Page 13 of The Chase

She huffed.

“Now, we move.” He nodded his head, indicating for her to follow. He began to slink off around the car, crouching still.

She took a breath in and pushed it out. She had to follow, she had no choice. She wouldn’t turn into a hysterical needy princess that required rescuing, even though that is exactly what she felt like. She had to keep her cool. She followed him, crouching like he did, keeping low. They slunk around the back of the hotel by the dumpsters. Doing anything with Colt seemed to involve sneaking by dumpsters. It must be the staff entrance or delivery entrance or something. Her mind whirled hysterically. She tried to follow. Her heart was beating in her chest. Louder and louder. Quicker. He seemed calm, outwardly as nonchalant as ever. But she could sense his urgency, his alertness now, which was different from when they were crouched, chatting. She was struggling to breathe, moving quietly and carefully in a hunched position.

Now he sprinted across the concrete. She followed blindly, thankful for the boots. They ran across the concourse, lit by streetlights. Colt headed to the steep grassy bank. He kept running, up the verge, throwing himself into the bushes at the top of the peak. She followed, panic surging now.

Branches scratched her. Her lungs felt like they were going to burst.

But then strong, warm hands brushed her face. Brushed the branches out of her hair, pulled her forwards. Colt. She calmed. Closer to the center of the bush, there were less leaves and little snaggly twigs. She could breathe. She couldn’t see him, but she sensed him. His warm presence.

“My bike is about a hundred feet down the road, on the left. I cut a hole in the fence here. We run, we do not stop running. You will get on the bike behind me, you will put the helmet on your head, and you will hold on. Okay? You hold on tight, both hands, do you hear me? Keep your head down and you don’t look up.” His voice was low but insistent. She heard urgency. She also heard bike engines. That ripping sound of multiple engines.

She opened her mouth to take a breath but couldn’t. She gulped. She felt the bikes getting closer, the noise getting louder.

“Hey,” he said, and now his hands were on her face, holding her cheek, holding her chin. He forced her to look right at him. In the darkness of the bush she couldn’t see much at all, except two shiny orbs of warmth in front of her. His eyes bored into her. “I will not let anything happen to you, April,” he insisted. “Okay?” he asked her, releasing her chin.

She nodded. She remembered it was dark and he probably couldn’t see. “Okay,” she croaked. She breathed finally. She trusted him.

“Now.” He disappeared. She felt the branches move, the bushes shake. She followed.

Squeezing through a small opening in the metal fence, her top caught and she pulled herself loose. Out in the open, she turned left, like he’d said. He was up ahead of her, running flat out. She did the same. Not her usual jog. Not keeping with her breathing, calm and controlled, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Like how she ran in her designer lycra with her ear buds in on a Saturday morning. No, this was rasping, furious, pumping her legs like she hadn’t done since she was a kid on the playground. The motorcycles sounded so close, like a swarm of bees coming up behind her. Ahead of her, he was at the bike. He batted on a helmet, and swung his leg over the seat. Held out a helmet for her, like a relay baton.

Finally, she was there, too. She slammed the helmet onto her head, and she hopped onto the back of the bike. She tentatively put her hands on his hips.

He started the engine. The sound, the vibrations beneath her. She whimpered, not even hearing it herself, and then wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing like a bear hug, burying her face as much as she could in the back of his leather jacket. He revved the engine and they shot away. Away from the danger and the panic and her life.

He was going fast. Faster than she’d ever gone before on the road, Colt was clearly breaking the speed limit. She felt tears streaming from her eyes and closed them. She clenched her thighs together, gripping his rear with her body, clinging onto him.

Thank fuck she’d worn the leather trousers, she thought to herself.

Hours later, he felt a tapping on his shoulder. He thought he might have heard her saying his name, too. It was too hard to hear over the noise of the bike. They had streaked away into the night. He’d weaved down residential streets and broader, main roads. He had to admit, he fucking loved it. These streets were his streets. He may not be Prez any more but he was still the fucking king of the road. He’d grown up on these streets, literally living and sleeping on them, riding pedal bikes then mopeds then his Harley. He had owned these streets. He rode like they were still his. He knew them like the back of his hand. Some things had changed, most hadn’t. It brought back memories of when they’d all ridden together, his MC. Two rows side by side. He remembered yanking the bike up onto the back wheel and roaring like a rampant lion through the town. Or sliding, smoke coming off his back wheels, looking behind and seeing his brothers grinning back at him. Fuck, his brothers. He didn’t want to think of them, didn’t want to remember them. He had thought they’d all be there for him when he got out. They weren’t. One day, he’d be brave enough to ask what had happened to them. How they died. Today was not that day. And he didn’t think that day would be coming anytime soon. He felt a lump in his throat and focused on the road, the thrum of the bike under him. They were his streets, he hadn’t been here for five years, but they were still his streets, he reminded himself. Roaring on that beautiful bike made him feel whole again, though a lot had been broken. To ride a bike like that took strength, bravery, and attitude. You had to commit, it was ride or die. He chose to ride.

She followed his instructions perfectly, she’d clung onto him and not looked back. He was glad, because he’d seen the MC riders in his mirrors a few times. He’d been lucky with being able to dart down streets and traffic lights impeding their progress. He wouldn’t tell her how close the MC had been. He wouldn’t think of what might have happened if they’d been caught.

They hadn’t left the city limits yet. He doubled back at times. He had wanted to shake them off his tail before committing to any highway out of the state. He needed to know they weren’t going to follow them. Colt had been zigzagging around the city, his route erratic, not following any obvious plan, not sticking to any road or route. They’d been at it for hours but hadn’t traveled far. He wanted the MC confused, unable to guess where he was heading. How he hadn’t been stopped by police for speeding, he didn’t know. Maybe the cops knew what was going on. Mainly they had left the MC to their own devices back in his day. The local Chief had been accepting bribes from them to look the other way, he didn’t know who the Chief of Police was these days.

Why had she tapped him on the shoulder? She wanted to stop, probably. He eyed the road ahead, and checked behind in the mirrors. Nothing, it looked safe. He pulled into a quieter road, and then to the side of the road, there was just forest on the other side. The sky was lit up with the glow of the city from the yellow of the streetlights. He cut the engine.

With the bike engine turned off, the quiet of the night was suddenly deafening. His wrists felt tight, his butt was numb. He hadn’t ridden in five years, but he’d been intensely focused on getting away.

“Fuck,” he breathed out involuntarily.

“If I had a dollar for every time you swore…” Her playful voice came from behind him. He couldn’t help it, a huge grin spread across his face.

“You could buy me a sweet new bike- ‘’ He began. He felt her hands digging into his stomach, her nails biting into his abs. More than was needed for her to shimmy off the bike safely. He shivered. Yes, it was a definite raking down of her nails on his torso. He fucking loved it. She swung her leg over and came to stand beside him. Oh he wanted to scoop her up, wrap her up in his arms. To treasure. To ravage. The pull between such extremes, treating her softly, gently, with care, and then wanting to fuck her brains out and ruin her so that no one else could have her... they tugged at his heart, his soul. His very skin. He felt torn.

She stood with her hands on her hips, all wild, raw sass. He guessed she’d enjoyed the ride. Probably hadn’t felt anything like it in her life. “Have you ever ridden before?” he asked.

“A motorcycle?” she asked, and there was the most subtle cock of her eyebrow. Fuck. She was playing with him. His balls tightened. He smirked back at her.

“No, not a motorbike before, it was… exhilarating,” she said. She got it. He could see it. Bikes divided people, some loved them. The freedom, the roar, the power underneath, becoming a part of you. Others hated them, too noisy, too dangerous, a nuisance. He would bet any money in the world April had belonged to that camp, hating them before. But he could see the change on her face, the surprise, the effects of the adrenaline, the wind, the freedom, the power. She had caught the bug. She was experiencing the same high that he was. And it seemed to be bolstering her libido, just like it was with him.

She licked her lips. “I feel like I’ve been blown away…”

He had to look away, watching her lips say the word ‘blown’ had caused his dick to stir. He was already sporting a semi from the vibrations of the ride.

“I really need to pee, I know you said after we got out of the state but....” she said, tossing her hair out of the helmet, hanging it on the handlebars.

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