Sara and Angelina shrugged.

“No rodeo clowns.”

“You just added that!” Angelina snapped. It had been a rodeo clown that had just asked her on a date that morning.

“No. No. They were always on the List.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“He dodges bulls for a living. He’s gonna screw you over!”

“Stop yelling!” Sara put her head in her hands. “Just let me die in peace.”

“That’s what you get for getting all liquored up.” Miki chastised.

Sara felt Angelina slip an arm around her shoulders, “Honey, it’s been six months since your grandmother died. Maybe it’s time to stop celebrating. Especially since you seem to become quite the whore when you drink.”

“I do not!” But Sara couldn’t help but smile at the faint, drunken memory of attacking some poor guy in the alley of her favorite club. “Besides, I’m not celebrating. I’m just glad that my grandmother’s…”

“In hell?” Miki cut in.

“There’s no proof of that.” Sara rubbed her temples. The pain in her head would go away eventually. Besides, she was used to pain. Her right leg had been in varying states of unbearable pain for more than 20 years. She’d simply learned to ignore it. And she probably would continue to ignore the pain for the rest of her life. She’d almost grown used to it. Hell, it could be worse. She could be dead.

Or, she could be like the girl stumbling up and through the front door of the shop. Her face and biker leather covered in dirt and blood.

“Holy shit.” Sara quickly limped out from behind the counter, “Guys, call 911. Marrec!” She yelled toward the back, “Come quick!”

“No. No. I’m fine.” The girl waved Sara away.

“Really? You look like shit,” Miki remarked.

“Bike crashed.” The girl stretched and Sara could hear every one of her bones cracking. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. You’ve got a mechanic here, right?”

“Don’t you really need an ambulance?” Angelina asked.

“Or a hearse.” Miki muttered.

Sara elbowed her friend. She did that a lot when it came to Miki.

“Nope. Just a mechanic…and a bathroom.”

“I’ll show her.” Angelina led the girl to the back of the store.

Marrec appeared. Oil and dirt smeared on his face, hands, and T-shirt. The man was supposedly in his 60s but he looked more like a prematurely graying 45. He was shorter than Sara but powerfully built. He had taken Sara under his wing when she was fourteen and had just been thrown head-first through his shop door during a fight that Miki still claimed wasn’t her fault.

“What’s going on?” Marrec stood next to Sara, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Some girl just got into a crash.”

Miki looked out the large glass window, “Christ, look at that girl’s bike. She should be dead.”

Marrec looked at the bike and his eyes narrowed, “She’s walking?”

“Believe it or not,” Sara answered, “Angelina took her to the bathroom.”

Angelina returned to her two friends, “She’s in there now. I’m patiently waiting to hear a thud.”

“I’ll go check her bike,” Marrec muttered as he moved toward the exit.

After about ten minutes, the girl re-emerged. She had cleaned off her face and hands and had rinsed the blood and dirt from her hair. She was an amazingly pretty girl—who looked like she could bench press a Buick.

“Much better.” She announced. She looked at the three women who stared back. “Something wrong?”

“We’re just waiting for you to pass out.” Miki admitted.

The girl grinned, “Mechanic?”

“That’s Marrec. He’s checking your bike now.” Sara glanced out the window, “But, honey, your bike is toast.”

“Ya think?” The girl walked outside. Sara, Miki, and Angelina following behind her.

Sara marveled at how quickly the girl seemed to be recovering. Maybe she was on some new pain killer. She’d have to ask. She might be needing it herself soon.

The girl walked over to the mangled remains of her bike, “My poor baby.”

Sara caught Miki rolling her eyes. She never could understand the bikers’ love of their Choppers. The passion.

Marrec, who was still crouched beside the bike, slowly stood up and looked at the girl. Their eyes locked and they stared at each other. That’s all they did. Just stare. Finally, the girl looked away. She looked back at her bike.

Miki nudged Sara. But Sara blew it off; she’d seen Marrec do that many times before. It was that “weird thing” he did. Hell, Miki did lots of weird things so she had absolutely no room to judge.

“Where did you crash anyway?” Angelina queried.

The girl knelt down beside the mangled metal, “Don’t know. I guess about two miles back.”

The friends exchanged glances.

“How did you get your bike here?”

“Dragged it.” The girl’s head shifted as Marrec turned to face the parking lot entrance.

“Wait a minute,” Miki continued, “You expect us to believe that you dragged that thing here? In your condition? Bullshit,” she finished flatly.

Sara and Angelina exchanged glances. As always, Miki was as subtle as a brick to the head.

But the girl ignored her, “Good.” She seemed relieved, “They’re here.” She stood up and walked to the front of the parking lot just as four beautiful, tricked-out Choppers, all manned by women, pulled in and halted next to the girl.