“Catch me if you can, fuckers,” I snarl, twisting the throttle.
The bike responds instantly, rocketing forward. Buildings blur past, the world becoming a smear of color and sound. Horns blare as I weave through traffic, my heart pounding in sync with the engine’s roar.
A quick glance back. They’re still on me but falling behind. These assholes don’t know these streets like I do.
I take a sharp right, tires screeching. Then left. Another right. I’m in my element now, the city a playground I know by heart.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy. This, this right here, is what being alive feels like.
The wind screams past me, carrying the stench of exhaust and the sweet perfume of freedom. My bare skin tingles, every nerve ending alive and singing.
I spot an alley up ahead. Narrow. Too tight for those hulking SUVs.
Perfect.
I dive in, scraping past dumpsters and startled cats. The pursuers’ engine roars fade, replaced by the echo of my own bike in this urban canyon.
When I emerge on the other side, the streets are clear. No sign of my captors.
I’m near.
The last bit of grimy alley blurs behind me as I kick the bike into higher gear, adrenaline pumping raw and hot through my veins.
I need to ditch this beast.
It’s a glaring beacon for anyone looking to haul me back to that hell. My mind races as I scan the street— There. A rusted door between two crumbling apartment buildings, just ajar. It’s a gamble, but it’s my best shot.
With a sharp turn, I maneuver the bike down the narrow path, the handlebars nearly scraping the brick walls. The door leads to a neglected courtyard, overgrown and littered with forgotten junk. Perfect. I kill the engine, the sudden silence pounding in my ears like freedom’s heartbeat.
Dragging the bike behind a heap of decaying furniture and trash, I cover it with an old, moldy tarp I rip from the ground. It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do. My chest heaves as I pause, letting the stillness wash over me.
No roars of engines, no shouts. Just the distant hum of the city and my own breath. The taste of escape is gritty and sweet on my tongue.
“Alright, beast,” I whisper to the lump under the tarp, “stay hidden.” With one last glance, ensuring it’s as invisible as it can get, I slip through the shadows, making my way back to the street.
I’ve done it. I’m free.
I’m coming home, baby.
thirty-seven
Leonid
Irev theDucati’s engine, the familiar purr vibrating through my body.
“Status,” I bark into the earpiece.
Maksim’s voice crackles back. “She’s eastbound on 7th, boss. Riding your bike like she stole it.Which, you know, shedid.”
I grit my teeth. “Because we fucking let her,” I correct. “If we didn’t, she’d never have gotten out of that room.”
“Gotta hand it to her, though,” Dmitry chimes in, “girl’s got skills. Just took a corner that would make a MotoGP rider shit himself.”
“Less admiration, more pursuit,” I growl.
I weave through traffic, keeping a careful distance from my own bike ahead. The woman—our mystery thief—rides it like she was born to it.
“Still got eyes on her?” I growl into the earpiece.
