Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Heart racing, I lean back and stretch out my ar—nope! The instant I feel the strength of the wind I laugh like a maniac and wrap my arms back around Crash. He covers my hand with his own.
Preacher rides in front, with Devil and Crash forming a triangle on the empty highway. A new rumble sounds, with a different rhythm and frequency than the growl of their motorcycle engines. Devil points up with a concerned expression. Digging my fingers in, I crane my head to look.
There’s a helicopter behind us, coming in low over the highway. A spotlight flares, and then we're bathed in bright white light. A woman's voice booms out of a speaker, loud and angry. “Police! Slow down and pull over!”
I should've known this was too easy. We left in a shower of bullets and glass. That’s not the kind of thing Dad could sweep under the rug even if he wanted to avoid the bad PR. I’m not ready for this to end. I want the kind of freedom they promised me so bad I can taste it.
No Dad, no Grayson, no guilt and pressure to always be quiet and meek.
What if I could just do what I want?
Who I want?
There's a huge interchange ahead, where four highways meet. We call it the Spaghetti Bowl, because the ramps crisscross over each other, and figuring out which one to take can be a nightmare. If you're not local, it's not unusual to have to try at least a couple of times to get on the right one. To the city, we would just ride straight through, but as soon as we get under an overpass, Preacher raises an arm and makes a hand motion. Suddenly, I'm mashed into Crash's back as all three bikes spin into a tire squealing halt. The helicopter rushes by overhead and continues on, the sound of it fading.
“They'll be back in a sec. Talk fast,” says Devil. He gives a finger in the direction of the fading helicopter noise.
Crash nods and looks at Preacher. This is the first time I’ve seen them all together like this, working like a well-oiled team. The Fallen Angels.
“We split up.” Preacher says, his expression deadly serious. “They haven’t had time to mobilize everyone yet and they can’t follow all of us. Summer’s with me. They’ll expect her to be with Crash.”
Crash doesn’t look happy, but he nods. “If there's anyone Aaron wants to get, it's me. He fucking hates my guts. If they corner me I don’t want it to be a two for one deal.”
I've still got my arms around him, squeezing hard, even if we're not riding anymore. I don't know how to feel about us splitting up. “What if they capture you? Then what?”
“They won't. Trust me.” His grin is easy and he gives me a wink. “And trust Preacher. He’ll take good care of you.”
“I do, but—”
“Chat later,” says Preacher and gestures backwards with a quick tip of his head. “Get on my bike.”
I’m not super happy about getting passed around, but we don't have a lot of time, so I’ll do what I'm told. In spite of knowing Crash the longest, I find that I do trust them all, and I don’t like the idea of any of them getting caught by the police. Impulsively, I give Crash a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Hah! How sweet, Crashypoo got a little—” Devil shuts up when I do the same to him.
“Neither of you better get caught.”
Preacher laughs as I swing up behind him. I’m actually getting pretty good at it. “Meet at the clubhouse.”
“Take care of our girl,” Devil nods to Preacher.
“He will.” Crash holds my gaze until I nod too.
Preacher points. “Crash, you go first, try to lead the chopper west. Devil and I will give you about a minute and then head in opposite directions. Don’t double back right away if you can help it but I trust you both to do everything you can.”
“Here, take my jacket.” Preacher shrugs out of it and helps me slip in my arms. “Hopefully you won’t stand out as much if you’re wearing our colors.”
I shrink down and dig my fingers into his shirt, preparing to cling for dear life. It’s the longest minute of my life.
The helicopter returns, the sound of the blades echoing off the concrete overpasses, amplifying the sound so I want to put my hands over my ears, only I can't because we're about to shoot out of here like bats out of hell.
Crash salutes with a cocky smirk, then revs his engine. “Time’s up. See ya soon.”
His bike lurches, then shoots out from under the underpass like a bullet. The roar echoes, drowning out even the helicopter. The moment he appears, the helicopter turns to follow, putting him right in the middle of the spotlight. As soon as it commits, we wait for the longest minute of my life.