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"You better be right, Diane, because if you're not, I'm going to kick your skanky ass from here to the moon!" said Jennifer."I am. But, you have to be patient. You have to let the man stew for a while, maybe a good long while. He'll come around. You're too good a piece for him to give up on," Jennifer nodded at her friend's words."Okay. Okay," said Jennifer.I was looking up at the blinking Budweiser sign above the bar. It'd been six months since I left the house. I had not seen nor heard of Jennifer since that night. Nor as far as I knew had she made any effort to contact me. I was remembering back, as I had almost nightly since, that I hadn't even eaten the pot roast she'd prepared for me that final night. Pot roast, not the sex, not the betrayals, not the disgrace, not her wonderful career choice—nothing—just the pot roast: it's all I could think about. Helluva thing.The tears had come. The anger. And most of all the bitterness. Bitterness because of the fact that my Jenn didn't. With that I watched as she walked to the door of the building. She had a great looking ass and wasn't too thin, curves in all the right places.Later that night I was riding out to meet Craig the VP ( vice president ) of the Wolf Pack a neighboring Motor cycle club. We had business to discuss about the product they wanted to purchase from us. It was out of the territory we controlled but things were calm these days or so I thought. It was a muggy hot night with a haze that created images in the moon light shadows. As I turned the corner close to the meet I got a strange feeling.A light inside a van parked near where I was supposed to meet Craig caught my attention. Unfortunately for me I noticed too late, as I saw the flash of gun fire. I fell off my bike and it flipped over and over. That was the last thing I remember before waking up.I woke up noting I wasn't on the street anymore, the lights were bright and I was in a bed. That is when the pain hit me, and the constriction of.
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