Page 14 of Shattered Skull

The skull won the race, standing on his bike and thrusting his glove-covered fist into the air. The place went nuts. He was a favorite, and I couldn’t say I blamed the people. His bike was gorgeous, and there was something about his eyes when he looked over at me the first time I saw him. They were tragic and angry, and yet they held so much more.

He popped a wheelie and stood on the tail end of his bike until it was almost touching the gravel. I gasped at the trick and blinked at how amazing he was. He and the Joker followed each other to a small group of bikes parked at the edge of the road, and when they turned their bikes off and climbed off, they clasped hands and pulled each other in for a hug.

They were friends.

The races continued, and I felt myself getting into it. I was smiling and clapping, cheering with the crowd and rooting for my favorite bikes when they pulled forward. The colors were amazing.

The sounds.

The smells.

The taste of the gasoline lingering in the air.

It was a playground for my panic-ridden senses, and I was able to repeat my sensory steps without issue even though it was more of a habit instead of a need. There were many things to see.

Touch.

Hear.

Smell.

Taste.

It was a world unlike any other, and strangely I felt as though I belonged, even though I had never been on a motorcycle and would never have the guts to remedy that.

I found myself moving away from Zada and Reggie, staying along the sidelines of The Strip so that I could see the bikes and the riders up close. I envied them for the freedom they must have felt slicing through the wind at high rates of speed. I longed to feel that way.

Free.

I grew bolder, moving closer until I was standing in front of everyone else. I was so close to the racers when they passed; I could feel the heat of their engines blowing against my skin.

It was beyond electrifying.

The gun went off at the starting line again, and I jerked, ready to see the riders blow past me. I leaned forward to get a better look and see if they were coming, and just as I did, one of the riders flew by me, cutting it so close my hair swung into my face with the burst of the wind trailing behind it.

I smoothed my hair down and blew it away from my face seconds before someone squeezed my arm and slung me to the ground.

A deep voice barked down at me, but I couldn’t make out what the person was saying over the sound of my blood rushing through my ears.

My back ached, and the gravel and rocks dug into my hands as I pushed myself into a sitting position. I cleared my hair from my face and swore I would never leave it down again. I looked up, and my eyes clashed with a pair of glowing green eyes with heavy dark brows before settling over the skull handkerchief hiding the bottom of his face.

It was the skull who drove the neon green bike, and he was even more amazing up close.

“Excuse me?”’

He shook his head and sighed, obviously aggravated with me.

“You stepped onto the strip while a race was going on. I’m just trying to figure out why. Are you suicidal, murderous, or mental?”

“None of the above,” I said, pushing up from the ground until I was standing.

He didn’t move to help me.

Once I was on my feet, he was still looming over me and looking down at me as if I had tried to murder his favorite person.

“You don’t belong here,” he spat. “Stay on your side of town before you get someone killed.”

He turned away from me in aggravation, and I found myself annoyed by his behavior. There I was, having a lovely time, and he had to go and ruin it.

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