PRIEST
“Stop ridingmy ass and go around, fucker,” I growl, gesturing for the truck behind me to pass.
I’ve been on this road for close to an hour, and being so early in the morning, there’s been little to no traffic. And then, this asshole comes out of nowhere, flying up on my ass. After nearly three miles, it appears they’re intent on staying there.
The road ahead is clear, stretching on for miles into the grasslands, with the sun breaking out above the distant mountains. The scenery of Oklahoma’s Wichita Mountains’ foothills is breathtaking, and exactly what I’d been looking forward to when I set out early this morning. I’d been enjoying it too, before this fucking truck appeared.
Waving my arm like a lunatic now, I yell, “Go around!”
My body tenses when the driver ignores my directive and inches closer. People don’t normally tailgate a motorcycle, especially when its rider is wearing a patch for a well-known motorcycle club. People avoid MC members, not wanting to risk getting on their bad side. But clearly, this fucker is lacking common sense.
I accelerate, watching in the side mirror as the driver speeds up, determined to stay close. Just when I think shit can’t get any worse, I see a van barreling up behind us, eating up the pavement.
My stomach drops to my ass as I take in my situation. A lone rider on an empty highway at seven o’clock in the morning, with no other members of my club at my back. A very stupid move, now that I think about it.
The general rule of thumb with the Black Hoods MC is that no man rides alone. We always pair up, because there’s safety in numbers. Granted, Iwaspaired up, until TK found his soulmate in Sturgis and decided to stay behind, just as we were ready to head out. So here I am, without backup, on a lonely stretch of highway. Things are about to get real nasty.
The van is closer now, approaching fast, while the truck creeps up, coming within inches of my rear fender. I push my motorcycle as fast as it’ll go, but the driver matches my speed, and the van increases theirs until they’re directly behind the truck.
We’re moving at a dangerous speed. Every crack and pebble on the paved road beneath me feels like a boulder meant to throw me off course. The effort it’s taking to keep both wheels on the ground has my heart pounding like an angry drum against my chest.
Please, God. Help me make it out of this alive.
My relationship with God has been tested over the past few years—strained, to say the least—but I believe He is up there, listening, and that He is with me now, no matter the outcome.
The van pulls out from behind the truck and again speeds up.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Then the van is beside me. I’m trapped, and there’s nothing I can do. The shoulder of the road butts up to an endless expanse of short brown grass and pebbled soil, sure to tear me to shreds should I maneuver in that direction. And I can’t go any faster than I am right now. I have the throttle twisted to the max, and I still can’t pull ahead.
Fear and anger twist inside my gut, burning me up from the inside out. Why did I put my gun in the saddlebag instead of on my belt like I usually do?
I was foolish.
Making my way back to Texas, I’d been taking my time, hungry for the open road to cleanse my soul and clear my mind. I’d forgotten who I am, though. I’m not just some asshole on a motorcycle. I’m a member of the Black Hoods MC, and driving anywhere unarmed is fucking stupid.I’mfucking stupid.
Turning my head, just slightly, while fighting to keep the motorcycle steady, I gaze over at the van. The passenger, with an evil grin on his ugly face, is Big Dick, president of the Screwballs MC. In any other instance, I would laugh at the bruises still marring his face from the ass-kicking he had gotten from my brother, TK. But this was not the time nor place, sadly.
Fuck.
I dart my eyes to the road ahead before turning back to glare at Big Dick, sure the asshole is going to shoot me any moment.
His eyes never leaving mine, he shouts, “Now!”
The van veers right. The side mirror narrowly misses my head as it smashes into me, crushing my leg between it and my ride. At the same time, the truck hits me from behind, and then I’m flying. My brain barely has enough time to register how bad this is going to fucking hurt before I hit the hard earth and skid across the grass.
My world immediately goes black.
BOO
“Missed a spot,”Tammy chirps, knocking over the sudsy bucket next to me with her foot. “Oops!” Giggling, she sways her hips as she approaches the club members watching something on the big screen TV hanging over the bar. Sauntering past several of the guys, one grabs her arm and tugs her into his lap. She squeals happily and settles into his embrace, like the good little girl she pretends to be when they’re watching.
Why she’s desperate for their attention is beyond me, but I get it. When you make them happy, shit’s not as hard around here. The guys go a little easier on the amiable, pliable ones who open their legs, or mouth, whenever they get their cocks out, like baby birds starving for their cum. All pathetic attempts at adapting to our shitty situation and making the best of it. Something that I will never do. Do I get fucked just like the rest of them? Of course I do. They own me, lock, stock, and barrel, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy what they do to my body. I find absolutely no pleasure in their touch.
Alan, the Screwballs MC treasurer, instantly takes notice of the mess and sneers, shaking his head in disapproval. “Fucking clean it up, Boo.”
“Yes, sir.” Pushing up off my knees, I stalk off toward the utility closet, grab a stack of the newly washed towels I’d just put away, and head back to the mess where I toss them to the floor. Not only do I have to take care of this, but now I have more laundry to do later.