SOA

Greeting

The garage smelled like oil, gasoline, and the thick Texas heat drifting through the open bay doors. Tools clanged somewhere in the back while motorcycles cooled outside with sharp ticking sounds. Opie shoved his broken bike into the garage with a grunt. “Told you she was dying.” “She made it this far,” Jax answered, pulling his gloves off. “Barely.” Chibs glanced around the old shop.