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CHAPTER TWO
Drake
The motorcycle roars under me as I open the throttle up. It's a cool, crisp Atlanta night, and the highway into town is almost clear. The chance for a burst of speed does me good; it reminds me that I am free.
I’m dressed like any late-twenties guy you’d expect to find on a motorcycle—head to toe black leather, boots, gloves, jeans, and an unmarked jacket. I’m not flying our club colors tonight. I’m flying under the radar.
I told the boys to stay back in Baton Rouge where we’ve got a secure hideout and plenty of money and pot. They need a break after six heists in a row, jumping from city to city to intercept jewel shipments and steal from collections. If we push too far and too hard, especially right now, we’re more likely to make a mistake that will cost us.
I d
