Too Late For Regret: The Biker Queen

Raven" Du

oured into the bay, brandishing tire irons and

forcer shouted, raising a heavy steel pi

n't a

wisted the throttle wide open. The rear tire spun violently on the smooth concrete, th

teer towar

x-hundred-pound machine directly at the eastern brick partition wall-a non-load-b

someone yell

as

e a battering ram. Bricks, mortar, and dust exploded into the air as the Harley

et as I accelerated down the narrow alley

er, stripping away the lingering stench of the compound. For

e pitch-black lot of the abandoned

ommercial box truck, the rear roll-up do

o bed. Inside, three of my custom hand-built choppers and four ro

ming the roll-up door down and

f my helmet and wiping the

, rebuilt, and repacked every machine in the truck. The Iron Cross patrols swept the highway twice a day, but they never thought to search a dead ga

ght, we drove south

h day," Maxine said, her

t noon," she added. "He's telling the whole cha

into the passenger seat. "He need

sun beat down mercilessly on the grav

't sne

ain, unbranded black leather jacket,

lked through the main gate. Whispers broke out a

f the clubhouse and walked straight down t

leather chair. His face was dark with fury, his eyes bloodshot. Camisha stood be

twenty patched memb

s. "You're charged with theft of club property, destruction of clubhouse fa

the room like a su

end of the long table, sat down, and

oof, Bennet,"

he southern supply reserve account was cleared out yest

holesale liquor exemptions under the club's corporate EIN," I said, looking directly at C

right red. "You're lying

ting knife from his belt and stepped around the table toward me. "I don't care about the tax code. You ran. Y

epping forward to slash

oak doors at the entrance were kicked o