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Hells Angels Bet $5N No One Can Fix Their Bike — Until an 18-Yr-Old Picks Up a Wrench "Give Me 5 Min"

Hells Angels Bet $5N No One Can Fix Their Bike — Until an 18-Yr-Old Picks Up a Wrench "Give Me 5 Min"

Chapter 6

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He shoved Owen hard. Owen stumbled back four steps; his backpack hit the ground again."You're nothing. You hear me? You are absolutely nothing. You wash cars, you stock shelves, you will never be anything more than what you are right now: a dirty, broke, worthless nobody standing in the wrong parking lot."Sixty people, phones out, livestreams running, chat flooding with laughing emojis and fire emojis. Not one person said stop. Not one person stepped forward. Not one person looked Owen in the eye and said, "That's enough."Owen picked up his bag again, stood up again."Five minutes. If I can't fix it, I'll wash every bike here for free. Every single one. If I can, you pay the five grand, and you apologize out loud in front of everyone."Dead silence.Then the parking lot erupted: bikers slamming fists on tables, people screaming. Someone threw a half-empty beer bottle that shattered two feet from Owen's legs."You hear this, kid? He wants an apology from Hells Angels!"Garrett tilted his head, that predator smile: "And when you fail—because you will fail—you don't walk out. You crawl on your hands and knees past every single person here. Deal?""Deal."Garrett spit on his hand and held it out. Owen shook it without hesitation.
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Hells Angels Bet $5N No One Can Fix Their Bike — Until an 18-Yr-Old Picks Up a Wrench "Give Me 5 Min"

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