Page 27 of Kash
My stomach drops, but Kash doesn’t flinch, keeping the bike steady, his speed even.
The cruiser passes us, its driver barely glancing our way, and I let out a breath, my grip on Kash loosening slightly.
“We’re good,” I whisper, my voice lost in the wind.
Kash doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the road, his body tense. I’m about to tell him to relax when a piercing wail cuts through the night—police sirens.
I glance back, my heart slamming against my ribs.
The cruiser’s lights are flashing now, red and blue slicing through the dark, and it’s making a sharp U-turn, tires screeching on the asphalt.
They’re coming for us.
“Fuck,” Kash roars. He guns the throttle, the Harley surging forward, the force pinning me against him. “Hold on, boy,” he says, his tone sharp, focused. “This is gonna get rough.”
I tighten my grip, my arms locked around his waist, my board wedged between us.
The highway blurs past, the cliffs looming on one side, the ocean crashing below on the other. The sirens are louder now, closer, the cruiser’s lights flashing in the side mirrors.
Kash weaves through the curves, his riding skill on full display, every move calculated, every turn tight but controlled. He’s not just riding for himself anymore—I can feel it in the way he leans, the way he checks the mirrors, making sure I’m secure.
Kash is riding for me, for us.
It hits me hard: I’m not just some kid he’s dragging along. I’mhis, and he’s not gonna let them take me down, no matter what.
“Stay with me, Spike,” Kash says, his voice steady despite the chaos. “We’re losing this bastard.”
I nod against his back, my heart pounding, the thrill of the chase mixing with the fear.
The cruiser’s gaining, its engine roaring, but Kash knows how to handle these roads better than they do. It’s like he rides on instinct, the roads and paths almost magically revealingthemselves to him in his mind before any phone app ever could.
He cuts left, veering onto a narrow side road that dips toward the beach, the kind of path only locals like me know.
The cruiser follows, but it’s slower, less sure, its tires struggling on the uneven gravel.
Kash pushes the Harley harder, the engine screaming, and I can feel the raw power beneath us, the bike responding to his every command.
“Know any shortcuts?” Kash shouts over the wind, his voice tight but calm.
“Yeah,” I yell back, my mind racing. “There’s a trail up ahead, cuts through the dunes. Cops won’t follow—it’s too tight for their car.”
“Show me,” Kash says, and I lean forward, pointing to a barely visible path branching off to the right. He takes it without hesitation, the Harley bouncing over the sandy terrain, the dunes rising around us like silent sentinels.
The sirens fade slightly, the cruiser struggling to keep up, but they’re not giving up. I can still see their lights in the distance, flashing through the gaps in the dunes.
“Hell yeah!” I holler, glee in my voice. “Eat my ass, cops!”
Kash navigates the trail like he’s done it a hundred times, his salt-and-pepper hair whipping in the wind, his broad shoulders steady as he leans into the turns.
I cling to him, my body pressed tight against his, and despitethe danger, there’s a part of me that’s alive with it—the speed, the risk, the fact that we’re in this together.
Kash isn’t just running from the cops; he’s protecting me, and I’m not letting him down.
The trail spits us out onto another stretch of highway, the ocean glittering under the moonlight.
The sirens are fainter now, but still there, dogged and relentless.
Kash glances in the mirror, his jaw tight, and I know he’s weighing every option, every move.
