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In the Shadows
The Rasmus, Lost Frequencies
Motorcycling was a religion. Something that had to be in your blood. Anyone who was passionate about riding motorcycles knew what I meant. It was a feeling, a need for speed and the thrill behind it.
The cold winter air rushed through my black grandson hoodie, and I let go of the handlebars to stretch my arms as the sun rose between the trees.
I knew I was going way too fast for such moves, but the long road leading from the Copelands' forest area toward downtown was still relatively empty, so I took advantage of the opportunity.
It was still early, so I went for a spin, like I did every morning. I would make up for the lack of sleep at lunchtime today.
A car was coming straight at me in the distance, but I didn't let that bother me. I accelerated even more, grabbed the handlebars, pulled them back toward me, and lifted the front wheel of my motorcycle. A wheelie. One of my favorite tricks.
I balanced the motorcycle by shifting my body weight and raced toward the car, which honked loudly.
A pleasant feeling shot through my veins. Adrenaline.
At the last moment and back on two wheels, I swerved.
The driver of the VW stared at me in irritation, but I passed him too quickly for him to see anything else and headed downtown.
Ignoring the speed limits, I used the full width of the road to weave back and forth and created sparks on the asphalt with the metal spikes on my gloves.
At a lightly trafficked intersection, I slowed down because a very stupid idea popped into my head, and I didn't know if it was because of the information I had received last night or because of my thirst for danger.
This was the intersection that would take me: A) back toward Vanderwood; B) if I continued straight ahead, through the quieter part of town and eventually out; C) if I turned left, into the center of town; or D) if I turned right, into the territory of the DeLoughrey clan.
My fingers tingled as I stopped at the red light and toyed with the idea of taking the road to hell.
Kieran, don't be an idiot.
Bullshit. I was a damn idiot. Even the secret laws of this town wouldn't change that.
The tingling in my fingers grew stronger as I gripped my handlebars and stared at the red light.
Green.
I accelerated and steered the bike to the right. And it didn't take long before the forest became denser, darker, foggier, and the thicket swallowed all the light of the rising sun.
It was as if I were driving toward death on a single-track road.
With every passing meter, my inner tension grew.
The road was long, with curves where I could use my spikes.
Damn, why didn't I come here more often? Right, Kieran. Because this was the territory of the pack's enemies.
I took two long curves, leaning into them, but when headlights suddenly flashed in the distance, I stopped the motorcycle on the road.
A matte gray sports car.
Get out of here, Kieran. Now.
But I didn't move, just stared into the distance and enjoyed the adrenaline rushing through my blood.
When the car was only five hundred meters away from me, I finally managed to steer the motorcycle, but remained on the road.
The sports car seemed to accelerate, as if it wanted me to get off the road, its engine roaring.
