BREE’S POV
She leads me straight through the beating heart of the clubhouse, and my eyes practically bug out of my skull.
I had never been inside an MC compound before yesterday, and it is a lot of sensory overload.
We pass a massive wooden bar where tattooed bikers slam down shots, then a glowing vintage jukebox blasting a rock anthem so loud the floorboards literally vibrate.
In a dimly lit corner, club girls in skimpy leather are draped over massive men playing pool. It is loud, it is fiercely alive, and it reeks deeply of stale beer, expensive bourbon, and danger at every corner.
But we don’t stop there. Deb guides me to the very back of the building, toward a set of reinforced doors flanked by two massive bikers.
The men instantly snap to attention, dropping their chins resp
