A/N Okay, this is not my first fan fic, but it is the first one I've published here. So be kind.

This could be considered an AU due to the fact that it's set in today's timeline. As much as I loved the 90's, I thought this would be a bit more appropriate. I'm starting this story with a T rating, but that will probably change and there will be foul language. My mind lives in the gutter, so yeah, there's that.

I would like to thank a few people. FairDrea and Quickening for giving me the confidence to actually publish this, and a second nod of the head to Drea for being my beta. Much of the loves to you for that. My hubby to be Erik, without him, I wouldn't have made it this far. (Go read FairDrea and Quickening's stuff! It is awesome sauce)

Please don't sue me jargon: I do not own any previously copyrighted characters, brands, musical lyrics, etc. used in this story. I do however own any original characters, poetry, and/or musical lyrics unless otherwise noted. This story and its content are for entertainment purposes only. For topical use only, do not get into eyes. Do not swallow. Etc. .

Prologue

Rocket's Launch

Jessica "Rocket" Davidson was not what one would call a worrier. She wasn't the type of girl to just give in to every unfounded anxiety, but her adopted sister's behavior was giving her a reason to wring her hands.

Something was rotten in Chicago. Rocket could feel it in her gut. She and Charley had been close since Sam Davidson, Charley's father, had opened his home to Rocket. And even after his sudden passing, the sisters never let anything come between them. Until now, that is.

Over the last four years, phone calls that occurred at least twice a week had become short and far between. E-mails and letters had come to a virtual halt, and Rocket hadn't laid eyes on Charley in over two years.

Both of them had businesses to run. Charley had The Last Chance Garage and Rocket had her custom design and manufacture shop, Rocket Cycles. The Last Chance was in the black (according to the family accountant), so it wasn't financial trouble with the garage. Besides, Rocket Cycles brought in more money that was decent, and Charley knew that Rocket would gladly give her anything she needed but Charley was proud and stubborn as a mule - a shared trait between them. It still didn't sit right. She swore up and down that she had plenty of help around the garage. She had mentioned three biker vets were giving her a hand when she needed it.

The news coming from Chicago had just been plain weird, so weird that Rocket could swear that it was reported by the Weekly World News, or some other "Elvis is an Alien" tabloid. Monsters, U.F.O. sightings, earthquakes and other crazy crap. The last time she had been in Chi-town it looked like a warzone, especially in the inner city. But so did Detroit and both cities had suffered from an economy on the fritz.

She stood in front of the large windows of the living room. The view overlooking the Texas hill country was breathtaking, but she couldn't see it as she was so lost in her thoughts about Charley. Running a hand through her long copper red hair, she blew out a breath, and then headed for the phone sitting on the coffee table. Falling onto the overstuffed cushions of the couch, she dialed Charley's home number. The machine picked up. She tried the cell phone, voice mail. She tried the garage line and finally was rewarded on the fifth ring. "Last Chance Garage," Charley answered with a strong hint of irritation in her voice.

"Hey you! How's tricks stranger?" Rocket greeted her.

"Oh hey, Rocket! I know it's been a while since I called, but I've been kinda swamped."

Rocket could hear some male voices in the background. "What are you still doing open this late on a Saturday?"she asked.

"Some of us don't put together bikes that cost more than some houses, you know." Charley teased.

"And some of us don't design bikes with weapons for the military. Any luck with that?" Rocket asked noticing that the male voices had gotten louder and from the tone, rowdy.

"Huh? Yeah, putting together another prototype has been eating up any free time I manage to get, but it's getting there." Charley was obviously distracted.

"I was thinking about that, and …" Rocket was cut off mid sentence by a loud crash.

"Really?! Seriously guys?!" Charley yelled to the unknown males who were apologizing. Charley's irritation had gone straight to pissed off. "Gotta go Rocket." And then she hung up.

Rocket was left staring at the cordless phone in her hand. She clicked the end button and thought, What the hell was happening there?

"That tears it!" she announced to the room. She was going to Chicago and find out what her little sister had gotten into. After a few minutes on the internet turned up a flight crew labor strike, she decided that riding across country was the fastest way there. She made a few more calls, packed bags that would fit in the side compartments of her '85 Harley Softail, a backpack for good measure and headed for Chicago. Rocket rode straight through, stopping only for food and gas.