Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Hero grabs my arm and pulls me with him past the bikers who're still filling the room, cheering and hollering at us, apparently not caring at all that he's baring my ass to all of them in the process. Not that he's shy about it. He's got his wet clothes under his arm, walking naked as the day he was born. “Come. We'll find you something to wear for the ride.”
I just nod, happy to be away from the chaos, and when Wild Child and King fall in behind me, it's almost like I'm covered up for the rest. I'm sure they're getting an eyeful, though. I don't look down, but I'm probably blushing hard enough to light up this place like a red light district. I can't believe I'm doing any of this.
“Wait, I'm coming for the ride?” Hero's words finally register.
“You fought with the rest of us,” says Wild Child. “So fuck yeah, you are.” He brushes his purple lock out of his eyes.
“But I don't know how to—”
“You'll be fine.” It's the first time King says anything, and it's in a tone that brooks no argument. And then they drag me into a room off a hallway I've never been down.
It's another studio apartment, like the one we treated Quickshot in. A king size bed's over in the corner, there's a sitting area with a couch and a couple of chairs, and a corner with weights and weight training gear. On the wall hangs Hero's cut on a hanger, the Screaming Eagles logo in curved letters across the back, and a cartoonish character worked into it of a guy that's basically all muscle, holding up a sword that's lit up by a beam from the sky. Underneath, Hero is stitched in bold capital letters.
Hero opens a dresser and pulls out fresh clothes for himself and pulls them on. Now I'm the only naked person in the room, and from the way the guys are looking at me, they don't seem particularly eager to change that.
“So… I ride like this then?”
Wild Child grins widely and even King's lips quirk a little. Hero digs out a T-shirt and throws it my way. “I love the idea, but I also hate sharing you with anyone outside of these four walls.
I catch the shirt by reflex, and of course my cover slips. Oh, whatever. They've all seen it already, and two of them have touched me intimately. Letting the wet shirt drop on the floor, I hurry to get Hero's over my head. Wild Child whistles appreciatively.
The shirt is plenty long, more like a loose dress than a shirt on me. Hero rummages through his dresser and tosses me a belt and a pair of jeans with the knees ripped out. “Maybe you can roll up the legs.”
I look at them doubtfully, but pull them on. It's the first time since they kidnapped me that I've got something more substantial on than pajama pants or boxers, so in a way it's nice, even if they're way too long. They're actually not too bad over the hips, since Hero's got the V-shape and I've got enough padding for both of us. With the belt around my waist to keep the shirt from fluttering all over the place and the cuffs rolled up on the pants, I could look worse. I put my hands into the pockets and am amazed at how deep they are. “Are your pockets always this big? No wonder guys don't carry purses.” I suddenly get the appeal of boyfriend jeans.
They bring me to the garage, which is in full activity. The front lot is already full of bikes, rumbling on idle, and those who aren't out yet are wheeling their bikes out of the garage. The guys' bikes are parked right next to each other, and they're even cooler up close.
King's bike is black as night, of course, like a grim reaper on wheels. Thin, purple detailing is the only color. Royal purple, I guess, for the King. He straddles it confidently and pushes it off the kickstand. I jump when the furious growl of its engine echoes off the walls.
Wild Child's is green, a dark shade to match his eyes, covered with intricate flowing filigree that I can only imagine is custom. From the way he acts and his lewd tattoos all over, I would've expected something similar on the bike, but this one's almost classy. It growls as eagerly as King's.
That leaves me and Hero looking at his bike, pale yellow with menacing black flames crawling over its edges. It's got a double seat, with room for me. A huge lump forms in my throat. When I first saw the guys on their bikes from the limo, I envied them their freedom, but now that I'm right up close and supposed to get onto one of those monsters, I'm not sure what to do.