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The main reason they had chosen to meet her mother and the Green Mountain Boys MC at the Bike Week in New Hampshire was because it was safe. The Dark Horsemen avoided the state like the plague after a run-in with a local MC. Rolling down the last stretch of highway, the mid-June heat warmed her shoulders and back. Meanwhile, chills ran down her arms, and her belly buzzed like a hive of wasps.
Cutter turned into the grounds, and she was graced with the sight of rows and rows of perfectly angled parked bikes. Flamboyant, ostentatious, shiny bikes. Hell, yeah. Nothing trumped the sparks reflected off the polished chrome of a line of bikes. A motorcade of bikers, wearing helmets and glasses, and sporting ink on exposed skin, roared by. The riot of colors displayed on their cuts and engine
