Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Blade is the first astride his bike. It’s pure black with silvery chrome edging, and growls like an angry predator when he starts it. “Get on.”
No time to worry about the implications of riding behind him. I swing my leg over his bike and grab onto him, just as Alpha kicks back the stand on his bike and Ripper slots his wrist into the attachment that lets him control his as easily as someone with both hands might.
Two things happen at once: a gunshot cracks, the sound cutting through the billowing smoke, and Alpha grunts, his shoulder knocked sideways, almost pushing him off the bike.
“Fuck!” Ripper shouts. “We’re going, now!”
People scream and run away as more shots are fired. An angry buzz that’s definitely not a bee whizzes past my ear, and with a shriek, I bury my face into the back of Blade’s jacket. His muscles flex under my hands as the four of us peel away from the fiery remnants of my life.
As soon as we hit the road, the guys open up their throttles. The bikes roar like a pride of furious lions, and I clutch onto Blade for dear life. We leap forward, and it’s all I can do to hang on. For as many times as I’ve ridden on the back of a motorcycle, it’s never been like this. They are fleeing the scene of a crime, not going for a Sunday drive.
My eyes water and the scenery blurs as wind whips my face. They pay no attention to the rules of the road. If a car comes out of a side road now, we’re screwed, but at least it’s the middle of the night. We might just get lucky.
Digging my nails in, I risk a glance over my shoulder. Flames shoot high, casting a glow into the sky over the whole neighborhood. There’s going to be no rescuing that. Everything I don’t have with me is gone, or will be by the time they manage to put it out. All I can hope for now is that it doesn’t spread. I don’t want to feel responsible for my neighbors losing their homes and businesses, too.
Headlights flick on behind us. At first I don’t think anything of it, but the way they move seems wrong somehow. It’s not a car. They’re single lights, weaving like only motorcycles can. They’re coming for us.
“Blade,” I yell into the roaring wind, as close to his ear as I can get. “They’re coming!”
He throws a quick glance backwards. “Motherfucker.” At least I assume that’s what he says. I catch his lips moving, but our speed swallows the sound. Then he does the impossible, demanding even more speed from his bike and actually finding it.
We blow past Alpha and Ripper, who catch up quickly, and then we’re flying down the street so fast I’m convinced we’re about to die.
A red light hangs over the next intersection, but the guys make no indication of slowing down. Alpha signals right with one arm, and then we’re leaning into the turn. I scream from the bottom of my lungs as the asphalt comes closer and closer. Desperate, I try to lean with Blade, knowing what a passenger is supposed to do, but all of my instincts want me to do the exact opposite. Asphalt blurs by, threatening a gruesome death only inches away.
Blade rights the bike, and floors it. The echoes of our engines chase us down the street as we go. Downtown fades into lower commercial buildings, and finally residential neighborhoods as we near the city limits. It doesn’t seem possible that we’ve made it this far, but I guess that’s what happens when you drive thruway speeds on Main Street. I risk another glance behind us, and we haven’t lost the Pit Vipers. If anything they’re coming closer.
We fly through another red light, and a siren starts to wail, like we weren’t in enough trouble already. Flashing blue lights color the night as a police cruiser picks up the chase. I’m sure our descriptions are already being passed around. How long will it take before one patrol car turns into a full on manhunt?
A bullet whizzes by just before the sound of the gunshot catches up. Ripper draws his pistol and fires back. Tires squeal, and one of the following bikes makes a sudden turn before slamming into a wall. I close my eyes with a wince, wishing I hadn’t just seen that.
Everything is chaos. People are shooting and one siren turns into two. I don’t even know. There’s too much going on and we’re moving too quickly. Every second I’m alive seems like a miracle, but we’re no closer to escape.
Up ahead, a new sound joins the mix. One that nobody wants to hear while driving except maybe little kids. A train crossing, and around here, the freight trains take forever. Every year, there’s at least one news item about someone being stupid and trying to get around after the arm comes down. Usually it’s just a close call. Usually.