“Look at those idiots.”
When his head jolts up, the edges of his lips twitch in the makings of a smile. His intense gaze casts straight ahead to the twins blasting through the light and leaving us behind.
Unable to tell which is which from this distance, their black, red, and neon green Aprilias are clown colors and identical. The same as their looks, haircuts, and all-black riding clothes.
One of them is standing on the saddle of his bike as it careens down the street. Arms are thrown out to the side, and he looks like a live cross with every bit of a death wish. They are the jokesters of our group, never taking anything seriously and always doing stupid shit.
Without leather and helmets, they’re risking it all. The knuckleheads act as though they’re invincible and give me shit for having an “old man back” despite my young age. They don’t know shit about the dangers of these bikes.
“Fucking fools.”
My words are lost in the idling of our three engines. Holli shakes his head and rolls his eyes. He knows the risk, having lost a cousin a few years back to a motorcycle accident. The guy was sideswiped by an eighteen-wheeler running a red light. They had to scrape pieces of him off the front of the grill.
“Let’s save them from themselves.”
The light barely changes to green before he shoots off, his bike almost the fastest among us. Dominic blasts after him, taking my position in the formation we always drive in.
I follow slower, unable to deal with the twins’s bullshit again. I had to babysit their ass last weekend when they pissed off some guys at a new bar we stopped at to grab a beer.
Emilio or Massimo, one of the fuckers shot off their mouth to a group of frat boys. Despite their gym obsession and having a solid thirty pounds of muscles on me, we were outnumbered. I wasn’t looking to get my ass kicked right before school started again.
I’ve shown up to class enough times with bloody knuckles and bruises to know that teachers will make one judgment and seal my fate for the rest of the semester.
With Hollister willing to pull babysitting duty this time and Dominic flanking him, I ease into the ride—the loop. Our favorite route, a winding stretch along the Charles River, offers the best view and the perfect curve that tests precision and speed. Two things I live for. It’s where we lose ourselves in the blur of the city rushing past and the adrenaline of the chase.
The cool night air hits my face, and I inhale deeply, feeling calm. Riding has always been my therapy, my church, and my meditation. When shit gets real or deep, my bike is my escape.
Always loyal and always available.
There’s nothing like speeding down this historic stretch, with the modern skyscrapers on one side and the timeless flow of the Charles on the other. The odd contrast never fails to amaze me.
When I catch up with them, the twin forming the cross is now straddling his bike. Holli and Dom have talked some sense into them, forcing them back into the riding formation. As we weave through the lesser-known back streets, I take the rear, tires gripping the occasionally slick cobblestones.
The only sounds on these narrow streets are the rush of wind and the symphony of our revving engines. It seems we’re not the only ones drawn to the thrill tonight.
That’s when I see her.
A new figure on the scene.
She’s astride a MV Augusta.
So bold it could only belong to someone who knows how to handle it. Hot pink with a glossy finish that catches the shimmering lights of the city and a distinctive sticker—If You’re Gonna Ride My Ass At Least Pull My Hair.
I chuckle, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She’s dressed in all leather, her knee-high, heeled boots tucked tightly against the bike are things dreams are made of. Images of those boots hiked over my hips flash before my eyes.
Her helmet extends my laugh. A bright pink braid comes from the top. She makes good on her sticker to pull it, but offers no clue about who she might be.
“Whoa, check out that color!” Emilio yells, his eyes rippling with excitement, when he drops back toward me. “What does her bike say?”
Without a word, Holli accelerates, his competitive edge flaring as he aims to catch up with the mysterious rider. We all fall into formation behind him, curiosity piqued by the unexpected visitor. We’ve ridden these roads for years, knowing even the most casual riders.
But she is new bait.
Fresh game for any of us.
Except for Dominic, who already has a thing going on that he’s pretty tight-lipped about. Holli is the last person who needs to add another notch to his belt. He had a half-naked girl walking out of his place when I went by to pick him up for this ride.
The pink bike is fast.
