RIO
It was just after 9 when Bree and I arrived at the entrance of the local bar. It already sounded rowdy and loud. Laughter was heard, accompanied by raised voices and the clanking of glasses.
What surprised me most was the long row of bikes.
I had heard the passing of the occasional motorcycle, but never really thought of there being many bikers in this quiet town. I wondered if this was one of those scenarios, like in my romance books —the villainous biker gang running the town, and the sheriff was on their payroll.
Easy, little one. This isn’t the wild west: steel and burning rubber edition.’ The voice calls me out.
But how does she know it’s not? She doesn’t know anything but what is in my head, so really, since this thought was in there, then it should be reality for her. Righ
