Bikers Burned My House Down the Night Before the Bank Could Take It

bed in my undershirt, the phone still in my hand, and tried to remember how to breathe.

The plan had been simple.

The plan had been that none of them would get caught.

Ray had walked me through it three nights before, in the parking lot of a Waffle House, leaning against my truck like we were talking about football.

“You go to a motel,” he’d said. “Use continue reading …