Too Late For Regret: The Biker Queen

Raven" Du

turned halfwa

d up the stairwell. "Camisha! Get your ass bac

rp gasp. Light footsteps scrambled hurrie

t red halter top. Camisha Wilkerson, the bar sweetbutt who had spent three months climbing t

y cargo pants, pulled open the door, and took the s

ent, and burnt welding wire. It was the only square footage in

e bay. Before I could even lay out my blueprint rolls, the cl

from the bar floor. Her face was caked in makeup, her lips painted th

a high-pitched drawl. "Bennet told me to come down and see what kin

n Softail, reaching out a manicured crimson

ooking up, adjusting the micrometer in my hand t

and purposely bumped her hip against the edge of my workbench, sending a

behind her snickered. "My balance is totally off tonight. I guess

ometer down on

llic clang echoed from the dark s

only soul inside these walls I tr

dark skull tattoos, carrying a solid steel driveshaft across her broad should

d, her voice like gravel g

nds. "Who do you think you're talking to? I'

ch from the rack, weighed it in

y. "Teach her the phys

sure," Max

of Camisha's bleached blonde hair, a

axine's right fist drove straight into

knocking over a drum of scrap metal. Blood immediately leaked from the split ski

or, turning on their heels and sprint

hysterically, her eyes wide with shock. "You...

kill. "Tell him the next time you touch my tools, it w

ls in an oil puddle, and limped frantically toward t

ith a rag and walked over. "You know Bennet is g

ipers again. "I need an excuse to make hi

stomach flipped violently, and a bead of cold sweat broke out across my fore

ched out, steadying my elbow. "Jazmyne? You're white as a

our taste in my mouth. "Just haven't slept in two days. Go c

zmy

Max

p of the ramp slammed open against