Page 33 of Biker Boo
Too quiet.
Too soft-spoken.
Well… until he’s not.
When his looks scream otherwise.The tats on his face, the metal poking out of him like his goal is to one day be Pinhead.
“You see any masked creeps tonight?”I greet him.
He doesn’t flinch.“Only one.”
I smirk.“Did you kiss her too?”
His eyes flick to my mouth like he might.But he doesn’t say a word.Just… watches me.
That look sends a chill down my spine.
But I still don’t think it’s him.I touch my neck, knowing I would have felt his lip piercing, his tongue ring, hell, maybe even his nose ring.
And Royal’s not the type to stalk a girl through the woods.
Right?I mean, if I didn’t know him, he would be the first on my radar by his wicked looks alone.Goth as all get out, Royal could be the poster child for creepy stalkers.
But isn’t that just a diversion?If I’ve learned anything from slasher films, the killer is the one you least expect.
And I know Royal.He would never.Never, just like he said before.Never think about me like that.Never.Because he’s Legend’s brother in more ways than one.Not just in the Kings.His adopted brother.My adopted brother as well if we’re getting really technical.
But I never thought about any of the teens my father took into Pearly Gates as kin.If I had, then almost the whole damn town would be my relatives.The boys didn’t live with me and papa in the house attached to the chapel.They lived together in the commune, with the community.So, Legend and Royal may feel like real brothers, but they don’t feel like mine.
Never have.
I make my way out back, where the firelight glows orange and drunk bodies sway to a remix of something that should’ve stayed dead in the early 2000s.
Then I seeLegend.
He’s out back by the firepit, and he’s not alone.Joey Donut, the new bunny with cotton-candy hair and devil horns, is straddling him like he’s her throne.His hands grip her hips.His mouth is devouring hers.His face, unmasked.Open.Smiling when he pulls back.
Brothers call her donut for many reasons.Other than the obvious, they say she loves a man in blue.But she pissed off the wrong cop’s wife, and is hiding out with us outlaws.
The laughter of the bikers nearby blurs into white noise.I can’t move.Can’t breathe.
My stomach caves in like I’ve been gutted.
All that hope I’ve been nursing, all the secret thrills, all the fantasies, shattered in an instant.
I stumble back, knife clinking against my boot, heart pounding so loud I can’t hear the music anymore.
Fuck him.
Fuck all of them.
Suddenly, I’m cold.Hugging myself, I leave my Harley and take the shortcut home.I circle the edge of the Crooked Creek Cemetery, through weeds and cracked marble headstones, looking for someone.The ghost who follows me.The man who wants me.
My Biker Boo.
And I find him, standing at the edge of the tree line, just far enough that the light can’t reach his face.But I know that mask.The warped porcelain howl.The shadows make his hoodie disappear into the night.
“You followed me again.Biker Boo?”My voice is soft, shaky, half a dare and half a prayer.
