She just spent her last $800 on a rusty old Harley everyone said was worthless. Neighbors laughed, cameras snapped, and people called her crazy. But less than 24 hours later, the ground started shaking because 60 Hell’s Angels were riding straight to her door.
$800 that was all Clare Donovan had left to her name. It wasn’t enough for next month’s rent, barely enough for groceries, but it was everything she had, and she put it all into a rust eaten 1,965 Harley-Davidson that everyone in her neighborhood swore was good for nothing but scrap. When she pushed the bike down the cracked sidewalk, the sound of its stiff chain and groaning wheels echoed like the mockery of the voices around her.
From windows and porches, the laughter began. 800 for that heap. She’s lost her mind. Mrs. Whitaker shouted down from her balcony. Teenagers pointed their phones at her, recording every step. Single mom biker queen. They jered, their voices sharp with cruelty.
