A normal day at the clubhouse usually contains arguing, drunk fighting, and porn magazines being thrown around from man to man.

On a normal day, Tara would only stop by for a few minutes after her shift at the hospital ended. On a normal day, you wouldn’t be in the parking lot of Teller-Morrow.

But God, if you didn’t capture both of their attentions when you walked over the gravel and right up to the group of Sons at the picnic tables. Fuck. You look good. And they don’t even know your name or why you’re here.