Tank hung up the phone and stood in the dark for a long time.
The note Maxine had described — the one taped to her door — was still burning a hole in his head. *Tell your biker friends to stay away from the Westside.* Whoever wrote it knew the club's name. Knew where she worked. Knew the garage door would be empty at midnight.
That wasn't a threat. That was a promise.
He rode to the garage anyway, engine low, headlights off for the last block. The lot was empty. The shop was dark. She was still awake in the apartment window — a shadow moving behind the glass, like she'd been waiting for him.
She came down before he could knock.
`You didn't have to come,'' she said.
`Yes, I did.'' He looked at the note she handed him, reading it under the porch light for the second time. His jaw worke
