WOLF
Inside the clubhouse of the Rogue Renegades MC, the music pulsed with its usual energy — low music, the clink of bottles, the sound of leather shifting against worn bar stools — but in the office overhead, it was an entirely different energy.
I sat behind the large oak desk in the office, my broad shoulders rigid beneath my worn leather Kutte, the Rogue Renegades emblem stretched across my back. Behind me on the wall, a portrait of the founders of the club, proudly standing within that picture, where the same three men stand in the office now. Cutter and Teddy shared my grim expression.
There was another attack. A tourist's body was found torn to shreds just beyond town limits. It is a statement left for us to find.
Cutter’s sharp-eyed and calculating, and Teddy’s hulking presenc
