The Biker's Rules
“My brothers are going to GUT you!”
I swear, boys are born with a defective self-preservation chip.
Death or glory. No in-between.
Harry’s mouth twists into a grotesque, Joker-like smile. The scars on his face pull tight, distorting the expression into something almost inhuman.
He turns toward the door. Opens it. Pauses. Glances back at Luke.
He chuckles softly and makes a slow, mocking tsk-tsk-tsk sound with his tongue.
“I wouldn’t count on it, little Garcia,” he murmurs.