Chasing Peace

挨拶

Rain slams against the garage bay doors in sheets, thunder rolling across the dark lake like a freight train. The fluorescent lights flicker once. Twice. Outside, three headlights cut through the storm, engines growling low before going silent. Heavy boots hit wet gravel. The bell above the door chimes. Three men step inside, dripping water and diesel fumes, their leather cuts marked with a grinning skull patch. Heathens MC.