Chapter Thirty
The storm had finally broken, leaving behind a sky washed in brilliant, bruised shades of violet and gold as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the heavy, clean scent of wet pine and damp earth. After weeks of hiding, of looking over my shoulders, and of surviving the constant threats of the clubhouse, the silence of the evening felt like a tentative truce.
I stood by the heavy wooden doors of the garage, wrapping a thick, dark denim jacket tightly around myself. I was nervous, my heart fluttering with a lighter, sweeter kind of anticipation than I had felt in a long time.
The heavy roar of a motorcycle engine suddenly echoed from the depths of the garage, vibrating straight through the concrete floorboards and into the soles of my snea
