Page 20 of Biker Boo
I didn’t say a damn word.Couldn’t.
But I never forgot it.The first time someone chose me.
Later that night, I slip back to the cemetery.
The cold bites harder now.October’s end draws out the dead things, the ones that never rest.
Like me.
I kneel at the grave she visits.Mama.
Her mama.No one but a ghost story in this town now.The Reverend’s wife, who disappeared and ended up floating down Crooked Creek.Now, everyone who goes missing from Paradise, from Hell, they claim Mama Crowley got them.
The town made her mama the evil one when real evil probably pushed her into the creek, one way or another.And Reverend Crowley still rules one side of Paradise.
I light a match and let it burn down until it kisses my glove.
“I protected her,” I whisper to the grave.“Like you asked.”
The wind answers with a hush, the rustle of leaves like bones scraping.
“I can’t stop.”
I close my eyes, and I see Becki again, arched under me, lips parted in shock and need, her eyes begging for a name I wouldn’t give.
She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m hers.
I’ve always been hers.
And I’ll keep haunting her until she admits she’s mine.
Chapter 6
Sunday October 29
Becki
The jukebox broke again.Or maybe it’s just had enough of my sad-girl playlist.
I slam my empty shot glass on the counter, barely flinching when it topples over.
"Whoops."
Cornbread, the bartender at the Fire Pit, doesn’t even look up.Everyone’s too busy dancing or dry-humping in booths, costumes half-hanging off, face paint smeared.Halloween in Hell, Kentucky.Real classy.
Legend’s across town, probably at the big party I heard about in Official with his new arm piece, Hannah, hoping he runs into the golden princess.His horse girl.
And me?I’m the trailer park ghost.Crazy Becki.The one they all whisper about.The one who will never get a ring, just the rumors.
“I gotta get outta here,” I mutter to no one, grabbing my keys from the bar and weaving past a couple of witches fighting over a cowboy.
The cool night air slaps my face like it’s judging me.Good.Let it.
My Harley’s parked out front, half-covered in leaves already.I kick it to life, engine snarling like it’s just as fed up as I am.No helmet.No plan.Just me, and the bottle of recklessness I downed an hour ago.
I ride.
Fast.
