Dying Biker President Rallies His 70-Year-Old Crew For One Last, Desperate Ride
Chapter 1: The Six-Month Clock The fluorescent lights of the oncology ward hummed a flat, indifferent note. It was a sound Arthur “Prez” Donovan was beginning to hate. It was the sound of sterility, of bleached floors and bleached hopes. He sat on the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath his worn jeans. His leather…