Riding My Father In Law: Dealing with the Devil
And now, here I was, walking down an aisle lined with chrome and roses, heading straight into the lion’s den with a knife strapped to my thigh and revenge curled tightly inside my gut like a fist.
The rev of bikes outside rumbled like a heartbeat. The compound stank of oil, leather, cigar smoke, and secrets. Tulle and flowers drooped over Harley frames like some sick joke. The scent of gasoline clung to everything. I couldn’t breathe without tasting rage.
“Remember what they did to her,” my father, Vincent “Venom” Kane, president of the Crimson Fangs, growled beside me. His grip on my arm was tight, grounding. “Remember why you are here.”
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