Tenley said. “Told me what?” Brenna asked. The two women stared at the squat little brick building before them. “That this place is a dump.” Brenna remembered the night of the bachelorette party, when Tenley had called this place a dump; now that seemed overly flattering. Off the beaten path, the Brass Rail was tucked behind the small industrial section of Morse Point, an area that was home to a self-storage facility, a propane gas distributor, and a trucking company. The dirt lot was unlined and parking was willy-nilly. Brenna did the best she could and was relieved when Jake pulled up beside her. “You actually went in there?” she asked Tara. “Yeah,” Tara said on a heavy sigh. Motorcycles were parked in a row across the front of the building. A bouncer the size of a refrigerator stood by the front door, which was open, spilling out rowdy shouts and laughter and jukebox music that maintained a deafening beat mingled with grinding guitar solos. Jake opened the back door for Tara, while Matt got Tenley’s door, leaving Nate to open Brenna’s.
