“He's gone rogue.”
“What?”
“They had a meeting to deal with how he disobeyed orders and attacked the club. It took a couple of days, but Papa booted him from the Tower until the truce is in place. The Fabbris are protesting, of course, but you know they'll protect him. He's their wonder child.” Bea shrugs. “So I don't think you should be out there, is all. Without Papa's reins, you never know what he's going to do.”
“Like he was in such good control before that,” grumbles Bear.
The guys grunt in agreement.
“But… I can't just let him rule the rest of my life. I don't—”
“We'll keep her fucking safe,” breaks in Hawk. “And Alessa's riding with me.”
“Shouldn't we have a vote?” asks Snark.
“Not on this.” Hawk's hard expression dares anyone to disagree with him.
Bea looks nervous, but nods. “That's probably okay then. I'm sure they'll keep an eye on you.” She really is worried about me. This whole thing has been kind of a shock to our lives. That’s probably why she’s been sticking around so much.
And maybe she's right. I don't have to—
“Out we go,” Bear announces and Viking drags me along before I can protest. Snark runs ahead with Hawk following grimly.
Hawk's bike is black as night. Everything, even the metal parts are painted black. It's like he's riding a cloud of blackness. When you see it, you know that Death is coming. All he needs is a scythe.
Snark's is dark blue, with orange piping along the edges. It growls when he starts it, then settles into a smooth rumble, a finely tuned machine. He revs it twice
Bear's is a motorcycle built for a giant. It's noticeably bigger than the others', dark red and with a low slung seat that has him reaching high for the handlebars. And despite its size, if he wasn't next to the others, it'd look perfectly normal when he's on it.
And Viking's? I thought he'd have horns painted on it or something, but its brown and black. It looks solid and dependable, nothing fancy. Aside from white-blue runic text on the side of the gas tank, it’s pretty much plain.
Bear helps me put on a helmet, and then he basically lifts me and puts me down behind Hawk. That's a lot of man between my legs. As if the idea of being on a motorcycle didn't have me jittery enough. “Hold on tight, and when he leans, lean with him.”
I nod and wrap my arms around Hawk's powerful torso. I press my face against his back, the heady scent of his black leather jacket strong. Then he starts the bike.
Holy crap.
It roars like an animal, shaking me… well everywhere. Maybe it's because I'm clinging to Hawk, or maybe the ride all on its own, but I suddenly realize why Viking thinks it's such a sexual experience. Maybe I'll get more used to it, but I think this is going to be one heck of a ride.
“We're going,” Hawk says, and that's all the warning I get. I scream as the bike lurches forward. My fingers dig into his jacket. We've barely started and already the idea of falling off terrifies me. I can't imagine what it's like when we go faster.
Viking roars past, taking up the lead as we turn out the front gates. Ripper is standing watch together with a couple of prospects, and he waves with his stump, grinning wide.
Once we're clear off the gate and barreling down the road, Bear pulls up on our right and Snark on our left, both of them a little bit behind, so we're in a triangle formation with Hawk and me right in the middle. I've got my own honor guard. Knights on their battle mounts, and I'm their princess. I would dream of that when I was a little girl, but I have to admit that this wasn't exactly how I'd pictured it. I'll take it, though.
The houses zoom by. In South Side, it's almost all apartment buildings and beat-up brownstones. Occasional parks, little green pockets surrounded by concrete, break it up, but they're few and far between. People on the street or sitting on their front steps watch us zoom by, but we're going too fast for me to make them out as much more than blurs. Every bump in the road goes straight through me, making me clench my thighs tighter around Hawk.
Unlike the guys, I'm wearing a helmet, so my hair isn't blowing in the wind like Viking's or Bear's, but the way the wind screams past is still exhilarating. Even scared out of my wits, I'm starting to understand why the guys love this. Definitely not my dad's limo.
We turn, and I scream again, a little surprised my fingers don't tear Hawk's jacket to shreds. The asphalt looks so close, and it's going by so fast, I’m convinced we're going to die. Only Viking’s rumbling laugh ahead of me reminds me that we're actually doing this on purpose. Exciting as this is, I'm not sure my heart's going to survive the whole ride. It's going to beat its way right out of my chest and scamper in terror down one of the alleys.