Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 3
Gas syphons out of an old F-150 as my gaze shifts around the dodgy parking lot. I stand in the dark corner of the lot, my attention constantly travelling back to the biker bar across the road, knowing all too well that dark corners like this aren’t exactly a great place for a petite girl in torn, raggedy clothing to be found.
I can only imagine the bullshit that’s gone down in this very corner. Drug deals. Murder. Rape. Anything. If you can think of it, I’m sure it would have gone down here. Hell, I don’t even know where here is, but I don’t need to. All that matters is getting gas so that I can keep riding and hopefully figure out where the hell I’m going.
I’ve been on the road all fucking day and so far, it hasn’t been going great. I’ve nearly ridden straight off the highway and crashed into oncoming traffic after nearly falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion. I bet the boys would have gotten a kick out of that.
My near crash prompted me to pull off the side of the road at a truck stop where I hid my bike behind a couple of bushes and laid down in the grass. My stomach rumbled the whole time smelling the food coming from the shitty truck stop, but I didn’t dare risk going in there and showing my face.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Carver’s got Cruz and Grayson using all that expensive technology to try and find me. I won’t risk it, not until I’m ready to face them.
I slept in the grass for half an hour before getting on my bike and not stopping until now when my gas light came on and warned me not to fuck around.
So, here I am, making my way through the country, one dive bar at a time.
Gas spills out and I pull back, quickly capping the tank and pulling out the old plastic hose from the old F-150. I couldn’t believe my luck when I found it in the back of the truck. I was more than prepared to go dumpster diving to find something to do the trick, but my luck must be turning around.
Not wanting to spend more time here than necessary, I throw my leg over my bike and climb back on, hating the ache in my ass from riding all day. I can’t say that I’ve ever ridden my Ducati for this many hours straight, but I can guarantee that it would be a shitload better than this thing, and I sure as fuck wouldn’t be having to stop every two hours to massage my ass cheeks.
I miss my fucking bike. I hate that Knox made sure to destroy it when he nearly killed Cruz, but I hate it even more that my selfishness allowed him to get away. Knox deserves to be buried in a shallow grave and I want to be the one to put him there. Fuck Cruz. I know I’ve always said that Cruz would be awarded the honor of ending Knox, but then his stupid ass attempted to blow me up so all those happy little promises that I once made don’t mean shit anymore.
The bike roars to life, and as I take off like a bat out of hell, I spy two men slipping down the side alley of the biker bar and everything inside of me screams to stop. They look like the kind of assholes that I would have gotten a kick out of beating just a few short months ago.
Every instinct inside of my body is telling me to jump off this ridiculous bike and put my brass knuckles to use for the first time in so long, but the exhaustion is quickly creeping through my bones, and at some point, I’m going to have to find somewhere to spend the night.
But where? Park benches aren’t really my thing.
I hit the gas and take off, leaving the biker dudes to their bullshit while hoping that tonight isn’t the night that they decide to take it too far with a young, drunk girl, otherwise, I’d never forgive myself. But where do I draw the line? I can’t save everybody. Hell, what the fuck am I even talking about? It’s hypothetical. There is no girl who needs saving, unless I count myself, then I guess I have a valid reason for taking off.
I need to save myself. I need to get out of here and figure out where to go.
The bike flies down the highway and for being old, it’s doing a pretty decent job of getting me from point A to point B, wherever the hell point B is. Though, the engine is starting to get pissed that it hasn’t been rewarded with a good rest. After all, it’s probably thirty years older than my Ducati. This thing is practically a grandpa.