Page 78 of Biker's Property
Shit. My wedding clearly has some feathers ruffled. Well, if anyone even thinks about mentioning Joslin’s race, I’ll create a fucking problem. The phone calls and congratulations text messages can wait until I get to my mama’s house. We’ll be there soon so… don’t see the point in calling back. Joslin thinks I’m making a mistake but I remind her that I’m armed and dangerous. And always ready to protect her.
I meant for our first time to feel more like making love, but I couldn’t hold back my desire for Joslin. Not after we tied the knot and I knew without a doubt that she would be mine forever. She moves her hand around to the front of my cut, gripping my chest as I pass a Honda Civic on the highway heading east. Her small hand against my chest sends a pulse of excitement straight down to my dick.
I love you.She said that to me without me forcing it out of her. With nothing but softness in her gaze. It feels like I’ve won a goddamn prize that no one could ever take away from me. My phone buzzes repeatedly in my front pocket. Again. Some families border on smothering. They’re acting like this is some kind of emergency. I crushed back too many damn energy drinks to think of anything other than my goal: get to my mother’s house so she doesn’t kill me.
We drive another fifteen miles and my phone stays quiet for a while, but then picks up again. It’s hard to focus on Joslin’s crotch pressed into me or her hands feeling up my muscles with all the distracting movement. I didn’t mind the relative absence of cellphones in prison. I had a flip phone smuggled in for club business, but that device wasn’t a constant pain in the ass. Joslin shifts uncomfortably behind me.
The phone vibrations distract me from my more pleasant fantasies about Joslin. I glance at the highway signs. Ten miles away. But then… I catch something else in my rearview mirror.
That Honda Civic.What the fuck?
We should have passedthem miles ago. Wedidpass that Honda, didn’t we? The suspicious urge comes over me suddenly. But then the Honda shoots past us on the right and I guess I must have been overthinking it. Joslin squeezes my arm. Doesshenotice something? I keep riding, convincing myself she was just copping a feel.
I don’t blame her. I keep my muscles firm. Hard and solid from rigorous exercise and a regimented diet of nutritious foods – the complete opposite of the slop you have to fight over in prison.
But Joslin’s squeezing repeats more aggressively and I don’t think my wife is doing this to feel my muscles. I glance in my rearview again and notice something else.
A motorcycle accelerating towards us.
I don’t knowwhy that would be anything to worry about. But if Joslin doesn’t want us near them, I don’t mind kicking up the speed. I push the bike up just over the speed limit. But my next glance in the rearview troubles me a little more.
Three bikes.Going faster. Coming straight towards us.
There isn’tother traffic out here. It’s typical in this part of the country. Miles and miles of highway untouched by the law. This is the last place in America where men can live as wild and free as the cowboys of the Old West.
Panic won’t make the situation better. There are plenty of bikers out here. Plenty of clubs. But my phone has been buzzing off the hook. And Joslin’s instincts are telling her the same thing my instincts are telling me.
We’re in trouble.
Just when Ithought I was done with it.
Just when Ithought I’d won. I don’t like this. The bikes are closing in on us. We’re miles away from the exit towards my mama’s house but… we don’t have time to worry about that. If I lead them off the highway, maybe I can find a way to lose them. Better than riding out in the open road like sitting ducks. Joslin tugs on my cut, the side closest to the exit.
I suspect she’s thinking the same thing. Her thighs clutch my body and I know she must be feeling scared. We get out of their sight but I know we don’t have long before whoevertheyare catch up to us. I take the first right turn I can off the interstate down the state highway, ignoring the fifty-five mile an hour speed limit in favor of the “stay the fuck alive” speed limit.
Adrenaline courses through me as I tune in to every sound. They’re close. Edging closer, even. But we have an advantage over them, which is a few minutes to prepare. There ain’t shit off the highway around here except cornfields and alfalfa farmland. One small clearing of trees at the end of some farmer’s property provides the first shelter from sight I see since getting off the highway.
Whoever the fuck is following us will be able to follow the bike tracks but… we still have a minute before they get to us. Joslin doesn’t need to be told what to do once I stop the bike. She gets off and takes off her helmet, setting it down gently before giving me the most serious fucking look I’ve ever seen.
“Please tell me you have another gun.”
“How long have they been following us?”
“There are five of them,” she says. “Possibly over an hour. They’re Midnight SS.”
I don’t needmuch reassurance that she’s telling the truth. Joslin’s deep brown cheeks look almost ash gray, as if her face wants to be colorless.
Despite our time constraints, I lean forward and peck her on the lips reassuringly.
“I have another revolver.But only two bullets. Are you a good shot?”
She gives me a worried, wide-eyed look.
“Just point. Pull the trigger.”
I reachinto my cut for a revolver and hand it to her, taking Joslin’s other hand and shoving two bullets there. She’s a smart woman and she’s killed before.
“Get behind me,” I command her, reaching for my glock.