Page 31 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

He nudges his head towards his bike. “You asked for us to protect you, right? Get on.”

I hesitate while he returns to the seat, gripping the handlebars with those bear-like hands. He revs his engine. “Your choice.”

Choice.

That’s a funny thought. In reality, I don’t think I really have one. But I don’t know why, but some part of me trusts him, or at least wants to. There’s a dangerous warmth in his eyes and I want to melt into it.

“Now get ready to ride with someone who knows what the hell they're doing.” He laughs, a full, grand sound and I climb onto his bike with him.

I’ve never been on one of these before. I’ve been terrified of them my whole life, and I should be scared. Except, my body practically molds against his own and his strong presence seeps away my worries. If he notices I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before, he doesn’t bring it up.

“Hang on,” he says.

My arms wrap around his thick torso.

‘Tighter,” he commands with such authority, I almost yelp, pressing my arms into his sculpted abs. The engine between my thighs shakes and vibrates as the engine stirs to life with each tug on the throttle.

I’m vulnerable, completely at his mercy; this man can take me anywhere he wants and do anything he wants to me.

This is a bad idea; I know it is. But for some reason, I realize I’m excited.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” And with that he guns it, and we take off through town.

I've dreamtabout flying before.

Clear blue skies and the thought of forever being lost in it. The ever-pervasive risk of plunging all at once down the hard earth.

This is the closest I’ve ever been to that sensation.

His body is steel, and I cling to him for dear life as we weave in and out of traffic so quickly my head spins.

I keep my eyes closed, temples throbbing with every turn of the bike, my body molding further into his. I try not to think about where he’s taking me or what he wants exactly, but it’s out of town, down the winding road and into the Redwood Forest.

The trees blur past us like a sea of emerald and gold.

He doesn’t seem as dangerous as the other two, though my eyes dart down to the corded muscle running down his forearm lined with veins. It wouldn’t take much for him to break me in two.

He's an ex special op after all and that means he knows how to kill efficiently and without question.

He glances back, giving me a half-dashing, half-wild smile.

“You good?” he hollers over the roar of the motorcycle.

That’s a loaded question. My best friend’s missing, I’ve seen to draw the attention of the Puppeteer, and I’m in the process of infiltrating one of the most dangerous crime organizations in my city.

But his deep eyes, wicked grin and the taste of the wind, I answer back in the only way I can.

“Yes!”

“Good, cause we’re just getting started.” He revs the bike, and it roars beneath him. His hand reaches back and rubs my thigh. Tingles shoot through me. Faster and faster, we go, the wind whipping through my hair and my heart in my throat. I tilt my head back and laugh. I’m so far from home, from the police and safety. Maybe I’m insane.

Or maybe, some part of me wants to get lost with Tank, with the Hellfire Riders. I must be some sort of masochist then. That’s the only thing I can think of.

The trees’ part ways, revealing a secluded lake atop a high hill, overlooking the sprawling green forest before us.

The roar of Tank's motorcycle dwindles into a low rumble then silence. The rides over and suddenly, I am painfully aware that I’m in the middle of nowhere.

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