Page 32 of Total Carnage
The growl of our engine split the Kentucky silence like a bullet through glass. I twisted the throttle, and the world blurred into streaks of green and gold, the road ahead a coiling serpent we were all too eager to tame. This was what it meant to be a biker. Hands on handlebars, ass on a leather seat, an old lady you loved on the bike with you. There wasn’t a thing in the world that beat the feeling.
"Live hard and die free," I muttered, the mantra feeling more like a question than a battle cry. Hell, what a ride it’d been—from a dead man walking to tearing up back roads with Raven. My resurrection, if you could call it that, was some kind of cosmic joke—a second chance I never asked for but wasn't about to waste.
Fields rolled past us like waves in an emerald ocean, dotted with lazy cattle and tired barns that looked like they'd seen better days. A hawk circled overhead, its cry cutting through thehum of our passage, a stark reminder that even out here, life was all talons and hunger. The sun dipped low, throwing long shadows across the road, painting everything in hues of dying fire. Inside, though—the turmoil was a roaring beast. Didn't matter how fast I rode, couldn't outrun the gnawing inside my skull, the memories that clung like burrs. I could feel the weight of them, heavy as the leather on my back, scars that told stories I'd rather forget.
But there's something about the open road—a kind of brutal poetry that strips you down to nothing but the raw nerve of being alive. Every roar of the engine was an echo of my heartbeat, every curve a dance with fate. I leaned into the turns, tires gripping the tarmac, chasing that fleeting moment where it all made sense—that I was still here, still breathing, still fighting.
"Freedom’s a hell of a drug," I whispered into the rush of air, knowing Raven would get it—she always did. She rode like she was born on two wheels, a dark-haired Valkyrie in leather, every bit as untamed as the land we raced through.
We passed a weathered sign pointing toward some forgotten town, and I laughed at the irony—lost souls flying down roads that promised nowhere and everywhere all at once. The beauty of it was enough to make you believe in something more, even for a cynical bastard like me. Maybe that's why we rode so damn hard, pushing against the very edges of existence, trying to squeeze every last drop from a life that refused to play by any rules.
"Ride or die," I said, not sure if I was talking to Raven or reminding myself of the deal I'd made with the universe. Either way, it didn't matter. We were here, now, and that was enough. For a moment, anyway.
The bridge loomed ahead, a relic of rusted steel and peeling paint, standing sentinel over the Kentucky River like it had something to prove. I cut the engine, the sudden silence acontrast to the relentless roar that had been our only soundtrack for miles. I swung my leg over the bike and planted my boots on the gravel, the crunch underfoot a reminder that, for now, we were grounded.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said, her voice soft against the backdrop of nature's quiet symphony.
"Something like that." I leaned back against my bike, arms crossed over my chest. The river below moved with purpose, oblivious to the two souls wrestling with ghosts above its flow. I glanced at her, taking in the way the fading daylight played off her features. "Raven," I started, the words scratching their way out of a throat tight with years of unsaid shit. "I can't shake this feeling like I'm some sort of damn phoenix risen from ashes I don't even remember burning."
She tilted her head, her expression all focus and intensity. "Talk to me, Vin."
"Four years," I said, the number tasting like bile. "Gone. And here I am, spit back out into the world like it's some kind of sick joke. I've been trying to piece it together, but it's like grabbing smoke—there's nothing to hold onto."
"Vin—"
"Every morning I wake up expecting it to be the last time, thinking maybe I'll just... vanish again. No rhyme or reason. Just gone." The words hung heavy between us, the weight of them more than I was used to letting anyone see. Vulnerability wasn't my style; I was better at rage, at the cold edge of retribution. But this—this was different. This was raw and jagged, like a wound that refused to heal.
"Everyone thinks I'm looking for answers, for justice," I continued, my gaze locked on the steel beams overhead as if they could offer up some wisdom. "But what I really want, what fucks with my head the most, is just wanting to know why. Why me? Why back from the dead?"
"Vin, you're here," Raven said, her hand finding mine, a lifeline thrown across the chasm of my doubts. "And maybe that's the point. Not the whys or the hows, but the fact that you've got a second chance. Most don't get even that."
"Second chances," I repeated, squeezing her hand, the solid reality of her touch anchoring me. "Guess it's about time I figure out what to do with it, huh?"
"Exactly." Her eyes held mine, unwavering. "And you're not alone. Remember that."
Not alone. That was something. Maybe even everything.
Raven's grip on my hand tightened, her thumb stroking the back of my knuckles in a way that seemed to still the chaos in my head. "You've been given something rare, Vin. A second shot at this messed-up world," she said, her voice laced with conviction.
I looked into her eyes, pools of resolve that had seen through my bullshit more times than I could count. "Destiny, huh?" I scoffed, but the edge in my voice was blunted by the warmth spreading from where our hands joined.
"Damn right. We were always on a crash course, you and me," she replied fiercely. "Your 'resurrection' or whatever cosmic crap pulled you back... it's just part of the ride." Her eyes sparkled as her voice faded. The smile working across her lips was full of love and understanding. Guys in the brotherhood couldn’t give me that the way Raven could. I should have been comforting her when she was comforting me.
"Always the philosopher," I said, unable to suppress a half-smirk despite the storm brewing inside. It was true though; Raven had a way of making sense of the senseless—of finding order in my chaos.
"Philosopher, badass, your personal pain in the ass..." She offered a shrug that didn't quite hide the intensity of her gaze. "Take your pick. But know this: we're intertwined, Vin. Your demons are mine, too."
"Intertwined, huh?" The word rolled off my tongue, tasting like something ancient and undeniable. Memories flickered, moments when Raven and I had burned down the nights, racing along moonlit roads with nothing but each other and the wild pulse of our engines.
"Remember that night outside Tucson?" I asked, the recollection cutting through the fog of my doubts. "When we out-rode the storm?"
"Could never forget." A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. "You pushed your bike so hard, I was sure we'd end up as roadkill. But you said it was ride or die."
"Still is." My heart hammered a little harder, the connection between us taut like a tightrope. "We outran the storm then. Guess we can do it again."
"Exactly." Her affirmation hit like a fist, solid and sure. "And whatever shitstorm life throws at us, we'll face it together. We always have."
"Partner in crime," I murmured, the words a talisman against the darkness nipping at my heels.
