Rock Redemption (Rock Revenge Trilogy 3)

He swung the bag of money around to the front of him and belted it down over the center of the bike.

“Simon!”

He ignored Aidan’s voice and threw his leg over the seat.

“Keep your fucking phone on so I can find you,” Aidan growled.

That he could do.

Simon simply nodded, then found the innocuous push button to start the engine. It rumbled to life, and the sound bounced off the cement with a menacing roar.

Simon had much preferred cars to motorcycles when he was buying his way through his first advance. But there was a freedom to a motorcycle and he’d spent a few reckless months driving one. One good thing about them—they could get anywhere in this fucking city.

He prayed for the chill to regrow over his heart. His safety meant nothing next to Margo’s. He set the helmet on his head and took off, his brain automatically telling him to slow down. The beast of an engine was a lot more than he was used to. It was a fucking loaded Ducati he had no business on.

But he shut off that bit of respect for the more responsible life that had grown and thrived with Margo, and then flourished thanks to the child they’d created.

Right now, he needed to be the Simon who had been wildly reckless just as an excuse to feel alive.

The one who craved speed and pure adrenaline.

He crouched lower on the rocket and raced to the woman he loved more than anything on this fucking planet.

Glancing at his watch, he punched it harder—winding between cars on the freeway as the miles and minutes clicked by as if he was running through molasses, not doing over one hundred on the straightaway.

With eight minutes to go, the gridlock he’d feared closed in on him. Horns blared as he swerved to the shoulder, and when that didn’t get him anywhere, he weaved his way through the cars on the steep ramp into Santa Monica.

The hub of local traffic met with perpetual va

cationers creating the worst part of his city on a time clock. People craned their heads out windows to scream at him as he scraped a few cars as he squeezed through the virtual parking lot of vehicles. He caught the ire of a cop and swore as he pushed forward.

If only the cop could help. The sirens might put a dent in the crush of cars, but cops had questions. Cops had order and rules. Cops wouldn’t allow him to do anything like this.

There was no safety for him right now.

There was only one goal.

Carson.

Sunlight crept over the city, glaring at him ominously as more minutes bled away. Finally, he pulled away from the exit and the sleeker streets gave way to hatch marks and potholes.

From the bustling to the broken in one turn.

Sweat slicked down his back, chasing the icy dread. How could they bring her here?

He could not lose her here. Not in this ravaged place where hope died a thousand deaths.

A school bus full of children rumbled down the main street, belching diesel fumes in its wake. He swallowed down the bile. Babies. Children. Here where he’d scrabbled and bled to get away from.

He wanted to shout at them to move—to drive out of here and away from the crazy shitbag who only cared about his money.

Away from the violence that had dared to come for him and his.

Memories crashed in on him as an old mailbox came into view. It was still busted, still pointing to the sky from the day he and Nick had taken a baseball bat to it with drunken glee.

This street still held so much suffering and loss. The houses seemed unchanged. More gravel than grass created splotchy lawns that made the houses look even more derelict. As if time didn’t come in here and do anything to help, just to harm.

He knew firsthand.