Page 6 of Rugger: The Huntress

Clack.

When my strut ended, it was only to push open the door before me. Immediately after, it continued.

Click.

Clack.

“Take me to church,” I hummed lowly, knowing it was the very last place a being of my nature should step foot inside.

I was the furthest from holy, sanctified, or saved. Nevertheless, He hadn’t wiped his hands clear of me. Bizarrely, I believed God had me wrapped in his precious arms. It was the only way to explain my existence after I’d ended so many others.

Well, and Chem. And, Richie.

I stretched the door of the black Corvette and slid inside. The motor roared less than a second after my index finger collided with the START button. It lulled my heart.

Ooooh, my. She purrs.

Though I wouldn’t visit any car lot and choose the two-door beast from their fleet, it was suitable for the night and task at hand. The cheaper, less conspicuous vehicle was perfect for the setting and situation.

In complete silence, I changed the gear and pressed the gas pedal with my right foot. Burning rubber was a rather intolerable fragrance. It crept up my nose and caused the flaring of my nostrils. My perfume was consumed.

My spine nearly fused with the leather seat as I cruised down the boulevard at one hundred miles per hour. The fear of law enforcement slamming cuffs on my wrists evaded me just as I would an arrest.

I’d rounded far too many tracks alongside racers on every level one could imagine. Second place was far too close to last. And, anything other than first place meant you’d lost. Richie had taught us well.

Rome chose the stage. Chem chose the water. Royce chose the system. Range chose the courtroom. Roaman chose the operating room. Roulette chose the entertainment industry. Rather chose the office. I chose the laboratory, but the tracks were my guilty pleasure.

If my speed, knowledge of Clarke’s streets, and skill failed me, the gun clenched between my fingers wouldn’t. Even if they could outrun me, they couldn’t out-shootme. I’d stand on that.

Streetlights flickered above me as I pushed past each of them in rapid motion. My lungs filled with oxygen. My heart swelled with contentment.

I unraveled my fingers from around the piece weighing on my thigh briefly. With only a few seconds to spare, I pushed thebutton to lower the top of the Vette. While in motion, though it was prohibited in most vehicles, the roof began to recline.

Home sweet home.

There was no place on earth like Huffington. There was no place on earth like Clarke. Everything it stood for was everything I was. Everything it had to offer was everything I needed. The time away was pleasurable but it was torture, simultaneously.

I breathed better in Huffington.

I felt better in Huffington.

I thought better in Huffington.

I lived better in Huffington.

Chemistry had created the greatest escape for those of us whowantedto escape. But, there was no escaping Huffington for me. Surviving it was my only option. Now that I was on Clarke’s soil, it was exactly what I planned to do.

The assigned checkpoint wasn’t my final destination, but I’d reached it nonetheless. My suppressed desire to smell the cedar and vanilla wax melts brewing in my candle warmer while decompressing led me out of the car and on both of my feet. I stood tall before taking the first step. Then, another. Then, another.

Until, finally, I tossed my foot over the matte black Ducati. The roaring of the bike made my lips turn upward. My adrenaline was upped a few notches as I silently thanked Lamborghini for the sick slice of heaven.

Momma’s home.

I slid the black helmet over my head. It was custom, making room for my extensive ponytail. When they were in the lab creating the ones that lined the store shelves, I refused to believe there was a Black person in the room with Black children. Because since I was a little girl, I couldn’t remember one accommodating the beautiful coils, curls, or volume of our hair.

Fuckers.

With a flick of the wrist, I revved my motorcycle’s engine.Gunnerwas his name and he was a beast.

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