Property Of by Dionne Smith Miller

BookCoverPreviewLove can be complicated, but it can also be fulfilling. Nowhere is that fact more evident than in the mysterious biker world, a sub-culture outsiders see but know very little about. Dakota Durand experienced these feelings her entire relationship with Shane Hill, her motorcycle loving boyfriend who was very sexy…and very married.

Dakota, determined to break free from Shane’s emotional hold, left Texas and moved back to her hometown of New Orleans, where she began a new career as a successful paralegal. But when she received a message from Shane – newly divorced and wanting her to give them a second chance – she was brought face to face with her truth, that she has never gotten over him.

When Dakota goes to visit Shane, it doesn’t take long for her to discover that Shane has conveniently left out some very important details about his life, which is the fact that motorcycles are no longer simply a passion of Shane’s; he is now the powerful boss of an outlaw biker gang who now goes by the name of Capital, and with this rank comes perks. In the biker world those “perks” are sexy women called P.O.’s (Property of the MC). These women will do anything to please Capital, something that Dakota finds hard to grasp.

Blinded by the possibilities of her and Capital’s love, Dakota has a tough decision to make. Should she give up on the man she never stopped loving and his dangerous new lifestyle or will she get drawn in to the bike culture and stake her claim as Capital’s main Property?




The glass screen door crept open revealing Shane’s head peeking from behind. He had on a black bandana that was covered in different size skulls and black diamond earrings in both of his ears. As soon as I see his face, I am surprised by the massive goatee that he has grown since I’ve last seen him. But I actually like it. It looks perfect on him.

It had been a while since I’d been back in Texas and have seen Shane, but I hoped that now that I was in my fancy new Audi, that he would see me the same way that I saw him when he used to get off of his motorbike—confident, sexy, and secure. I exited my vehicle making hard, strong bounces in his direction. His serious expression turned into a smile as I got closer. I was overly anxious to get to him; his smile drew me in.

Once I was within his reach, he extended his arms towards me and then scooped me up into his embrace, lifting me inches from the ground. I then noticed that something was very different about him. He had a sleeve of tattoos on both arms. Arms that I used to rub on and hold on to while making love were now covered in skulls and crosses and words that seemed dark and dangerous. My heart dropped. And so did my smile.


“Bae, get changed. I’m going to introduce you to my world,” He said, beaming down at me. His voice was one that I could never get tired of but the excitement that I felt before I got there had already subsided. I felt out of my element, like I had entered the world of the unknown.

I looked down on the outfit that I was wearing; a pair of designer jeans, an expensive red blazer, and a pair of high heel shoes. My face became flushed. I was slightly offended. “I am dressed,” I said, now scrutinizing him in his dark clothing that made him seem as if he was preparing for the apocalypse.

“Shane, you know that me and motorcycles do not get along,” I remind him. Visualizing how in the past, whenever we took short rides around the neighborhood, I would spend the entire ride panicking, literally counting the minutes until the ride was over.

“How far is Your World,” I asked, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

He looked at me affectionately and then smiled before saying, “Baby, just change out of that fancy ass jacket, put on some       comfortable shoes and get ready to enjoy the ride.”



Shane drove up to the end of the grassy area where there were bikes and other people hanging around—both male and female. He parked his bike in a spot marked Reserved for Capital. Music was playing and the vibe seemed friendly. There was a big black wooden house that had Sons of Slaves painted on it in bright yellow letters and a logo that looked identical to the one on the back of the leather vest that Shane was wearing. It was then that I made the connection; SOS was an acronym for Sons of Slaves. A motorcycle club. And he was Capital, president of the club.

Everyone there seemed to somehow already know of me. A circle of people stood around on a black wooden deck and Shane called off the names of the ladies. “Kota, this is Kitty, Skittles, Mamasita, Aries, Butterfly, Madame, Innocent, and Kryptonite. They are the Chapter P.O.’s.”

I waved my hand in a circle, saying hey to everyone, and then one by one they approached me and pulled me into a hug. As soon as our greetings were finished, Shane took me by the hand and turned me around.

“And these are the bros,” he said, but he didn’t call out their names like with the women. I waved in the bros direction, and gave them a warm smile. I felt uneasy. Although the ladies seemed friendly enough, and the guys looked impressed, something about the entire scene bothered me. Then I noticed a couple of Shane’s friends from when we used to hang out in Bay Ridge. I breathed a sigh of relief at those familiar faces. They made some of the newness seem a little less crazy.



Red came up to me and hugged me tight, he then congratulated me on becoming Senior Paralegal at the firm that I worked for. Shane has definitely been talking about me. That made me smile.

Pension, another old friend from Bay Ridge made his way over to me and said, “Heeey,” in a voice so jolly that it resembled Santa Claus’. He looked at me intently like he was waiting on me to say something. Then I remembered that Shane told me that Pension got into a bad bike accident about a year ago that claimed his leg, which slipped my mind because he was wearing a prosthetic.

“I heard about your accident,” I said to Pension and put on a sympathetic face. “How are you?”

A pained expression whipped across his face so fast that I almost missed it. He quickly replaced it with his trademark gigantic smile. “Good. Good. I’m doing real good,” he said.

Capital interrupted our conversation by grabbing me by the waist and saying to me that he had someone that he wanted me to meet—one of his personal P.O.’s.

He walked me over to a tall light skinned girl and introduced her to me as Darling. She had an intimidating look on her face, mixed with a smirk, and was wearing a pair of tight black shorts, a black leather vest, and a tank top that said, Sons of Slaves MC.

I reached in to give her a hug which seemed appropriate since all of the other ladies that I’d just met did the same, but she snubbed me, simply saying, “What’s up,” before turning away and walking back over to the food that she was helping to prepare. When she turned around to walk away I noticed that she had a patch at the bottom of her vest that said Capital.

As soon as we walked away I asked, “What does P.O. mean?”

“P.O. means Property Of.” Capital said.

I put my hands on my hips and asked, “Property of who?”

“Property of mine. My eyes and ears on the street. Being a P.O. is also for protection.”

“Why are you protecting her?” I asked, cutting my eyes in her direction, suddenly feeling territorial.

“When a nigga sees my name on the back of any P.O.s vest, they ain’t gon’ fuck with ‘em,” he said. “And that means you too!”

“Ok, but nobody’s “fucking” with me now,” I said, using air quotes to make my point.


His tight smile said that he was trying to ignore my smart-alecky tone.


“Are you dating her?” I asked, trying to mask my hurt, but needing to get to the question that I really wanted answered.

“No, baby. You’re my only woman.”

My heart started beating again. “Well why are you protecting her?”

“Everyone in the club has a vest, baby. Outlaws refer to it as a cut. If a person has a cut on with someone’s name on it that means that they are property of this chapter or property of one of the bros. She is a personal P.O. of mine because she is a good P.O. and she’s loyal. She does everything that I tell her to do… without any lip,” he threw in at the end.

As soon as we crossed the doorsill of Shane’s home, his energy changed. He morphed from being Capital—big boss of Sons of Slaves— to becoming completely focused on me. He grabbed me near the front door, pulled me into a passionate kiss and then walked me back to his bedroom where he shut the door behind us and locked it.

“Why are you locking the door?” I asked, half-jokingly, and then started looking around. “It’s just you and me in here.”

“Force of habit,” he said. His deep voice trailed off. I guess he was thinking the same thing that I was.

“It’s just you and me in my home for the first time, baby.”

His words gave me butterflies.

“I missed you, Kota,” he said, sharing his words with scant kisses. His eyes were melting through mine, making my stomach one big riptide.

He unbuttoned my shirt and unsnapped my bra. Leaving me standing there exposed, he eased out of his vest and began removing his black muscle shirt. Without missing a beat, he swooped me up in his arms and forced his tongue into my mouth. I felt a stampede in my heart that I’ve never felt before, not even with him.

Shane turned me loose and began pulling weapons from out of his pockets. Weapons that I had no idea that he had on him. A box cutter was pulled from the right cargo pocket of his pants, two guns were retrieved from his vest pockets, and last he removed a knife from his steel toe boots. He placed everything on a tall dresser near the closet. The collection took up residence with other weapons that he owned.


My face gave me away so I went on and asked. “Are you in some kind of danger?”


“No, baby. I’m an outlaw.”

“Okay, so what does that mean? What am I not getting?”

“It’s a culture, sweetheart. Just like New Orleans has a unique culture, so does the outlaw motorcycle lifestyle.”

He covered my mouth with his, saying, “that’s enough questions.” He lowered me on to his bed and he sat down next to me, leaning his chest onto mine until we were in a horizontal position, before kissing me like there was no tomorrow.



I didn’t see Shane as Capital—the powerful man that heads this powerful motorcycle club. I saw him as Shane, the sexy man that kissed me in the backyard of his dad’s house on our first date years ago, making me feel butterflies inside, and the one that made me feel that exact same way when he kissed me today.

“Baby, you know that in order for you to be my woman again that you have to accept this bike shit, huh?”



photo 3 (3)Dionne Smith Miller was born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana, where she currently resides with her three daughters. After Hurricane Katrina devastated her beloved city, she and her kids were uprooted to Houston, Texas, where she lived for 6 years before returning to her hometown. Her first novel, Running Back, was published in 2014. She has recently finished her third novel titled Property Of.

No stranger to a tumultuous marriage riddled with secrets and infidelity, Dionne Smith Miller intertwines her personal experience as the ex-wife of a rap star, with her wit and imagination, resulting in her debut novel.

A perpetual single, as she refers to herself, she is the founder of an online single’s group, which has ignited a few relationships; but more importantly, created everlasting friendships. She is also the author of the popular single’s blog Unsingled. Follow her on twitter and instagram@deemiller504 and at


Get to know Dionne:


Tell us a little about yourself and your background? I am a mother to three daughters. I live in New Orleans, La., and I am divorced from rap artist, Corey Miller, known as C-Murder. My career path has taken several twists and turns. I went from stay-at-home mom, to salon owner/hair stylist, to paralegal. And finally… Author.

What made you want to become a published author?

I have always been an avid reader. In the 90’s, there were many authors whose writing inspired me such as Eric Jerome Dickey, E. Lynn Harris, and B.B. Moore Campbell. Currently, there are not many authors that “do it” for me the way these authors have. That being said, one day it just hit me that I can probably write a story just as good as the stories that I have read as a young adult. Ten years later, my debut novel, Running Back was completed and self-published.

Tell us about your latest project.

My most recent novel is called Property Of. It tells the story of a young woman, Dakota Durand, who has the chance to rekindle things with the love of her life, sexy biker, Shane Hill. But what she doesn’t anticipate is that he has changed since they were together years earlier and that he is now part of an outlaw motorcycle gang and has women under him that in the OMG subculture is considered his Property. Her feelings for him are as strong as ever but his lifestyle is causing major problems for them.

What is the easiest thing about writing?

The easiest thing about writing for me is comparing my stories to my life. In each of my novels thus far, I have included specific incidents that have transpired in my life.

How long on average does it take you to write a book?

On average, it takes me about six months to write a book. Since I have made up my mind that writing is what I want to pursue, I have been able to set aside specific time to focus solely on my craft. My first novel has taken me several years to complete.

Do you ever get writer’s Block?

I think that at some time or another, all fiction writers get writer’s block. I get writer’s block when I am trying to think of a story-line in my head, in opposed to typing it out. But the minute that I start typing, even if I am unsure of where I am going with a certain chapter or a specific character, my imagination usually takes over the minute that I open up the blank document.
What advice would you give to anyone trying to become an accomplished author?

The advice that I would give to someone wanting to be an accomplished author is to get all of your education out of the way first. Whether you are that professional athlete, that famous actress, or even a business owner, I still find that even the wealthiest and most accomplished person often regret not having that college degree on their list of accomplishments.




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