Page 57 of Sinful
Every curve, every shortcut, every place where asphalt turns to dirt and back again.
I've been riding them since I was sixteen, sneaking out when Dad thought I was studying.
I lean into the turns, push the bike to speeds that would terrify anyone sane, and within minutes, his headlight is gone from my mirrors.
I'm alone.
The way I've been for three years.
The way I deserve to be.
Los Coyotes have a known territory on the Florida-Georgia border.
Not their main base—that's deeper in Mexico—but a safehouse they use for operations. A place where they take people they want to hurt slowly.
I know from when I was looking for Andrés.
That's where Dad is.
That's where I'm going.
The highway stretches dark and empty ahead of me, broken white lines disappearing under my front tire faster than heartbeats.
I should be terrified.
Should be crying, or praying, or doing something other than feeling this cold, calm acceptance.
But all I feel is purpose.
For the first time in three years, I knowexactlywhat I need to do.
Los Coyotes want whoever killed Andrés Medina.
Well, they're about to get her.
I twist the throttle harder, the engine screaming, wind tearing at my jacket.
Behind me, Florida disappears.
Ahead, only darkness and the promise of blood.
I'm coming, Dad.
I'm going to fix this.
Even if it kills me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bravos
She's gone in thirty seconds.
I gun the Harley the moment her taillight disappears around the first turn, but it's like chasing a ghost.
Her Kawasaki Ninja is built for speed—light, agile, made for exactly what she does.
Racing. Winning. Disappearing.
