The Matriarch’s Mark

Her eyes, pale and sharp as cracked ice, locked onto his with an unnerving, unyielding intensity. The absolute absence of fear in her gaze made the biker’s grin falter for a fraction of a second.
Slowly, with deliberate grace, the woman reached a weathered hand into the pocket of her trench coat. The biker’s posture stiffened slightly, but she simply continue reading …