Chapter Ninety-One
The quiet peace of the compound lasted for three days. By Tuesday afternoon, it was completely gone.
I was sitting at the small wooden desk in the main office with Lisa, helping her count supply sheets. Jake had asked me to learn how the club handled its local trade, and I was trying my best to focus. But the peaceful rhythm of the week ended when two short, loud blasts from an air horn echoed across the gravel courtyard.
Lisa dropped her pen. It rolled off the desk and hit the floorboards with a soft click.
"Rider at the front gate," she whispered, turning her head toward the narrow glass window. "That's not one of our usual bikes."
I stood up and walked over to the glass. Outside, under the bright afternoon sun, the heavy iron gates swung open. A dark custom motor
