don't be ridiculous

Harley 

Flashback

The bikes came in fast, flying on the road like metal birds, reckless and loud. One after another, eating up the space between us and the horizon. And then—sudden stop.

Right in front of the car.

Dust blew up everywhere, thick and gritty, rising like a damn smoke signal. The Earth spat it into the air, covering everything. All I could see were boots, black tires, glinting chrome, and those godawful skulls—painted, patched, hanging from chains. Like some gang from a bad dream decided to drag us into their scene.

Clad was already out of the car.

No warning. Just the door swinging open and his boots crunching the dirt.

He didn't look back.

Didn't say a word.