Breaker

by Alexis Abbott

  “Play it cool, let me do the talking,” I say, and she gives me a squeeze to let me know she understands. I have to admit, I always thought of myself as a lone rider, but the warmth from her body on my back feels nice.

  “Hey, Breaker,” the prospect says, a skinny young punk nicknamed Skid, leaning out the window and eyeing the girl up and down. She isn’t even mine, but I feel a protective instinct rear up in me, and I shoot the guy a glare. He gives me an apologetic smile and scratches the back of his neck. “Heading out for a ride? Thought everyone was in for the night.”

  “Yeah, last-minute run for the prez,” I say curtly, nodding back toward the warehouse. “Gotta be quick though, I hear there are pigs watching the highway tonight.”

  “Oh, yeah, for sure,” Skid says, and he quickly hits the button to open the gate. “Watch your back out there. Want me to-”

  Before he can finish his sentence, a light at the warehouse gets our attention, and our eyes snap to the door. Someone just threw it open, and by the looks of the silhouette, it’s Buzz. He cups his hands around his mouth and starts to shout something, but before he can get the warning out to Skid, I rev my engine and drown out his voice.

  The next second, I fly forward, and the bottom of the gate barely grazes me as I fly through it, hurdling down the road as fast as my bike can accelerate. All at once, I feel the cool, dry night air in my face and the warmth of the girl’s arms tight around my torso as we blaze out of the compound to the chaotic sounds behind us.

  And through all the voices, the sound of a shotgun blast pierces the night’s sky. We’re about to have company.

  Kate

  Well, this is shaping up to be the strangest chapter of my life thus far.

  I feel as though I have fallen, Alice-like, down some crazy rabbit hole and ended up in a world far beyond the quiet, routine little universe I’ve been living in all my eighteen years. I have never known this kind of exhilaration, tempered with a healthy edge of fear.

  My arms are wrapped tightly around the muscular torso of the most handsome and dangerous-looking man I have ever seen, holding on for dear life while he rockets a speeding hunk of heavy metal and exhaust smoke down a darkened highway under the eerie glow of the moon. I feel like a character from one of those bodice-ripper made-for-television movies my mom likes to watch in secret when we’re all asleep at night. (Naturally, I’ve sneaked peeks of these edgy flicks from behind the sofa over the years—how could I resist?)

  All around me, the wind whips through my auburn hair, prickling up goosebumps along my arms and legs. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, making my heart race and my mind ricochet in a million directions. There’s just so much to take in, it’s almost too much to handle. If I had a free hand, I might actually be tempted to pinch myself. This sure feels more like a crazy dream than any version of reality I’ve ever run into before.

  I can feel every tense, powerful muscle rippling underneath my savior’s clothing as he grips the steering bars.

  At least, I hope he’s my savior. After all, this is much like how my kidnapping began. From what I can remember of it.

  The motorbike careens around corners, tilting from side to side and the way that both terrifies and thrills me at the same time. It’s all I can do to hold on and keep myself upright on the back of the motorcycle. But the man at the helm seems totally in his element. He’s steadfast and strong, and I find myself instantly feeling safer with him so close.

  I know how crazy that must be. On some level, I realize that I have no real reason to trust him so completely. After all, as far as I know he’s part of the same team of bad guys who locked me up in that smelly old room. Who knows what kind of foul intentions they had in mind for a girl like me? I may be sheltered, but even I’m not naive enough to think their motivations were at all pure and good-hearted.

  Maybe they were going to sell me off to the highest bidder.

  Maybe they planned to keep me around for… well, their own purposes.

  I shudder to think what would have become of me if my savior hadn’t shown up at that exact moment to spring me free from my prison. Surely, I can trust him, right? If he was a bad guy, he would have left me there in that room. He would not have given my plight a second thought, just moved on with his own life, his own motivations.

  But no. He set me free. Of course, those other guys sure don’t plan on giving me up without a fight, judging by how fast he has to drive this motorbike to evade capture. What will become of me if they catch up to us? What will my family think? What if I never see the domestic boredom of Stonedale again?

  Well, actually, that part doesn’t sound so awful, if I’m being perfectly honest. But the point still stands—what will happen to me if my savior decides I’m not worth the trouble? If he’s one of them, is he betraying their trust, their camaraderie, just to save me?

  Suddenly, the motorcycle swerves around a tight left corner and the bike angles dangerously close to the ground. Stricken with terror, I can’t help but let out a little squeal of fear. I hold on more tightly, my fingernails digging into the front of my rescuer’s broad chest. I glance back over my shoulder and feel my heart drop down to my stomach.

  They’re still behind us—and gaining momentum by the looks of it. I turn back and bury my face in the man’s back, closing my eyes tightly as though I can block out the world by pretending not to see it. But even with my eyes closed I can still hear the rumble of motor engines behind us, the crunch and grind of tires on muddy, wet dirt roads. I still don’t recognize the countryside whirring past us. It might as well be another planet, as far as I can tell. And I’m just as useless and helpless as I would be floating around out in space.

  Only I’m not alone. In fact, I have the world’s most dangerous man guiding me. I just wish I knew for sure that I can trust him to be the savior I need.

  After all, he did offer me drugs. Actually, he kind of pushed them on me. And then there’s the whole part where he might just have killed a man. I swallow hard, fear creeping up to sit heavy in my stomach like a stone. I reassure myself with the fact that it’s not like I had much of a choice in the matter anyway.

  When a man like this one says it’s time to go, what chance does a girl like me have to say no?

  What could I have said? “No, thanks. I’ll take my chances with the other big, scary dudes who drugged me, kidnapped me, and locked me up in a room?”

  No.

  This is the only way.

  I may be exhausted. I may be so desperately hungry that my vision is blurred and my head is aching, but anything is preferable to being cooped up in a filthy room in the middle of no man’s land. For better or for worse, I’m with him now. He’s my best chance at survival. If I ever want to see my family and friends again, I have to pour all of my trust and promise into him.

  I only hope he can outpace the veritable caravan of bad guys hot on our trail. They sure aren’t giving up easily. It makes me wonder even more what the hell they want from me. It’s not like my family has any money to offer. What could they want me for?

  Ransom?

  If that’s what they are wanting, then they definitely picked the wrong girl. But I have a feeling it must be something much more diabolical than that. Something I don’t really want to put too much thought into at the moment. At least not until we’re in the clear. Right now, it’s just all about survival. Just about escaping the immediate danger hot on our heels.

  And with the minutes creeping toward the dark, ominous hours of early morning, our situation seems more and more dire. Where is he taking me? Where can we possibly go to get away from these men? And when and if we do, what will become of me then?

  What will he do with me?

  A shiver runs down my spine. I have no way of predicting that. I could beg for my life. I could appeal to his conscience. But if he really rubs elbows with the kind of gang who captured me in the first place, who’s to say any of that would make a difference?

  “I’m scared,” I murmured, ha
lf to myself and half to him.

  He lets go of the steering grip with one hand and places it over both of my trembling hands. He gives them a gentle squeeze, which strangely does make me feel marginally less terrified. I can feel the goodness, the pure intentions radiating from him like a nightlight in the dark. My heart slows down a little. My shoulders relax slightly, rolling down from the tight hunch I have been frozen in for the entire ride. I can sense he doesn’t want to hurt me. Maybe I’m naive. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

  But it feels real to me.

  His hand over mine, the warmth of his body against me, it’s all better than a shot of whiskey for calming the nerves.

  So, there’s hope yet for a conscience in him.

  I choose to believe that.

  As if I have any other option.

  We barrel down the misty, muggy back roads, lit only by the eerie moonlight and the scattered stars. Out here in the middle of nowhere, it’s all too common to drive for hours without seeing a streetlight, much less a stop light or a town. Even the occasional building we drive past looks totally abandoned, as though nobody has taken these roads in ages. I don’t see any street signs, and there certainly aren’t any street names for me to recognize.

  Every now and then I see a leaning, dilapidated shell of a house, but other than that the roads are empty. It’s very creepy, like crossing over into some bizarre shadow world. I can’t help but wonder where exactly on the wide, empty map of Wyoming we fall right now. How far flung am I from home? Would anyone look here to find me? Wyoming is such a massive, rural state. There are miles and miles of mostly-unchecked, untouched wilderness, and even beyond that the towns are so few and far between we could probably ride for hours without coming across one.

  It’s easy to feel lonely in a place like this. Even in Stonedale, where I have lived my entire life, it can sometimes feel as though we all live in a tightly-sealed vacuum, far away and cut off from the rest of the world. We are set in our ways there, and rarely does a stranger blow through town to make some noise and shift things up. Change comes very slowly to the quiet corners of the world, and I know without a doubt that Stonedale is one of the quietest.

  “Where the hell are we?” I hiss, leaning forward to get my lips as close to his ear as possible. I can feel him shiver slightly, affected by the ticklishness of my breath against his ear.

  “It won’t matter where we are if we don’t shake these guys,” he growls back.

  “How do we do that?” I ask fearfully. I glance back over my shoulder again, almost too afraid to even look. To my horror, they appear to be gaining on us, the motorcycles kicking up clouds of dust in their hot pursuit.

  “Like this,” my savior replies in a gruff voice, and before I can give his words a second thought, he revs the engine to a deafening roar, picking up even more speed and careening sharply around a corner.

  I scream and hold on as tight as I can, screwing my eyes shut amid the dust and dirt kicked up by the bike tires. The motorcycle leans to the right so far that for a few seconds I am totally certain we’re going to tip over. I clench my teeth, preparing for the inevitable tumble. I may not be a rough rider myself, but I am more than aware of how dangerous a bike like this on roads like these can be. I’ve seen the photos of mangled limbs and full-body burns, scars glistening on the bodies of people who took a turn too quickly and went flying off the bike. I know the risks, and I am sure he does, too. But he doesn’t seem to let fear keep him from doing what his instincts tell him to do. He doesn’t listen to the little voice that says no, no, no.

  He only knows yes, and he’s willing to risk everything in pursuit of it.

  Normally, that would make him exactly the kind of guy I try to avoid. I like a little mischief sometimes, but never real danger. Except that it’s different with him. Don’t get me wrong—I’m scared out of my damn mind. But there’s something in my heart telling me to trust him. Whatever the reason may be—desperation, fear, even loneliness—I believe in his ability to protect me, and that makes me his for as long as he wants to keep me around.

  Especially when I realize that he’s starting to shake off our assailants. One by one, they seem to drop back a little and fall out of sight. I steal a look back over my shoulder and I’m surprised to see that the number of people pursuing us has lessened considerably. And that is when, suddenly, everything around me goes totally dark.

  I gasp, fearing the worst, until I realize that it’s only dark because my savior here has cut off the lights. He’s driving in near-total blackness, and yet he seems just as sure of himself as he was before. I feel a roughness underneath us as he veers the motorcycle off the dirt road and over the grass, the engine puttering and whining in protest.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss, terrified that we’ll lose the advance we’ve built up.

  “Shh,” he rumbles back to me.

  I open my mouth to protest more, but I stop myself, realizing there’s no point in arguing. Clearly, he knows way better than I do what we should be doing right now. What advice do I have to offer a guy like him in a time like this anyway? So I zip my lips and try not to let my heart pound out of my chest as the motorbike slows down. He rolls us along across the dewy grass and cracked earth, hurtling toward a big, looming black shape in the dimness. It looks at first like some massive behemoth rising out of the fog to devour us whole, but it dawns on me slowly that it’s actually just an old, worn-out skeleton of a house. My savior keeps the engine rolling, the tires putt-putting over harsh earth until we swerve around behind the shadowy house, and he cuts the engine completely.

  The stillness and silence that follows is almost too much to bear. Now that it’s deathly quiet, all I can hear are my own labored, fearful breaths. Terror grips every inch of my tensed body as I sit perched on the back of the motorcycle, still clinging to the man in front of me like he’s the only floating plank in a shipwreck. I can hear the other bikes rumbling in the distance, but they seem to get louder and louder, getting closer.

  “Be quiet,” he murmurs, barely loud enough for me to hear.

  My breath catches and holds in my throat as I listen to the horrible grinding of the motorcycle engines as they approach. Louder, closer. Louder, even closer. And then… miraculously, the engine gets softer, and I realize with a jolt of amazement that they’re passing us by. We have somehow successfully hoodwinked them and hidden away. We really did manage to shake them off the trail. I tremble in the cold and my savior takes my freezing hands between his own, rubbing them rhythmically to warm them back up. I’m almost taken aback by this gesture of kindness, and when he wordlessly offers me his leather jacket, I hardly know how to respond. Luckily, he catches on to my confusion and simply drapes the jacket around my shoulders. I shrug into it thankfully, feeling his scent and warmth wash over me.

  Once we can no longer hear any rumble of the motorcycle engines, I dare to speak.

  “What… what are you going to do with me?” I mumble, afraid of the answer.

  Through the darkness, he fixes me with an intense stare and says, “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Breaker

  I feel the shiver run through her body at my words plain as anything, and I feel a soft smile tug at the corners of my lips. This is the last time to be thinking about the way my words affect this girl’s body, but I can’t deny that if this were any other situation… it would be hard to keep my hands off her, much less my eyes.

  The scent of her behind me, getting all over me, is almost too much to bear. She’s had her hands around my waist, and the ends of her hair tickling the base of my neck, and I know she’s softer than anyone I’ve ever touched. She would be so much softer without those clothes on her body.

  But I can’t let myself get distracted by that.

  Minutes pass like hours, and even the occasional rustling of an animal in the distance makes the girl on my back twitch. She’s nervous, and the sound of her breathing is nearly silent yet still somehow almost deafening. Even it sounds like mus
ic to my ears, but what I’m really listening for is the telltale sound of roaring motorcycles and the voices of the men I used to call my comrades.

  Used to.

  That’s going to take some time to adapt to. When I woke up this morning, I still saw myself twenty years from now with guys from this club, assuming I hadn’t taken a belly full of lead by then. But then again, when I got up this morning, I had no way of knowing what Buzz is truly capable of.

  And Roadster.

  Fuck, Roadster.

  I can’t think about that right now. What’s done is done. My own two hands took a life, and now, they have to save one.

  Eventually, I decide that I’ve successfully lost them, at least enough that I can keep moving. And that’s the important part: keep moving until I can find somewhere truly safe. Wyoming is a lot of stretches of long, empty road with not much in between, and that means hiding can be a unique challenge. Fortunately, we bikers have our ways.

  The girl nearly jumps when I start rolling us forward again. Her heart had just started to slow down, but it picks right back up as my engine rumbles and the bike carries us back onto the road, into the pale moonlight.

  That last question is still hanging over the girl behind me, and as I ride past weathered old buildings and bone-dry earth, I realize just how tightly she’s holding on. She’s scared. Terrified. How could she be anything but? A day ago, she was getting kidnapped, and now, she might as well be getting kidnapped again.

  For all she knows, I could be lying to her. I could be just a gang member who decided to take this captive for myself, ride her out into the desert to whatever fate I wanted to inflict on her. Hell, that’s more or less what I’m doing, I just don’t have a way to prove that my intentions aren’t downright villainous.

  I turn my head at the sight of an oddly shaped shadow that turns out to be nothing but a shadowy rock on the side of the highway, but I feel the girl flinch. That makes my heart sink. It’s a flinch that I know all too well, and it makes me feel bad as hell that I’m making someone else react that way.