~ Cole ~
The club smelled like gasoline.
Which meant it was a normal Tuesday.
I stepped inside and tossed my helmet on the long wooden table near the bar.
Jax looked up from a half-disassembled carburettor.
“Well look who decided to show up,” he says
“I’m here every day.”
“Mentally?” he asked.
“Debatable.”
Elijah leaned back in his chair, boots on the table like he owned gravity.
“You look domesticated,” he said.
“That’s an insult.”
“It’s an observation.”
Jax squinted at me.
“You got that ‘man who’s been grocery shopping’ energy.”
“I have never grocery shopped.”
“Liar.”
“I buy coffee.”
“That’s not groceries.”
Before I could respond, the club door slammed open.
Three of our people walked in fast.
Too fast.
Something was wrong.
Their faces gave it away.
Elijah’s boot
