signalling for the other members to fall in line with them, the group strode unhurriedly toward the docks, where the crash of high tide thundered in the night. There was a small group of three waiting for them. A pale human man with two others behind him. Zet didn’t recognize any of them, and couldn't see any identifying colors under their shirt collars or exposed skin. Behind him, Valo-Kas fanned out. He wanted to glance back at Nys and Zen and order them to check the perimeter, but they were too close to Livia’s associate for him to take his eyes off of them. He and Shok were supposed to be her growling, drooling mabari hounds. If he looked away it broke the illusion that he was more than happy to kill for her and just as prepared to die for her, too. So he kept his eyes forward and hoped that his twin and Nys knew enough to do a quick check their environs.

The human man at point spoke over the churning ocean’s din with a rough, “Do you have it?”

Livia motioned for him and Shokrakar to step forward. Once they were close, she turned her back on the humans and approached them one at a time, opening each of their cases to reveal military grade weaponry fitted into the shaped foam interior. When she stepped away it was with an inviting wave. The human at point looked back at his companions before stepping forward to inspect the guns.

As he removed a rifle, Livia explained, “Today I’ve brought you just a taste of what we have in stock. What you’re holding there is a 7.62 mm enhanced battle rifle. You’ll find a M240L machine gun in the second case.” They watched as the man tested the weight of it, lifted the rifle’s butt to his shoulder, pointed the barrel toward a shipping container and stared down the sights. As he tested the weapon, she explained, “We also have a selection of AKs and semi automatic pistols, depending on demand.”

Lifting his face from the weapon, he grinned like a kid on Wintersend. “May I,” he asked, looking toward the provided ammunition.

Her smile was polite as she gestured toward the case in Zet’s hand. “By all means.”

He picked the magazine out of the case and slammed it into place. Grinning back at his men he aimed again at the shipping container and squeezed the trigger. The thunder of round after round firing off at a lightning fast pace was joined by the flash at the end of the rifle’s barrel. The man laughed before doing another sweep at the container, tearing through the metal like a knife through warm butter. He lowered the gun and turned to Livia, excitement in his eyes.

“Let’s talk numbers,” he said, and before another word could come out of either of them, the thunder of even more gunshots filled the night.

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