Chapter 38
Before sunrise, the Reaper's King clubhouse was already alive.
Today, the clubhouse moved with quiet purpose.
Coffee brewed in industrial-sized urns while the smell of smoked brisket, biscuits, bacon, scrambled eggs, and fresh cinnamon rolls drifted from the kitchen.
The Old Ladies had completely taken over the place, moving between long folding tables with trays balanced on tattooed arms. Nobody barked orders at them. Nobody dared.
Death changed the rhythm of an MC.
Road Captain Wyatt Lawson walked slowly down the line of Harleys, clipboard tucked beneath one arm.
He stopped beside a prospect adjusting a saddlebag.
"You check the fuel?"
The young man nodded immediately. "Every bike is full, Captain. I checked twice."
Wyatt crouched anyway, running experienced fingers
