Page 67 of Biker Daddies

Her eyes widen and she looks left and right. “You can’t be talking so damn loud,” she whispers. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. You’re taking up my time.”

I get my wallet out from my back pocket and gather three hundred. “I’m good for it.” I hold out the money and she snatches it, tucking it in her bra.

She bends over seductively, pretending she’s interested. “My boss gave me some. I have it in my purse,” she breathes into my ear. “You looking to get higher than the clouds, big boy?”

“Something like that, “ I say.

She pulls away, opening her purse and pulling out a tiny bag full of white, then tucks it in my cut pocket. “You know where to find me if you want something else.” She rubs her hand over my shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. “Don’t take too much of that. It’ll kill you.”

I shrug away from her touch and drive away, Colt right behind me. The drugs burn a hole in my pocket since I know they’re there. I don’t like it, but the closer we get to finding some type of treatment, the sooner we can stop this.

A gunshot takes out my side mirror and I swerve, nearly toppling over from the unexpected attack. I right myself just as Colt stretches his arm and begins to fire at the people behind us who are also on motorcycles.

“Fuck!” I shout when one of their bullets blows out one of my tires.

I go down, the heavy metal sliding when it hits the pavement. My shoulder hits the ground hard, my cut not protecting my arms from road rash. I roll violently, my body moving almost as fast as my bike as it skids down the road. When I stop, I have to remember how to breathe. Everything hurts. My head spins. My vision blurs. Every part of me aches.

The smell of smoke and gasoline has me turning. Colt is down too. Blood drips from his head and his arms are just as bad as mine, but he is able to lift them up to fire, putting a bullet in one of the men after us. He falls from his bike, dead, and I cover myself as his motorcycle runs into mine, the heat blistering my skin.

I fling my blades through the air, hoping to pin down the other guy, but he speeds by us, not bothering to stop to check on his friend.

Must not be friends at all.

“Bane?” Colt shouts from the other side of the road. “Fucking hell, Bane! You okay?”

I cough, flipping over onto my back. “I’m fine,” I answer at last, wincing. I lift my arm and see the debris in the wound. “You?”

“Fine,” he says, standing, but then stumbles back to the ground. “The bikes are toast.”

I chuckle, rolling onto my stomach to push myself to my knees. “No shit. What gave it away? The fire or the fact that they’re in pieces?”

“Jesus, Bane. You look like shit.” Colt falls as he tries to walk to me, zigzagging across the road. He can’t stand anymore, losing his strength, and hits the ground on his knees. “Your arm is torn open. Your head.”

“Fuck off. I still look good. Unlike you.” I fall to my ass, holding a hand over my ribs. Every time I breathe, it hurts. I dig for my phone and slide it out of my pocket. It’s cracked. I try to turn it on, but it won’t work. “You need to call Alto. My phone is trashed.” I toss it to the side, then reach into my pocket.

I hold up the packet Grizzly has been asking for and laugh. “Of course this makes it.”

Colt laughs, sitting down as he leans against one of the tires of the bike. “Yeah.” He taps his screen and puts it on speaker.

“Colt,” Grizzly answers.

“Prez, we need help. We were ambushed. We’re injured. Our bikes are fucked.”

“What the hell happened? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” Colt answers honestly. “We have a theory. We’ll tell you later. Can you get us before the cops arrive?”

“The guys are on their way. Don’t fucking move.”

We both laugh at that.

“You know what I mean,” Grizzly mumbles, then hangs up the phone.

“They’re on their way.” Colt drops the phone into his lap, and we wait.

The sun is hot. It bears down on us with a hot rage and my skin begins to sweat. I squint my eyes to block out the bright rays.

“What a fucking day,” Colt gripes. “It’s hardly noon.”

---