Truth
Chelsea was a pain in the ass. But we had a job to do. Fender wanted her at Cooks, where everyone was waiting to celebrate her birthday with her.
He wanted to buy her, her first legal drink, which was funny all by itself. Everyone knew Chelsea had started drinking way before she was eighteen. Most of us had got her out of more scrapes than I could remember. Fender would call her a wild child with a proud look on his face. I would call her a pain in the ass.
And she was still a pain in the ass when we pulled up in front of Cooks. Wicked got off his bike first, his face grim. Not that I could blame him. I would have a face like that as well if I had just had her at my back for hours.
“I want to go home.” She whined as she climbed off the bike.
“Fender wants you here.”
“I don
