Page 57 of Jacob

Impulsive fuck. He’d never hear the end of it. He could already hear his father reaming his ass out. Staying in Ohio wasn’t a fucking option. He’d walk to Montana if he had to at this point. He didn’t care how big of a douchebag he looked doing it with his bike on the side of the road—just walking. He wouldn’t stay here another minute.

It was her fault. Sparrow did this to him. When he was around her she destroyed his ability to think clearly. She changed his priorities. She fucked him up. The more distance he put between them the better. If he never saw her again, it’d be too fucking soon. She wanted that junkie asshole—she could fucking have him.

Sitting on his bike, his head tilted back blowing smoke rings into the morning, Dash waited for him. Fucking brother to the end, always had his back even when he was a kid—unlike that disloyal bitch. As his sponsor flicked the butt away, his head tilted one way and then the other as though cracking his neck. Then Dash turned his head slightly to study the younger biker. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

“Wall got mouthy.” Jacob scrubbed the back of his neck. Even in jest, the admission felt stupid.

With a snort, his sponsor waved his hand. “Come here.”

Shuffling his feet on the concrete, the younger biker felt like each step took him back in time. Three years. Five years. When he reached his club brother, he was sixteen again, having his hands looked at after his first fistfight.

With large, rough hands, it should’ve been impossible for the older biker’s touch to be as gentle as it was when his fingertips grazed the swelling masking Jacob’s knuckles. Gingerly, Dash tapped, working his way upward along the back of his injured hand while he quietly inspected. Each tiny collision of his finger made Jacob wince—a bad sign for sure.

Each twinge of pain made Jacob clench his teeth that much harder as he fought the urge to recoil. His brother needed to look at his hand and he needed to let him, no matter how much he wanted to pull it back, so he channeled that energy into deepening his resolve to never return to Ohio and cursing Sparrow’s name.

The examination continued, and when he got to the younger biker’s wrist, he squeezed slightly. Jacob bit back the pain threatening to escape his mouth while Dash rolled his fingers around the tendons, furrowing his brow. The quiet assessment did nothing to ease the tumultuous emotions churning inside him.

Stupid as it was, punching the wall gave him half a second of a release of that pressure. If he couldn’t ride home, it’d only mean he’d pack on more tension in its place. He’d need more than a wall to punch.

Letting his sponsor do his thing, he glanced over his shoulder toward the hospital. Unable to see the shithead, he knew who he’d like to release all of that pent up fury on. He knew who deserved it. He knew who stood in his way.

Fuck that. Let him have her. She wanted that shit. She chose that over him. She chose that life over whatever he could offer her. Fuck her. She deserved whatever came next.

“Nothing’s broken that I can feel,” Dash interrupted his brooding.

Were he in a sane state of mind, he’d probably been relieved. Irrational disappointment surged through him as he dragged his focus back to his club brother. Jealousy-fueled rage tainted everything as he tried to flex his very stiff fingers. “Can I ride?” he ground out.

With his gaze locked on the way Jacob moved his fingers, his mentor ran his own digits through his blond beard as though considering it. The sound of a cricket off in the distance seemed louder as he waited. A car door slamming shut followed by the whoop-whoop of the driver locking it felt magnified with Dash’s silence on the matter. Tension consumed him to the point he thought he’d start to shake while his club brother took his time with his answer.

“It’ll hurt like hell,” Dash said on a sigh as he lifted his gaze to meet Jacob’s finally. “I figure it’s a pretty bad sprain—wrist too probably, but doable.”

With a curt nod, Jacob stomped to his bike. He didn’t care if he looked like a child at that moment. Fuck Ohio.

He swung his leg over and shifted until he found the perfect spot on his perfect bike while stuffing the wireless earbuds in. Once situated, he shoved his helmet on his head with a bit more force than necessary. “Let’s get the fuck out of this shithole.”

“You’ve been exiled then?” Dash asked, sounding almost amused.

“What the fuck? Exiled?” He was not in the mood for his damn jokes.

That bitch didn’t have the authority to exile him. He’d love to see her try. Hell, he’d pay good damn money to see her try.

Kicking his bike to life, he twisted the throttle, enjoying the feel and the sound of his Harley coming to life. “I don’t know what the hell that means,” he admitted, shouting over the bike as he tapped the button to start the music. “And I don’t want to.” To accent the point, he twisted the throttle again.

He saw his sponsor laughing, but couldn’t hear it. His bike shot forward and O.A.R.’sShatteredfilled his ears.

Perfect.

Fucking perfect.

He didn’t even like O.A.R. How the fuck did that get in his rotation? What algorithm would include O.A.R. in his music tastes?

Twisting the gas, he shot forward, needing to feel the wind rush past him and the power between his thighs. He needed to push the bike. He needed the adrenaline rush speed—the freedom of flying on the bike.

But most of all, he needed to get the hell out of Ohio as fast as he could. So, riding to the highway and continuing on it at top speed was his priority right now. The purple Road King would either catch up with him eventually or keep pace. Of that, he had no doubt.

*SNEAK PEEK* - SPARROW

SPARROW

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