Taken by the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC)

Now it's just me and Wild Child, and as much as I trust him, we also feel scarily alone. Normally, Hero and King are there too, making us stronger. And if things get really bad, there's the whole club, but now it's just us against what feels like a whole fleet of police cars. Dad knew they'd be coming. It was only a question of when, but even I'm surprised at the number of cars he had just waiting for us. That's a lot of resources off the street.

Wild Child says he only finds calm when he's writing in the journal, but that's not true. Right now, he's a tight ball of concentration, guiding us through the city with a hyperfocus that's terrifying. We're going so fast the engine whines and the street feels so narrow that I could imagine reaching out on both sides to touch the buildings.

A light intersection ahead of us flips to red, but we're not slowing. Oh God. I close my eyes. It's the middle of the night, so hopefully there's no crossing traffic, but I don't want to think about what happens if there is.

We veer left, and then right, and I'm nearly startled right off the bike as a car horn blares right in my ear. I'm going to die from my heart exploding out of my chest at this rate.

Behind us comes the loud sound of a crash, metal grinding against metal and a police siren being suddenly cut short. God, I hope they're okay. It's like I told the guys when Quickshot was brought in, I don't want anyone getting shot. Or dying in car accidents. Most of the cops are just doing their jobs.

I don't even want Dad getting shot, though my heart doesn't exactly lurch with daughterly worry at the thought either. I'd vote for jail time, though.

Wild Child laughs as he takes an on-ramp and throws us up on the highway. I don't know if it's such a good idea without as many escape options, but I'm counting on him knowing what he's doing though. He even slows down a little. The howl of the wind past me dies down enough that he can yell to me, “We lost them. I'm taking you home, babe.”

The words I've been wanting to hear all night.

We're almost at the right exit, when the cops prove him wrong. We shook the police cars, but when I hear the sounds of helicopter blades I know we're in trouble. “Wild Child!”

“Fuck, I know!” he yells back, then off we go again. We rocket down the ramp into South Side, narrowly avoid plowing into an early morning delivery truck, then right up and head in the direction of the compound. At least I think so.

The helicopter can't follow us in the narrow streets, but the police cars are back on the hunt. It can't be much farther, can it? And will we be safe when we get there?

We turn out onto a main road and Wild Child opens the throttle all the way up. Viking pops out of a side street, and then Bear from the other side. I don't even understand how we all got here at once, but they're back in formation as if they never left. Police lights color the buildings around us as they come roaring behind us. Even the helicopter has found its way in now that we're more out in the open. And they're all closing.

Ahead of us, a familiar sight rises from the cityscape. The Screaming Eagles compound looks like a fortress, the gates open for us, and I've never been so happy for a sight as I am now. We're close enough to read the huge logo on the side of the clubhouse.

We're so, so close.

But so are the cops.

The wind howls, the bikes roar and the sirens echo off the walls. I shut my eyes tight and cling to Wild Child. It's like everything's happening in slow motion, like I can hear every rock thrown up by Wild Child's tires, every crack from Viking's muffler, and every beat of the helicopter blades above us. The loudspeaker system on the helicopter is yelling something, but I can't make out what it is. There's too much noise to pick out words.

We're slowing down. Why are we slowing down? We can't let them catch us now.

The compound. We're almost there. The gates are open, and shapes crowd it, though they're pulling back to give us space. Oh God, we've slowed, but even still, at this speed there's no way we'll be able to stop in time. I can't believe it.

“Wild Child!”

“We're good!”

“Wild Child!” I scream louder the second time, but this time he doesn't answer.

He's breaking hard now, and so are Viking and Bear. The helicopter zooms by as it has to keep going, but I can hear the screeching of the police cars' tires behind us as they try to stop too.