I stare, my mouth suddenly dry. I’ve never seen that design before, but it doesn’t matter. I certainly recognize the kind of jacket and symbol that is used by those in a motorcycle club.
So that means…Kyle rides a motorbike?
I’ve never seen it. But, then again, Kyle has been drunk the only two times I’ve met him, so he wouldn’t be riding a bike in that condition anyway. Does he leave it at home and walk to the bar when he wants to drink? That, at least, is responsible, but…
I draw in a deep breath.
“Everything alright?” Kyle asks, his smile falling.
“Yeah…yeah, it’s fine,” I say.
There’s a lot I can say. I want to scream because I can’t believe that Kyle is involved with motorbikes. Those huge, hulking death traps were the reason that my father…
I close my eyes. A long, long time ago, my father was involved in a motorbike accident. He had been riding his motorbike, his jacket firmly on his shoulders, proud to be part of the club that it represented. An impatient car had collided with him one day. The driver had gotten off injury-free. My father had been instantly killed by the impact.
Motorbikes aren’t safe. It was an early lesson that I paid dearly to learn. As much as my father loved them, they’re not safe in traffic. There’s too much that could happen to them, too much harm that could be done in such a short moment when up against larger and heavier cars. After my father’s death, I had known then and there that I couldn’t have anything to do with these things, not if they could so easily take someone I loved from me.
“I’d better head out,” Kyle says, stretching. “I’ve already caused enough problems. Thank you for putting up with me.”
“It was no problem,” I say.
I suddenly want him gone. Him and his stupid motorbike jacket. But I keep my thoughts to myself. I have no right to judge him for his interests. And I am still thankful to him for his concern, even if he could have found a better way to express it.
I lock up my apartment and walk with him down to the bottom floor; I have some shopping to do before class, and I might as well get it out of the way now, I decide. We step outside, and Kyle winces before fishing a pair of shades out of his pocket.
“Still too bright?” I ask, bemused.
“Yeah,” he says, turning to grin at me.
Then his smile drops abruptly. He’s staring at something behind me, I realize, and he lifts his sunglasses to get a better look, shock crossing his expression, followed by anger.
Slowly, I turn around.
There are words spray-painted over the front of the apartment building. The landlord, I think dimly, is going to have a field day over this one. They’re huge and done up in yellow, and I know exactly who did it and who the message is for.
YOU’LL GET YOURS!
A large hand lands on my shoulder.
“Still think he’s harmless?” Kyle asks quietly.
I close my eyes so I don’t have to see the words anymore, suddenly feeling a little sick. Everything Kyle told me last night is suddenly clambering for space at the front of my mind, and I run a hand over my face.
Jesse’s harmless! I remind myself.
Except, as I open my eyes and stare once more at the painted words, I suddenly realize that he isn’t, not anymore.
“I think I’d better call the police,” I say quietly.
It looks like Kyle was right and I was wrong. Jesse is serious, after all.
Chapter Ten
Kyle
My motorbike roars beneath me, filling my ears with the sound, as I lean over the handles, my mind fixed on the direction I want to go. My entire body is tense; I’ve spent all day thinking about what happened this morning, and I know that I can’t leave this alone.
And I certainly can’t leave Allison’s safety in the hands of the police. I’ve had dealings with them in the past before; they won’t do shit unless they have proof. What proof will Allison be able to offer them that Jesse was the one who graffitied the front of her apartment building?