2
Abby
Of course, “finding me” wasn’t going to be free. The first night, I’d caught a few hours of sleep parked outside a diner with my doors locked. I drove all day the next night, fueled by coffee and a driving need to put as much distance between myself and Joe as possible before I stopped. But by that next night though, I knew I had to find a real place to stay.
I was also going to need gasreallysoon.
Well, that andmoney…if I even had enough gas to evengetsome place to spend it.
I’d purposely left the the major highways behind in order to stay off the radar in case Joe as already after me. Rightfully, of course, but there’s one thing about highways; they do a pretty great job of getting you to gas when you need it. Out here on country route 88 though, there wasnothing; not a thing that I could see on the horizon. I knew I was low, but by the time I actually realized the gas light was on, things were looking bleak.
Finally,wayup on the horizon, I spotted a big gas station logo I recognized, and felt the relief wash over me. Getting suck out here in the badlands of wherever I was without gas, or money, or even any idea where I was going wasn’t exactly going to help me much.
It wasn’t until I got closer, the car practically sputtering on fumes, that I groaned as I saw the reality.
The gas station wasdead, like, zombie move dead. The place probably hadn’t been open and pumping fuel in twenty years, which was more and more apparent as I pulled in, as if actually stopping next to a pump was going to somehow magically convince it to start pumping again.
I groaned as I shut off the engine and slumped my forehead against the wheel. I had no idea how long the gas light had been on, but getting to wherever the next station was seemed like a bleak prospect. But I wasexhausted, the afternoon was getting late, and sitting here kicking myself for being an idiot and not taking the highway wasn’t going to do any good either.
“Back on the road then,” I mumbled out loud, swearing to myself as I pushed the keys back in the ignition. There was a soft chugging sound for a moment a the car tried to rumble to life before it gave up with a wheezing sound.
Oh you’ve got to be shitting meI thought to myself. I tried again and swore loudly as the same sounds and same results repeated themselves.
I was officially out of gas, officially stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, and officiallyscrewed.
The dull, thundering roar came from behind me, the searing churn of engines growing louder and louder until I turned just in time to see the two motorcycles go flying down the deserted stretch of road. I’d gotten a glimpse of leather and tan skin before they’d blown right past the deserted gas station in a cloud of dust.
Suddenly though, way down the stretch of road there, I saw them suddenly slow and turn, before I could hear the engines growl again as they began to roar back my way.
I could feel my blood run cold. Here I was sittingalonein my car at an abandoned gas pump on a deserted stretch of highway, with zero cell phone reception and twobikershad just turned around to head back to me. All of a sudden every crazy late-night college story about biker gangs and initiation “mayhem” came rushing into my head, and I found myself gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, feeling the fear shoot through me.
What if Joe had sent them?
I quickly snapped out of my trance and locks the doors as they roared loser, before suddenly realizing how ridiculous a move it was. As if a closed window on an empty highway was going to stop them.
The two roaring bikes came rolling into the dusty, cracked-pavement of the gas station. With a final snarling crescendo and a pop, the thundering sound cut out suddenly, and there was silence.
The two motorcycles, all black, leather, and chrome, had come to a stop about twenty feet in front of my truck, their engines off now and ticking quietly in the afternoon heat. But what really caught my eye were the two men sat astride the bikes. They were both were clad in dark boots, denim, and leather vests over chiseled and heavily inked torsos with muscled, equally tattooed arms. These guys didn’t look like a couple of yuppies out on their weekend motorcycles. I thought again about all those “biker gang” stories; these guys looked like the real deal.
One of them dismounted with practiced ease, shaking his dirty blond hair out as he pulled off his helmet and hung it on the handlebars. He kept his sunglasses on, but I could tell they were both just sitting there looking at me. He looked at his partner and nodded, and I could feel my breath start to come in heaving gasps.
Oh my God, this is how it happens. This is how no one ever sees me again.
The man who’d stepped off his bike pulled his sunglasses off then as he turned and started to move towards me, like some sort of jungle cat stalking his prey. I could see his eyes then - sharp and blue, and trained right on me, and I could feel the cold dread welling upside as I sat there hyperventilating inside the hot confines of my car.
He stopped a few feet from the car and furrowed his brow as he looked at me, before he suddenly took a step back and raised his hands up. “Look, we were just seeing if you were having car trouble.”
The blonde guy’s voice was honeyed, with just a touch of twang in it. There was a lopsided, cocky grin on his face as he stood there in jeans and a white t-shirt pulled tight across a thickly muscled chest. Inked tattoo lines ran out from under the fabric and down his arms.
Godhe was attractive. Rough-looking, yes, but in that rugged, manly way that you really only saw in the movies.
I took a deep breath.Screw it. If they wanted to hurt me, it’s not like a locked car door and a rolled up window were going to stop them out here in the middle of nowhere.
I opened the door. “Well, the car is fine, I guess its just the gas I’ve got a problem with.”
The man grinned, his blue eyes flashing at me. “Well, the pumps off, so there’s your problem.” His grin widened, showing his white teeth and his chiseled jaw line. His friend snorted behind him, before standing and taking his own helmet off. His long black hair was held back from his face in a small ponytail and a coarse and thick beard framed his lips. The two of them strode forward, hard, muscled, and sweating in the desert heat. I felt a flutter of nervous energy hit me, and I took a deep breath.
“I’m Jackson, and this is Connor.” I stepped from the car and shook the blonde guy’s hand, feeling the power in his grip before turning to the dark haired bearded guy and doing the same.