50 Bikers Surrounded A Rookie Cop At A Gas Station Then Dropped To Their Knees

“No, son. You don’t.”

The president got to his feet. He was tall. Six-three at least. His eyes were gray and steady. The kind of eyes that had seen things and decided what to keep.

“My name is Walt Brennan. I’ve been president of this club for twenty-seven years. And I’ve been carrying a secret about your father for fifteen.”

Ryan set the coffee on the hood of his cruiser. His hands needed to be free. “What secret?”

Walt looked back at his men. Still kneeling. Still silent.

“Not here,” Walt said. “Let’s sit down somewhere.”

“Tell me here.”

“Son—”

“Tell me here. In front of them. If they know the secret, I should hear it the same way they lived it.”

Walt studied him. Then nodded slowly.

“You’re like him. Stubborn.”

He turned to his men. “Get up, brothers. He wants to hear it.”