Chapter Eleven
The heavy afternoon heat hung low over the compound, thick with the scent of motor oil, stale tobacco, and cheap beer. The main hall of the clubhouse was buzzing with activity. A group of senior members sat at the center table, meticulously stripping down their firearms, while others huddled in the corners plotting the details of the next run. I stood near the back, a grease rag in hand, methodically wiping down the chrome on my chopper.
But my mind wasn't on the bike. The fallout from last night followed us into the day like a shadow.
Skyler had been icing me out since dawn. She’d stayed buried in the garage or her bedroom, her pride still raw from the spectacular explosion of jealousy and possession that had left us tangled on the workbench. When she finally walked into
