The Girl at the Door
The Rusty Nail Roadhouse had seen almost everything.
It had seen bikers settle old grudges over cold beer. It had seen strangers become brothers after a hundred miles of highway. It had seen broken noses, broken hearts, and more than a few motorcycles pushed through its doors after midnight.
But on that Friday night, nobody expected a teenage girl to walk in and change the entire room.
Her name was Mia Carter.
She was seventeen years old, barely five feet four, with brown hair tied into a loose ponytail and a worn canvas messenger bag hanging from one shoulder.
What caught everyone's attention, however, wasn't her age.
It was the black leather vest she wore over a plain white T-shirt.
And on the back of that vest was a large skull surrounded by the words:
REAPER'S HOLLOW
The moment Mia stepped inside, conversations began to fade.
A dozen men turned toward her.
Then came the laughter.
"Look at that," someone muttered. "The kids are getting patches now."
Another biker laughed into his drink.
Mia stopped walking.
She had expected this.
She just hadn't expected it to hurt.
Still, she kept her chin up and walked toward the bar.
At the far end of the room stood the club's president, Jack Mercer, a massive, bearded man known for being almost impossible to intimidate.
He looked at Mia's patch.
Then he looked at her.
"You're lost, sweetheart?"
Mia shook her head.
"No."
Jack leaned against the bar.
"Then maybe you don't understand where you are."
Mia's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.
"I understand perfectly."