Page 95 of His Loyal Rebel

Stepping over the blood pooling at his feet, he left the garage. Making his way through the house, he wiped down doorknobs, corners, and the sliding glass door. Then, he retraced his steps, staying out of the view of the neighbors on the other side of the house.

Once he was clear, he picked up his pace and jogged.

Priest spotted him and got on his motorcycle. Whip kept going until he reached his Harley. They started the bikes simultaneously and rode off together, going in the opposite direction of Big's house.

Nobody would see them leave.

Twenty minutes later, they were on the highway, headed toward Missoula. Whip tried to calm the paranoia to look behind him as he rode away.

Killing Big never made him blink. Only the fear of going back to prison kept him hyperaware.

Priest kept watch for him.

Every half-mile, he'd catch Priest's gaze in his side mirror. Whip would lift a finger off the handlebar in answer.

Twyla's troubles were over.

She'd gained her freedom to live her life, and he would spend every minute loving her.

He sped up, anxious to get back to her. Priest lowered his hand, slowing him down. He looked in his side mirror.

In the distance, Montana State Patrol dogged him.

His hand tightened on the throttle. He could outrun the cops. Take the next exit, stay on the backroads, and lose himself in the mountains.

Red and blue lights flashed behind him, reflecting off the mirror. He tensed, looking straight ahead and ready to take whatever signal Priest threw his way.

The blast of a siren permeated the helmet on his head. And, still, the noise was quieter than the pounding of his heart.

The patrol officer caught up beside him in the left lane. His eyes burned, fighting the instinct to look over.

He checked his speedometer. By the time his gaze came back on the road ahead of him, the cop had passed Priest and kept going.

Fuck.

The air in his lungs escaped. He caught Priest's concern in the mirror. Whip shook his head, more relieved than he wanted to admit.

He was done running recklessly with his life. He needed to stay on the outside because there was someone more important for him, expecting him to return.

He rode toward Missoula. Toward Twyla. Toward home.

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