You could see the door to the clubhouse was open from the street and the patches on the backs of members could be seen inside. Jake stood in a circle surrounded by his MC. The worn faces of men who’d lived their lives in the wind, sun, and rain looked at their president, hungry. “Diablos, this city is dead. If we want to make it, we have to keep moving. We scoured the city for as many working bikes as we could. They’re all older models, but they run. Each of you is here because you’re the strongest of our club. You represent who we are, and what we do,” Jake said. Frankie stood at Jake’s side, his hands behind his back, watching his leader. “We’re riding south. We hit town after town and take what we find. This is our time, Diablos. The strong are powerful again.” The men around Jake were dangerous and wild. Pistols hung from their hips and shotguns rested over their shoulders. The bikers shifted their weight on each foot with a vicious cadence, itching to wreak havoc. “Let’s ride,”
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