Monday morning arrived with the familiar smell of fresh coffee, motor oil, and rubber, although something felt noticeably different the moment I unlocked the front door of Lawson Customs.
The garage looked exactly the same and the lifts stood where they always had. My toolbox sat beneath the front window and Ben arrived carrying another breakfast burrito that would probably disappear before eight o'clock.
Nothing had changed. Except the people so I rolled up the main workshop door and stepped outside to enjoy the cool morning air before another busy day began.
The deep rumble of motorcycles echoed from the street a few moments later.
The Iron Vipers.
Jace rode in first, followed by Derek, Cole, Hunter, Mason, and several other members. Normally Hunter would have shouted some ridiculou
