His hard body is pressed against my back, and I can't look away from our reflection in the mirror. One of his hands leaves my breast and vanishes, unseen but not unfelt.
I never thought I'd bury my brother.
Brian Hatcher has a lot of nerve, I thought I'd never see his face again. He left the police force to join the Iron Tornadoes, the very gang my brother was investigating.
I hate him.
I should hate him.
I want to hate him.
He has turned his back on everything he used to stand for. Yet I want him, even though he's turned into a stone cold biker.
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- Darla Sills
Death and motorcycles