Biker

Rod was a biker. He had earned his patch the old-school way, fighting through the ranks, climbing the club hierarchy and, often, doing jobs that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

Once, he had to kill someone. The man was a snitch, a traitor to the brotherhood of the bike. Rod had hated every second of it, but loyalty won. The man screamed and cried and apologised, but Rod killed him anyway.

Time to ride.

This was what he had done it all for: the motorcycle throbbing beneath him, the wind in his face, the freedom of the open road.