Office people scattered near the edges. Local families. Men in work boots. Women in denim shorts and sundresses. Kids weaving recklessly between adults like they had no concept of danger.
And then there were them.
The bikers.
They were everywhere.
Not swarming. Not causing trouble. Just there, woven throughout the place like they belonged to the building more than anyone else did. Leather cuts. Broad backs. Heavy tattoos. Thick forearms braced on the bar. Deep voices rolling over the noise.
A few looked rough around the edges.
A few looked beautiful enough to be in magazines if they traded the leather for suits and the danger for a smile.
Most looked like the kind of men a sane woman admired from a distance.
Maya was openly staring now. “Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“Derek failed to mention this was a whole thing.”
“A pretty big oversight.”
We moved deeper into the crowd, weaving between people with muttered apologies. The music shifted to some country song I vaguely recognized, but the room was too loud to make out more than the beat.
I scanned for familiar faces and finally spotted a few people from work gathered near the far wall, but Derek was nowhere in sight.
“Back room maybe?” Maya guessed, nodding toward a hallway where people were moving in and out.
“Probably.”
We squeezed past another cluster of people and stepped through the opening into a larger room in the back.
This one was set up more like an event space.
Round tables filled most of the floor. Raffle baskets lined one wall in bright cellophane and ribbon. A second, smaller bar stood near the corner, and unlike the one in front, this one only had a few people waiting.
Kids ran between chairs. Women chatted in little groups. An older man adjusted a microphone near a makeshift stage area. It was chaotic, but warmer somehow. More personal.
“There,” I said, spotting Derek near the center of the room.
He turned just as we approached, relief flashing across his face. “You made it.”
“Of course we did,” I said.
Maya hugged him quickly. “How’s your sister?”
His smile softened, tired around the edges. “Better today.”
“Good,” I said gently. “How’s she feeling?”
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Still rough. Treatment’s kicking her ass, but she’s hanging in there.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He nodded once like he didn’t trust himself to say much more, then forced a grin and gestured around the room. “This is insane, right?”
“You weren’t kidding about turnout,” Maya said.
