ANDY
The gates of Odin's Wrath came into view less than fifteen minutes later, and my hands instinctively white-knuckled around the steering wheel.
I had spent four years telling myself I would never come back here. Now I was pulling up to the place that had shaped most of my childhood, carrying more questions than answers and enough anger to fill the entire compound.
Two bikers stood beside the gatehouse, but neither of them looked familiar. The gates were typically a prospect job the club assigned. Patched brothers rarely came here for a prospect unless there was an active threat.
The taller one glanced at my Jeep as I rolled toward them, then grinned at his partner.
"Well, look what we got coming through."
The other prospect laughed. "She lost, or is she looking to become a new pi
