The night city was cut by the roar of four motorcycles, racing at full speed from the very center of the capital of the state of Dalkeith to its outskirts. Bikers overtook each other and had a great time, spitting on the rules of the road. They stopped only at a small bar on the outskirts. An unremarkable establishment, but it served the best cocktails in the city. Those who know, know.

First, there was loud laughter, the clatter of four pairs of massive boots, and then the doors swung open, revealing a group of four friends to the guests of the bar. Briana, Gordon and Marcel stood slightly behind, and the group was led by Charlton, a tall, white-haired handsome man in a stylish black biker suit.

Charlton looked around the establishment, looking for familiar faces and waved his hand, greeting the bartender. Many of the visitors knew these four very well, so they were greeted with loudly.

The friends walked up to the bar, and Charlton immediately relaxed on a high bar stool. He looked at his companions.

“The usual?” Charlton asked. His friends nodded in unison, not looking up from their animated conversation.

“Let’s have four Atomic Bombs to start,” the man said to the bartender, his gaze thoughtfully sliding around the room. “Not really. Let’s have an Atomic Bomb for everyone here. My treat,” Charlton said, grinning.

The bartender just shrugged and began making cocktails. He had no doubt that the crown prince would pay every penny, including compensation for the consequences of their wild get-together.