lone wolf Taha Bolton • "Son of Ghosts, King of Ashes"

[Taha]

“You don’t survive where I come from. You become the storm.”
 

Los Santos thinks it knows Taha Bolton. It doesn’t.
 

Born into the state system, parents gone before he could remember their names, Taha was saved from orphanage anonymity by John Bolton, a man as brutal as his reputation. John wasn’t a father. He was a warlord in leather: president of the Death Angels MC, cartel courier, bar-fight architect. In their cramped bungalow, the twin anthems were the clang of wrenches and the crack of knuckles. Taha learned fast: in this world, family meant loyalty. And loyalty cost blood.
 

By sixteen he was more than a kid with grease under his nails. He was the club’s shadow, watching deals, standing guard, carrying messages. At eighteen, during a birthday thrown in his honor at the MC’s crimson-lit bar, the FBI stormed in. They cuffed John for double homicide. They tore the club to shreds. And they left Taha with two choices: fold or lead.
 

He chose to lead.
 

In the chaos that followed, Taha claimed the gavel. He patched the wounds of distrust, rallied the brothers, and resumed business the only way he knew: fast, cold, unflinching. But power breeds envy. When Grizzly John’s oldest friend, stole the safe and fled, Taha tracked him to a desert ghost town, met betrayal with vengeance, and left nothing but a corpse and a warning for anyone who dared cross him.
 

Cartels noticed. The whispers of his ruthlessness drew Ernesto, MS13’s West Coast envoy, into his orbit. Money-laundering, muscle work, shadow jobs under neon skies, Taha played the game, walking the knife’s edge between empire and extinction.
 

The heat grew unbearable. Feds on one side, cartels circling tighter on the other. So with Mia the only soul who ever pierced his armor he vanished. No patches, no trace, just rumors of a ghost in the wind.

Now…

He’s back.
No MC. No alliances. No mercy.

Los Santos owes him blood, and he’s ready to collect.

“I didn’t ask for this life. But I earned it.”

 

[Taha]

The full life story of Taha Bolton before coming back to Los Santos:
 

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/gd6mecd5nf2q3fgb15jq0/Taha-Bolton.docx?rlkey=ryndnegrett0c0rrfwz8xleqa&e=2&st=ksiws66d&dl=0

Edited May 10 by Taha

[Taha]

First Step Back

Taha touched down in Los Santos without a word. No calls. No greetings. Just boots on the ground and a name no one had said in a while.
 

He found a bar tucked in the edge of town quiet place, dim lights, older crowd. He asked the right questions, didn’t say too much. The owners didn’t care about the past, only if he could keep his head down and pour a clean drink.

They gave him a shot cash under the table, night shifts, no paperwork. Exactly what he needed.

Taha didn’t come back to make noise. Not yet.

He came to watch, listen, and build
 

Edited May 14 by Taha

[Taha]

Old Lines Still Ring

Evening rolled in. Taha stood by his car near Marina, catching a breath after another quiet shift behind the bar.
 

The city noise was distant. Familiar.
 

Then the phone lit up. No Caller ID.
 

He stared at it for a second. Then answered.
 

       

Edited May 14 by Taha

[Taha]

Steel for Silence

The box was stashed, apartment locked up tight. Taha didn’t waste time.
 

He knew what came next. Product without protection is just bait.
 

So he started circling Idlewood. Slow. Watching. Waiting.
 

It didn’t take long, two locals posted up near a liquor store gave him a look, one he recognized from back in the day. Not friendly, not hostile. Just... business.

“You looking for something, homie?”
“Something small. Something loud.”

They exchanged a glance.

“Follow us.”

A short walk. Backdoor. Dim lights, torn couch, the smell of burnt plastic. Taha didn’t ask questions.
 

The deal was quick. No names. Just cash for cold steel.

 

Edited May 14 by Taha

[Taha]

Crossed Paths

Right after the gun deal, Taha stepped outside for some air. The block was quiet still, heavy. That’s when he noticed her.

She was leaned up near the corner, watching the street like she’d been there a while. Confident. Calm.

“You local?” she asked.
“Just moving through,” he replied.

The conversation was short, but sharp. She called herself Chika. Said she moved things. Mentioned knowing the right people, getting things done.
 

Before leaving, she pulled out her phone.

“Take my number. In case you ever got something to move.”

Taha didn’t say much. Just saved it.
 

They went their separate ways, no promises just a number in his phone and a thought in the back of his mind.

Two days passed.
 

Taha didn’t forget the conversation outside the trap and he didn’t forget the number.

He sat on the edge of his bed, the city noise leaking through the cracked window, staring at his phone. Then he called.

She picked up quick.

“Didn’t think you’d actually call.”
“Figured it was time,” he said. “You still around?”
“Always. Where we meeting?”

They picked a lowkey spot. Nothing loud. Just a neutral pull-up with no eyes.

When Chika showed up, she didn’t waste time with small talk.
 

Just business. Two people who move smart, feeling each other out.
The real conversation was about to start.

Edited May 14 by Taha

[Taha]

Southside Moves

After linking with Chika, Taha knew it was time to expand his reach.

Idlewood had eyes but the southside had doors worth knocking on. So he drove down, kept it respectful, and made quiet contact with a few locals in the barrio. No pressure, no frontin’. Just showing face.

He didn’t push. He waited...
 

A few days later, the call came through.

Edited May 14 by Taha

[Taha]

The Sound of Old Engines

Taha picked up on it in Idlewood just a passing mention of a motorcycle club posted outside the city. No name. No hype. Just… familiar.

He made the drive solo.

When he pulled up, they didn’t act suspicious. No flexing, no cold stares just a cold bottle of Squire Press, handed off with a nod.

They shared a few laughs.

That’s when one of them mentioned a vintage car show they were putting together and offered Taha a spot behind the bar if he was down to help out.

He didn’t hesitate.

Beer poured smooth. Ribs hit the flame. The atmosphere felt lived in, loud where it needed to be, quiet where it mattered.

For the first time since he came back, Taha wasn’t calculating every move.
He just… existed.

And as the smoke rose and the engines cooled, he couldn’t help but think of John, of the Death Angels, and the days when it was all about the ride, the brotherhood, and the fire.

 

 

Edited May 14 by Taha

[Taha]

Heat at the Door

Work had been steady. Nothing big just a security gig for a local venue. Routine stuff, in and out, no heat.

Taha was posted near the entrance, keeping an eye on the crowd, when his phone buzzed.

He didn’t recognize the number at first. But the voice on the other end? Unmistakable.

Doom.

Jamaican. Solid. One of the few that held it down when Taha first came back to the city.

And now he had merchandise on deck
 

 

They split up clean. No heat on them but the exchange wasn’t finished.

A few hours later, they linked again. This time, somewhere off the grid. No interruptions. No surprises.

Just business. Like it was always meant to be...


 

Edited May 14 by Taha

[MrVino]

Looks fire, hope to interact!

[Taha]

Learn Before You Move

The product was stacking up southside connects, Doom’s drop, and steady ground in the city. Things were lining up.

Taha reached back out to Chika. They agreed to meet again, somewhere off the radar.

But this time, he wasn’t just thinking business.

On the way there, something stuck with him he didn’t know a damn thing about her. Not really.
She moved clean, talked sharp, but… who was backing her? Who did she run with?

He decided it was time to find out.

When they met, he didn’t jump into weight or prices. He started asking questions. Soft ones. Measured.

Just enough to see what she’d say.

 

[Taha]

From the Docks to the Block

Taha first saw them at the port the same day he picked up the gift from Tom. Two brothers, standing off to the side, talking weight and watching everything around them.

They didn’t chase a conversation. But when it happened, it stuck.

Weeks passed. Their names stayed in his head.

When the product stacked up, Taha made the call. Quick, clean.
They didn’t waste time.

Now the work’s moving and the circle’s tightening.

[Taha]