She snarls, “Funny thing is, I might go with you if you didn’t.”
“You’ll go with me, anyway. Sorry.”
“Sure about that?” She ducks left and jumps forward.
“Mm. Fairly sure.” I catch her and sling her over my shoulder.
“Oh! You’re strong,” biting sarcasm as she nips my back with her teeth.
She bites hard.
As I’m turning, she snarls, “Maybe a bit dumb, though.” She rocks hard. Slips her weight. Brings us both tumbling to the gravel. I roll.
She’s underneath me. Her face is pressed against my cock. Her voice makes heat on the underside of my pounding erection. Taking my mind off the heat of her pussy. Which is practically in my mouth. I can almost taste her through the soft leather.
She wriggles, “See, there are possibilities. If you could only lose the caveman act.”
“Shame so many armed men are racing this way.”
With my hands on her waist, I rise. I sweep her up, into the van, and I pull the side door shut behind us.
“Get on the back behind me.” I hand her a crash helmet and I climb onto the Harley.
While I strap my own helmet on, she says, “We’re going for a ride, on a bike, in your van?”
“Do you want all those men with their guns out streaming into your friend’s shop?”
“No.”
I take her phone. She puts up a token resistance, but she hands it over. I switch it off and drop it in my pocket.
“So get on the back. Let’s give them a fucking show and keep them occupied.”
When she gets on, I tell her, “Hold on tight.”
Her arms slide around my waist. I zip-tie her wrists together.
“You fucker.”
“I don’t want you to fall off.”
The bike roars and surges forward, bursting out through the unlocked back doors. We hit the ground hard, and I slew the bike sideways, around side of the shop.
There’s no way out, other than the way Giovani and his men are coming in. About twenty of them are out of their vehicles. They all reach for their weapons. As we thunder by, they turn. Tracking us. Lifting the guns.
I lean the bike and spray a wave of gravel at them. Fourteen hundred CCs of Harley Davidson motor roars in an angry crackle.
Volleys of pistol shots snap. Distant rolls on a snare drum. Hard to hear over the bike.
Shouting over the engine, I ask her, “Have you done much motorcycle riding, Mia?”
She shouts back, “Almost none. I have no idea what to do.”
“Excellent,” I’m leaning the bike over hard to cut an arc onto the highway and into thick traffic. “Do nothing. Don’t try to lean, don’t try to straighten up.”
I blast us between two trucks. Weave and dart through lazy, wallowing SUVs and limos. Trying to get some distance behind us. And in front of Giovani and his men.
She shouts, “Is that my lesson? Is that all the expert instruction you have for me?”
“Only one more thing. Hold on tight.”
I gun the engine hard and the bike rears up as it kicks forward.
She yells, “You tied my hands together.”
“You’re covered then.” Traffic bunches up ahead. I lean hard from side to side to flick between a cluster of sports cars. “Sit there and just be dead weight.”
“You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
I haven’t seen a trace of Giovani’s men since we left the bridal store, so I ease off the throttle. No point escaping them just to get us busted for speeding. I know they own at least half the cops.
As I weave smartly into the downtown traffic snarl-ups, she shouts, “How did you find me?”
“After you left me in the parking lot last night,” I tell her. “I put a tracker on your car.” Jerking the bike over, I make a sudden random left turn. There’s no-one on our tail that I can see. “I did think that was rude, by the way.”
I’m heading for the anonymous, low-rise Marble Manor district.
“Maybe I should have given you more than the kiss.” She says, “How much did you pay the dealer?”
“More than a kiss. And not enough to cover the jab you gave her. You have a fast left.”
The oddest thing? I’ve nearly got her to a place of safety. A little oasis. A chance for some downtime. And I’m nervous about being alone with her. That damned fucking kiss. I need to forget about that.
I’ve been trying. Since the moment it happened. It complicates everything.
No, Finn. I tell myself. It doesn’t. Not if you don’t let it.
That fucking voice won’t shut up.
Riding a motorcycle, at speed, it’s complicated. It takes skills. You have to let a part of your mind free to do things like that. It’s how you windup driving for hours and not being able to remember it.
You can think about anything you want.
But you can’t stop yourself from thinking. If you put up barriers, it can all fall apart.