Page 62 of Bullet

“I might have texted Willa to check for me right after we talked.”

“Getting my sister involved in your subterfuge now?”

“Only with the most gentlemanly intentions.”

“You could have just asked me.”

“I could have.” I’m a total heel, nervous and awkward, but then she steps into my space and brushes the back of her hand against my cheek.

“Thank you for the extra effort. I think it’s sweet, even if I’m busting your balls.”

She laughs, takes the helmet by the straps, and spins us outside, locking up. She waves to the camera and strides down the driveway, a confident fucking queen in a jacket that has to be Willa’s, and those tight-fitting jeans that cup her ass perfectly. Her only hesitation is at my bike, where she pauses and turns, tilting her face over her shoulder to await my instructions.

“I’ll get on first and get it going. Let me help you get on behind me after.”

Lynette doesn’t even pretend like she’s not studying my every move as I seat myself on the Harley and kick it to life. The roar is enough to bring the whole neighborhood to their windows. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t notice the open appreciation in her gaze as her eyes roam every inch of my body, starting at my face and trickling downward like misting rain.

I extend my hand. The shiver of our palms joining travels all the way up my arm. I flash her my most confident grin, the same shit-eating one I used to give her just because I wanted to get under her skin.

Her cheeks color, but after she lifts her long leg and slides onto the bike like she’s been doing it all her life, she leans forward and yells in my ear. “Have I ever told you that you’re disturbingly hot?”

That’s all it takes for that blush to spread from her face to mine. “Not in so many words.”

I hold the bike steady while she arranges herself behind me. She slips the helmet on, doing up the chinstrap on her own. Igive it a onceover to make sure she’s got it, and she flashes me a thumbs-up.

I get my brain bucket in place and roll the bike forward a few feet, waiting until her hands land on my hips, which they do, sneaking forward to lock around my abs almost like she’s afraid to touch me.

Afraid that she likes it.

I press my hand over her smaller ones, my abs tightening underneath my jacket.

I’m half afraid to let myself feel the tumble of sensation just waiting to come crashing down on me, so I try to push it off, apart from the swelling of pride and true joy. There’s no ownership in it, but having Lynette get on my bike and cling to me is a precious gift. Her giving me her time, her energy, her passion, her intelligence, and placing her trust and safety in my hands is no small thing. This is our official initiation into something bigger than both of us.

I rumble along slowly, obeying all the speed limits, and once we’re out of town, heading past Patterson’s, towards those backroads where there’s nothing at all but trees, grass, and the open sky, I start to accelerate slowly, giving Lynette time to get used to it.

She hugs me tight at first, but slowly relaxes into a less rigid posture. Her helmet has a face shield, but when I angle my head just enough to make sure she’s doing okay, her huge grin appears behind it.

Does she feel the same call I do when I’m out here? The rush of freedom, the almost animalistic song that gets into the blood, something primal and older than time?

It’s a good fifteen minutes of riding with the wind screaming all around us, the dark like a tunnel punctuated only by other car lights flashing by, before I find the back road I’m looking for. It branches off at the end, turning into a few different houses with acres of land. We pass those, and I know for a fact there isn’t anything out here for miles. Tyrant used to have a house out this way, though it was down a different road. Like the range, it was burned and he sold the land, purchasing a cabin up in the mountains past Seattle for the club to have and use.

I slow the bike down, then stop and let it rumble for a minute before killing it. The silence is immediate, the dark an indigo cashmere curtain, so large and immense that it’s almost soft against us.

“This is the place?” Lynette asks after shedding the helmet and shaking out her hair.

She turns her head like an owl, first to one side and then the other. I wait for her to protest that it’s the middle of nowhere, it’s too open, it’s strange because there’s nothing here but a field of dried corn to our right and to the left, a stubbled field with massive round bales dotting the harvested landscape.

“I choose the corn. Unless we’re going to get trampled by cows or shot at by an angry farmer for trespassing on their land.”

“Nah. We know the back roads close to home. The people who farm this land live miles and miles away. They own sections all over the place. They leave this one standing for their cattle, butthey haven’t moved them over here yet. No one’s gonna bother us.”

She glides off the bike like butter, with far more grace than I do. I can’t blame that on my perma-erection either.

“It’s a nice night. Not cold, but not warm enough for the bugs to chew us a new one.”

My laughter flows through the night. I like this more relaxed side of her, the side that isn’t afraid to swear or be crass. She told me once that she thought just as much shit up in her head as I ever said and that’s why she was never scandalized at hearing how bikers talk.

“I have a blanket in the saddlebag. We don’t have to go far into the field, and I swear I’ll only damage a few corn stalks. I’ll drop some money in their mailbox at the side of the road on the way home to pay for it.”

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