Declan
Once the Confradia men take Collins away, I stroll into the nearest bar, ready to wash away the sins of the day and find an even keel. A small part of me feels bad for Collins because his family was put in a precarious position. But another part doesn’t because he brought it on to himself. Taking a seat on a nearby stool, I gesture for the bartender, Ronny, to serve me a drink.
Striding towards me, Ronny gives me a welcoming smile. “Declan! It’s good to see you.” He calls out with delight as he stretches his arm out. Ronny’s an old biker with tattoos all over his body and thinning gray hair. His leather Harley Davidson vest strains around his muscled shoulder as he leans over the bar’s counter and shakes my hand. “Hey, Ronny. How are you?” Ronny shrugs his shoulders. “Same as alw
