Bryce took us to a biker dive bar on the edge of the city. A line of motorcycles littered the front of it, and when we got inside, it was mostly bikers.
Corrigan said it perfectly, “Well. Being recognized isn’t a worry I have for us here.”
Bryce laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on.” He wound his way through the room to a table in the back section. When we went past the pool tables, I saw there were others there. They weren’t wearing the leather jackets like the rest of the bikers and were wearing jeans and sweatshirts like us. Sliding onto my chair, I could only stare at those people.
“What’s up?” Corrigan noticed my reaction.
“I’m not a biker.” I gestured around the bar. “I should be worried being in a place like this, but I’m not.” I paused, wondering if that was true.
