She Paid a Stranded Biker’s Gas, and Three Days Later Everything Changed

had wandered into the wrong place. The patch on the back of his vest read Iron Saints, a local biker club from two counties over, the kind of name folks in Briar Glen said carefully, usually with lifted brows and lowered voices.

Across from him stood Dale Mercer, who ran the gas station and enjoyed two things almost equally: coffee and humiliation when continue reading …