Shit.
A bike. Someone following me.
My stomach does a little flip, and I pick up my speed, eyes trained on that white glow. It’s too dark to make out any identifying insignia, but the rider is gaining ground, that light getting bigger in my mirror at the same rate my pulse picks up.
Keegan.
I kick up my speed.
One hundred, one-ten, one-twenty.
Too fast, but not fast enough, the distance between me and the man on my tail quickly shrinking.
I ease on the throttle and swerve to avoid a cluster of badly patched potholes, then again when I dodge the crater-sized divot slicing across my lane. I don’t know these roads anymore—the thick fissures scarring the old asphalt, the sharp bends as the road winds through the valley edging the town line, the massive break in the pavement that’s suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
Oh shit?—
I hit my brakes too late and slam over the edge of the sunken gash that stretches across the road. My tail zigzags, my bike wobbling. Heart lurching, I white-knuckle my grips, moving my body with the machine and trying like hell to regain control. Ibrace for a crash, ready to eat pavement as I hurtle towards the approaching guard rails, the rock-cut.
Shit.Shit. This will fucking kill me.
Gritting my teeth, I pull on my handlebars, willing them to steady. By some miracle, the bike obeys, the wobble evening out just as I curve around the bend and hit another straight stretch of road.
Heart hammering against my ribs, my whole body trembling, I slow to a stop.
A second later, the bike on my heels pulls up beside me. Leather jacket, black helmet, black sports bike. One I recognize.
The rider cocks his head as he flicks up his visor. “Nice save,” Decker says. “See you got your bike back.”
I flip up my own as I swallow the vomit trying to claw its way up my throat.Never let ’em see you sweat.“Yeah, I did.”
“Everything… uh, working as it should be?” he asks, eyes wandering over my machine.
“There were a few… bugs. Courtesy of that bag of dicks you call a sergeant. But I handled it.”
He snorts. “Sergeant Bag of Dicks will be very unhappy to learn that.” His expression shifts from amused to serious. “You need to be careful in these parts, Grace. It’s not safe driving like that out here.”
Yeah. No fucking shit.
He jerks his head to the road in front of us. “You wanna tear up the pavement, I know a place. If you’re game.”
I arch a brow. “I’m always game.”
He lets out a low chuckle, barely discernable over the growl of our machines, then motions for me to follow. I tread a distance behind him as he leads me out of the valley and deeper into farm country. He slows when the pavement begins to smooth out, then stops completely as we approach a train crossing.
“After the tracks, you got a good few kilometres of straight stretch. A couple sharp curves towards the end, but otherwise it’s a pretty clean ride,” he says over the purr of his bike. “Might get the odd tractor traffic, but this time of night, roads are pretty well dead.”
“Police?” I ask.
He grins. “Just me.”
I roll my eyes. “What are you even doing out here? Shouldn’t you be out brutalizing innocent civilians or whatever the hell it is you cops do after the sun goes down?”
“Just taking my girl here out for some exercise,” he says as he pats his machine.
“What is it with men assigning a gender to all their favourite toys? Did you give her a slutty name too?”
“Definitely. But you watch that pretty mouth when you’re talking about her. She’s beautiful, reliable, and fast as all hell. The perfect woman.”
