I turn onto the highway and pull back on the throttle, watching as the speedometer reaches sixty. I tuck the upper part of my body behind the windshield where there is less wind resistance and yell out, “Wahooo!” when the feeling of flying hits my stomach. This is what I love. Freedom.
I sit up when I see a few bikes in the distance. I don’t recognize their patches, but that doesn’t surprise me. Tennessee has a huge MC community, and there are always new clubs popping up all over the state. I slow down as I close the distance between us.
The closer I get, the more details I can make out. The group of about five bikes in front of me are all Harleys, all ranging in colors from almost purple to black. None of the men are wearing helmets, which is the complete opposite of me, who is covered from head to toe in black leather. Even my helmet is all black, with leather piping.
I take the men in, noticing they are all well-built, their leather cuts displaying a large eagle, with its wings spread wide like it’s midflight. The talons of the bird are carrying a long stem rose, with petals falling off it onto their club name, The Broken Eagles. I begin to speed up and pass them one by one, thankful for the security of my helmet, the black visor making it impossible to see me.
I keep my head straight until the last guy, the one who is at the front of the group, catches my attention. From the back, his hair is the first thing I notice. It’s slightly long on top and buzzed on the sides. My eyes move to the expanse of his back, the wide set of his shoulders, and the tan skin covering his lean muscles. His bike is low to the ground, and the bars are in front of him in a way that he has to stretch his arms straight out, causing every muscle to flex and move, making it look like the tattoos are alive and dancing.
My eyes skim farther down over his chest, which is covered in a white tank top tucked into a pair of light jeans, and around his waist is a black belt with a large silver buckle. I continue to pass him, my eyes shifting from the road to him and back again. This time when I look over, his head is turned towards me, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have swear he is looking directly into my soul.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, taking in his hair, the set of his jaw that is covered in days of stubble, and a pair of light eyes I can’t quite make out through the tint of my helmet. He is seriously hot, but equally scary-looking. I look from him back to the road. It must not have been even a second, but when my eyes go to the asphalt in front of me, I see a bird that is trying to make its way across the road, its wing hanging in an awkward position. I swerve to the right just in time to miss the poor animal.
“What the fuck?” I hear roared, and I look over my shoulder at the man who is now coming up quick on my right side. I yell an apology over the sound of my engine and his pipes. Do a quick wave and take off, lowering my body and pulling back the throttle, wanting to get away from them. Dude looks seriously pissed off, and even though I hate leaving the bird behind without helping it, I would like to live to see my next birthday.
I think I’m in the clear, but then the sound of pipes fills my ears, and I don’t even know how it happens, but they all catch up with me, surrounding my bike. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but my stomach starts to roll at the sound of their voices. I feel my side to make sure I have the Taser my dad insisted I carry.
I see a clearing and pull my bike off to the side of the road. I know this is probably one of the stupidest things I have ever done, but if they keep chasing me like they have been, we could all end up seriously hurt. I pull over and don’t even shut down my bike. I just lower my kickstand as my heart, which was already beating hard, begins to bang violently against my ribcage as they surround me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the guy who was at the head of the group asks, stepping in front of my bike.
I shake my head as my words get lodged in my throat.
He pulls me off my bike, and the men who are with him begin yelling obscenities as well.
“Sorry,” I croak out, and I don’t even know if he hears me as his hand goes to the collar of my leather jacket, where he shakes me hard. My hand accidently presses down on the button that ignites the Taser. The loud crack fills the air, and his eyes go wide then he falls to the ground, and I fall on my ass and crabwalk backwards. I look up when I hit something, only to meet the eyes of another man, who looks pissed.
“Get up,” he growls, picking me up. My feet flail under me as I’m lifted off the ground with my hands restrained behind my back.
“Hold him still,” the guy who I had tasered growls in front of me as I try to get away from the anger I feel coming off him. His hands go to my head and he rips my helmet off, causing my hair to float down around me.
Complete silence descends. I swear no one even takes a breath.
“Um.” I bite my lip and the guy in front of me blinks a couple of times before his hands at my shoulders release then tighten.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he barks, dipping his face closer to mine, and the scent of him fills my lungs. He smells like leather, musk, and man.
“I…” I start to explain to him what happened, when he cuts me off.
“Fucking bitches always trying to be fucking hard.”
Oh, hell no, he did not just call me a bitch. “You did not just call me a bitch,” I lean forward and hiss in his face.
“Yes, bitch, I asked you what the fuck you were thinking?”
“You cannot be serious right now!” I scream. Have I mentioned that I may have a little bit of a temper? I come by it honestly.
“You gonna explain yourself?” He crosses his arms over his muscular chest and then lifts his chin to the guy behind me, who immediately lets me go, causing my feet to hit the ground hard without warning, making me stumble.
Once I right myself, I turn around quickly to face the guy that just dropped me and get up on my tiptoes, even though that is not even close to reaching his face, and growl, “That was rude.”
Then I swing my body to face the scary, hot biker dude. “First of all, I didn’t want to kill a poor, innocent bird, so I swerved to miss it. I apologized for almost hitting you, but then you proceeded to chase me down like this is an episode of Sons of Anarchy, which it is not, I might add,” I yell, flinging my arms around. I hear someone chuckle, but I’m too caught up in my own tirade to pay any attention to how crazy I might appear.
“You flipped me off,” he says.
I look at him and my eyebrows pull together as I reply, “I totally did not flip you off.” I’m pretty sure that I didn’t flip him off. Did I flip him off? I ask myself then shake my head. “I did not flip you off,” I confirm out loud.