S. P. Blackmore books

Death and Biker Gangs

I recognized the pale hair and tilted my head toward him. “Dax, what the hell are you doing?”“There’s a goober outside. A few goobers, actually.” He tried to pop shells into the Winchester, but they clattered messily to the carpet. I sat up and forced my eyes to focus on his shaking hands. “Thoug...