The Biker Wore a Unicorn Backpack — Then Silenced the Whole Club

Synopsis

I was the secretary for the Red River Saints MC back then, which mostly meant I wrote down what men forgot, paid bills nobody wanted to look at, and kept track of which brother owed which brother an apology. Our clubhouse sat behind an old tire shop outside Amarillo, close enough to I-40 that you could hear semis downshifting at night like tired animals.…