Then he’s on the move and I somehow find myself away from the ticket booth. I try to muscle my way past to pay, but Eli’s right hand man, Pigpen, plants himself in front of me like the towering sack of testosterone and annoyance that he is. Here comes the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club riding in on their black Harleys determined to save the day of people who really need to learn how to save themselves. Like always, he has dark hair cut close to his head, plugs in his ears and a huge grin like we should be glad to see him. “There’s a line and you just cut.”Įli, one of my father’s once best friends, glances over his shoulder and winks at us as he pulls out his wallet. The world surrounding me turns red, and my blood begins to boil. Right as Brandon takes a courageous step forward, two black leather vests slip in front of us and staring back at me is a half skull with fire blazing out of its eye sockets. My brother believes in himself, and I believe in him and maybe we’re both going to be okay. A combination of nervous energy and pride rushes through my veins as he grasps my hand in return and fists the cash in his other hand. “I know you can.”īrandon swallows hard, but nods. “You can do this.” I take Brandon’s hand in mine and give a reassuring squeeze.
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