maximum. He couldn’t imagine how hot it must have been in the trunk. Poor Red. Not.
Dewey hummed his song softly as the car bounced down the potholed road. When he reached the highway the road smoothed out and he began to sing instead. “Love...” he began as he headed toward the Sons of Mayhem clubhouse. He had to get within about half a mile of the bug to pick up its signal.
Once he knew what they were up to he could figure out the best way to use the bargaining chip he had in the trunk to destroy them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
K aren
I stood up and brushed myself down, glad I had pulled on a pair of jeans that morning instead of something that left my legs bare.
Gauge gave me an appraising look. “I think we need to hear a bit more about this crazy ex of yours, huh?”
I nodded at him, there was a lot to tell. I wondered how much of it they would believe.
“You can ride with me,” said Bottle, his voice gruff and insistent. From the tone of his voice it didn’t sound like I had much of a choice. It seemed we wouldn’t be hanging around to talk to the fire department or the sheriff just yet, and that suited me just fine. I’d had enough of Farmington’s finest for one day.
The motorcycles had been parked on the quiet street and were luckily all undamaged. I followed behind Bottle and climbed up behind him, looking anxiously up and down the street. No one had appeared yet, but surely someone was home and would be out to investigate, and then soon after the authorities would begin to arrive. We had to get out of there.
He rolled the bike backwards with powerful pushes of his legs and pulled back the kickstand with a hook of the heel of his boot. He clipped his helmet on and tilted his head. “Sorry, there ain’t one for you. I wasn’t expecting that .” He nodded his head in the direction of the wreck of my solid excuse for a car.
I let out a little laugh. Who could have expected it? I knew the man chasing me was a bit unhinged, but I hadn’t realized he’d go as far as he had. I smacked Bottle on the shoulder. “I hear sirens. Let’s go.”
The biker leader gave a nod of his head then raised his hands to his mouth and let out a loud whistle. I swung my head around, the other guys were on their bikes and looking our way. Bottle pressed the starter button and the bike gave a little shake as she awoke from her slumber. Bottle revved the engine a couple of times with small twists of the throttle and soft vibrations, dulled by the bike’s suspension, poured through me making me shiver. Adrenaline surged through my veins as I sensed the power of the beast underneath me. I sucked in a deep breath and dug my fingers into the leather clad man in front of me, feeling the strength of his muscles through the leather of his cut.
Bottle raised his hand up and made a circling motion with his finger. Even I, who knew nothing about bikers, could recognize what it meant: it was time to roll. The other bikers started their engines and the quiet neighborhood was filled with the sounds of powerful engines and the smell of petroleum fumes mixed the acridity of the smoke pouring out of my home.
We rolled slowly to the intersection at the end of the street a few yards away. I looked back over my shoulder and shook my head slowly as I took a final look at my former home. I had been so excited a couple of weeks ago when I’d happily signed the lease. Now it had, quite literally, all gone up in smoke.
We turned at the intersection and my house swung out of view. Bottle let his motorcycle loose and I gasped as we soared away.
Flying down the streets of Farmington I realized that I now had nothing. No friends, no home, no car and almost no money. I had nothing. I was nothing. And I felt strangely liberated by this fact.
On the edge of town we passed a fire truck, blue lights spinning as it headed back the way we’d come. It paid us no mind as we soared away, my untamed hair whipping in the wind as I headed toward my
Learning to Kill: Stories