Wild Abandon

by Ronica Black

  “You know I don’t like people in the kitchen when I’m cooking.” She reached out for a large wooden salad bowl. “You go do whatever it is you need to.”

  Chan obeyed and headed down the hallway. As she passed, the framed photos along the wall reflected the sunlight, reminding her of times past. And of her first love: adrenaline. She paused midstride and smiled as her eyes focused. Picture after picture showed her on a motorcycle. Junior motocross, taking jumps, racing through the desert. All while straddling a high-powered dirt bike.

  Her gaze stopped on the last photo, a uniformed rider performing one of the most dangerous stunt jumps. Her brother, Hank. He was still ranked among the best while she had hung up her motocross boots long ago. Nowadays she got her hit of speed from her Harley.

  With thoughts of the past on her mind, she opened the door connecting to the garage and fumbled for the button on the wall. As light spilled in from the sun, her eyes adjusted and were drawn to the Harley that sat in the corner. She averted her gaze instantly, reminding herself that she couldn’t go riding her cares away today. Meg was there, and Chan had too much work to do later that evening. Work she couldn’t even begin to fathom concentrating on at the moment.

  Needing to fill the void of sexual and mental frustration, she grabbed a bottle of Armor All and a rag and headed out to the driveway to wipe down the tires on her Dodge Durango. It was mindless and physical, just what she needed.

  The warm March sun calmed her, and she was beginning to relax when the distant grumbling of a motorcycle caught her attention. Her body reacted unconsciously, kicking up her heart rate and tightening her throat. Her mind was suddenly stirred from its relaxed state, enabling thoughts of the wind. She could feel it invade, beating steadily against her face and body. She closed her eyes and imagined streaking down the black strip of road, pushing against the force that drummed in her ears. The daydream was as warm and comforting as the sun, threatening to lure her in deeper.

  Her eyes flew open and, determined to push her craving aside, she fumbled with the stereo inside her truck. The Eagles strummed out of the speakers but did little to calm the need that beat within her. That heat grew as the motorcycle grumbled closer. Chan turned and faced the road. She needed to see the shining, powerful machine roaring between the legs of its rider. She needed to hear its strong growl, smell its heady exhaust, imagine the feeling of it, all raw and powerful, vibrating her center, her very core.

  She squinted up the street and caught sight of the bike. Just as her body could wind no tighter with anticipation, her brother, Hank, slowed his new chopper up the paved road to her concrete drive. He eased the loud, shining beast up next to her and gave her his best shit-eating grin as he killed the engine. Hands resting on his long legs, he smiled at her in silence. Chan was nearly breathless as she glanced over the chopper. This was the first she had seen of his new ride, but she didn’t allow her eyes to linger for long, knowing that doing so would be like staring at an eclipse. Dangerous, yet tempting. Instead, she glanced away and swallowed against the vise grip of her throat. Why did he have to bring it over today? She couldn’t give in to it today.

  “Hey, Chan,” he greeted.

  She could tell from his tone as well as his demeanor that he wanted something more than just Sunday supper. Doing her best to act calm and uninterested, she moved to the driver’s door of her Durango and climbed inside.

  “What brings you around?” she asked after turning down the radio.

  Hank swung a leg over his bike to stand. She knew in her gut why he was there, what it was he sought. But she busied herself wiping down the dash, continuing to act aloof, hoping it would somehow shield her from the temptation he presented.

  “Nothing. Can’t I just come see you?” He sounded almost defensive and somewhat offended.

  “Not usually.” Chan leaned over to wipe down her door. She and Hank were very close and usually very bad for one another. They knew how to push each other’s buttons, and when they were…together, they knew no limits. She had the scars and had suffered the numerous broken bones to prove it.

  Hank removed his black bowl of a helmet, exposing his light brown messy spikes. The helmet was something new and Chan couldn’t help but smile. “Where’s Kelly?” she asked, referring to his new, young bride. The reason, no doubt, for his sudden safety concern.

  “At some baby shower.” He grinned, letting on that he knew it wouldn’t take much to get her interested. It never did. Placing his helmet on the bike’s seat, he approached and climbed in the passenger door.

  Chan tossed him the rag and he started wiping down the dash. She contemplated him, her arms folded across her chest. He was bored. That explained his ride on his new machine and his last-minute arrival to dinner. Married life, she assumed, was doing little to calm the raging monster inside him. A monster she herself knew all too well.

  Kelly was a great girl, and while a part of Chan was thankful for her levelheadedness and her love for Hank, she also knew that no matter what Kelly did, Hank would still hunger for what lay beyond that line—the line that most people never neared or even dared thinking of crossing. The line, according to Hank, that would’ve never been drawn if it weren’t meant for crossing.

  Hank finished rubbing down the interior of the truck, returned the rag to Chan, and stood. His green eyes squinted as he removed his shades to wipe some sweat from his cheek.

  “So what are you doing the rest of the day?” He asked lightly, as if her answer wouldn’t really make or break his day, but she knew differently. She knew it mattered. Her heart sped up as she thought of the intentions that were so poorly hidden under the nonchalance of his tone. Frustrated with her insides for reacting, she sighed and locked up the Durango with the remote.

  It was Sunday, the day she usually spent going over files from her office, preparing for the week. It was work she had to do and she knew she should tell him so, just like she had with the woman. But as their eyes met, she knew she was in trouble.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  As the question floated from her mouth, her sensible side cringed. But damn it, he was her brother, and his mere presence sparked her adrenaline flow. Hank meant fun. Hank meant adventure. Hank meant throwing everything to the wind. And she loved that about him. Of course, she also hated that about him. Especially on days like today, when she should be inside, tinkering around the house, getting ready for Monday.

  Hank eased his shades back on with cool poise. “I was thinking about taking the bike out for a ride.” He grinned again, and his eyebrows rose just above his sunglasses. “Wanna come?”

  Damn you, Hank.

  She placed her hands on her hips and stared past him to his bike. At once she felt the fire ignite in her belly as she took in his new machine.

  It was a wide-tire softail chopper, vivid black with electric blue and yellow ghost flames flowing across the tank almost as if they were alive. A matching tattoo of blue and orange flames shot up her brother’s forearms from his wrists. She strolled over to the bike and ran her fingertips across the beautiful paint job, stroking it as if it were alive and purring. Her hungry gaze traveled to the similarly painted custom Jesse James fenders and beyond, where the remainder of the bike was beautifully chromed out and appeared to be made from Harley-Davidson parts.

  Chan licked her lips, already imagining the vibration of the loud engine between her legs. She nearly shuddered as she rested her hands on the polished handlebars. “That’s a nice bike you got there.”

  “Thanks. I thought you might like it.” Hank took a step closer and motioned with his head toward her open garage. “What do ya say? Wanna crank up that bike of yours?” Her eyes drifted to the garage, and Hank lifted his sunglasses, gave her a wink, and walked inside. He caressed her bike, much like she had done to his only moments before. “Yep, she’s just sitting here waiting.”

  The Harley-Davidson FXSTD Softail Deuce was customized by her very own hands. She had invested close to fifty thousand
dollars in the bike, loving every last inch of it. Like Hank’s, her ride was eye catching and tempting, the engine and pipes chromed out and shining, contrasting beautifully with the candy red paint of the tank and fenders.

  Chan allowed herself a long look at the Vance and Hines pipes and the Screaming Eagle Mikini engine. She felt a surge of energy just thinking about the 105 horsepower.

  “I’ll get my boots,” she mumbled, unable to tear her eyes away.

  Hank smiled with victory. “Right on.” He walked to his bike and swung a leg over, his hands tugging on his helmet.

  She hurried inside the house and grabbed her Oakleys off the kitchen counter. Meg was busy smoothing out the top layer of a casserole, readying it for the oven.

  “You going somewhere?” Her hands and eyes remained focused on her task.

  Chan hesitated, nearly breathless with excitement. “Yeah, uh, Hank is here.”

  “Oh?” Meg glanced up. “Was that his motorcycle I heard? He told me he got a new one.”

  “Yes.” Chan’s nerves battled her heart rate, threatening to take over. Meg had never approved of the motorcycle riding, fearing for her grandchildren’s safety, but she’d had no choice when it came to Hank. Chan, on the other hand, had no reason to keep riding, to keep pushing the limit.

  She thought of that now as she struggled for words. “We’re going to go take it out for a quick ride.”

  Her fingers tightened around her sunglasses as she waited for a response. She was thirty-two years old, and yet the worries remained.

  Meg parted her lips but then closed them as she looked back down to her casserole. She slipped on a pair of thick mitts and slid the pan inside the heated oven. “I suppose it’s useless to try and talk you out of it. I had always held out hope that maybe someday you would outgrow it.” She lifted her eyes to hold Chan’s. “Please be careful. And be back by four.”

  Chan nodded and pushed on her shades as she headed out the door, thankful that there hadn’t been a major confrontation.

  “Wear a helmet!” she heard Meg call after her.

  But she ignored the request, feeling too alive to think about anything but speed. The absence of a helmet law allowed her to ride like she wanted. She was almost electric at the thought of the wind in her hair. She lived for speed and the feel of the open road. It was her addiction, her weakness; the only way she felt fulfilled.

  The door to the house closed behind her and Hank asked, “She upset?”

  “You know how she is.” Chan straddled her bike and adjusted the mirrors, observing her reflection as she did so. She still had on her worn, dirty jeans, boots, and black cotton sleeveless shirt. Her brown hair was short but thick, tousled and careless, ready for the wind.

  Hank seemed to think a moment before replying, “She never gives up, does she?”

  “Nope.”

  Chan’s entire body vibrated, including the small silver hoop earrings she wore, as she brought her pride and joy to life. The Harley roared and grumbled deeply, forcing Meg and everything else in Chan’s life far from her mind.

  Hank did the same, their bikes growling as if talking to one another.

  Chan walked the heavy beast out of the garage and up next to her brother. He gave her a grin and took off. She followed quickly, flicking her wrist to awaken the engine, kicking up next to him.

  As they rode loudly down the street, she felt the March sun once again, this time accompanied by the battling current that blew against her as she gained speed. She smiled at the sense of freedom and the thundering power between her legs.

  Hank rode at her side, his helmet shining in the sun. She smiled, loving the exposure of riding without one, the tempting of fate. Meg’s request disappeared into the wind, dissipating behind her.

  They rode on, due east, leaving her neighborhood far behind, heading toward the mountains that edged Phoenix. She relaxed, as if she and the machine were welded into one. They turned onto the expressway, the one that would loop them around from the west valley to the east. They had no idea where they were headed, and they didn’t care.

  Merging onto the highway, the pair quickly sped up and eased their way over to the far left lane. The wind became a wall, blowing hard against her face and chest, testing Chan’s strength. She clenched the bike harder and accelerated again, following Hank as he weaved in and out of traffic, leaving all the other vehicles behind. She rode like a demon, expertly leaning and accelerating, delicately stroking the road.

  She pulled up next to Hank once again and grinned over at him, feeling so good she was nearly bursting with light from within. They were immortal, sleek, and strong, just like the wind. Nothing could touch them as they rode on the devil’s wing.

  He smiled back and sped up. She pressed on too and glanced down at the speedometer. They were pushing eighty-four.

  Crazy. Careless. Confluent.

  It had been like this since they were kids. She knew it was mostly because they had never properly grieved for their parents. The tremendous loss they felt was channeled into other, more daring outlets. They followed one another into the unknown, beyond their comfort zone, beyond any limit, imaginary or real. Climbing and jumping from trees had soon graduated to racing and jumping their bicycles, which then led to racing dirt bikes. And even though Chan had hung up her racing boots long ago, the love for speed still beat strong within her, like a starving animal that came out of its cave to feed every time it heard the engine of a bike.

  Today, the animal had emerged once more.

  Chapter Two

  The drone of the engine and the roar of wind were so loud, Chan almost didn’t hear the shrill wail directly behind her, shrieking through the force field that was the wind.

  She jerked as it penetrated not only her ears, but her consciousness as well. Even then she couldn’t make sense of it. The siren was angry, screaming at them from behind.

  Hank turned to look, his face as startled as her own.

  They switched on their signals, slowed, and pulled off the pavement, turning up dust on the shoulder. Chan didn’t notice how fast her heart was beating until she flicked off her engine, and then she was nearly overwhelmed.

  She licked her dry lips, trying to decide if it was all adrenaline or maybe a little anxiety at what lay ahead. The absence of the wind left her ears feeling hollow, and the zooming traffic sounded strange and muffled. Her body still hummed with the vibration of the bike and road, her blood racing as if it too were an engine.

  She glanced around her in awe. Everything was happening so quickly, for a moment she wondered if it was all real. Before she found her answer, a powerful voice came from behind.

  “License, registration, and proof of insurance.”

  There was no “please,” no friendliness in the tone. Hank shook his head, letting Chan know just how fucked they were.

  She blindly found the back pocket of her jeans, where something soft kissed her fingers. Completely confused, she pulled out the rag she had used to wipe down the Durango. She had been in such a hurry, she had forgotten to leave it in the garage.

  “Step off your bikes, gentlemen,” the voice instructed.

  Chan flinched, and eased slowly from the bike, shoving the rag down deep into her pocket and extracting her wallet. She was lucky she even had it. What had she been thinking, taking off that fast at the last minute? She looked to her brother and silently knew the answer.

  Hank came to stand next to her. His serious eyes met her own as he removed his helmet and shades.

  Turning fully to face the voice, Chan flipped through her wallet and pulled the documents to hand to the officer. Her face flushed with red heat, as the “gentlemen” comment replayed in her head. Now that she was facing front, maybe the jerk would see her very obvious size Cs.

  To Chan’s surprise, the officer was nearly on top of her, stepping up quickly to take the information. Chan’s eyes focused first on the waist, where a thick black belt held a gun and pepper spray. And as the officer spoke again, Chan’
s gaze flew upward, lingered on the full breasts and strong shoulders, and then traveled up to the chiseled face, partially shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat. A lump in her throat formed and then burned as the officer raised her head to examine her.

  “Sorry, Miss…” Her steel blue eyes looked down, focusing on Chan’s driver’s license. “Brogan.”

  Chan swallowed against the ball of fire as she took in the strong, perfect features of the cop.

  Jesus.

  She found herself sucking in more air as she stood straighter, unconsciously trying to look her best next to the woman’s six-foot frame. She heard Hank clear his throat nervously beside her as he handed the officer his information. Chan watched the defined muscles in the woman’s forearms ripple beneath her tanned skin. Her fingers were long and strong, her hands sleek but powerful. The burning continued in Chan’s throat as the officer walked away, allowing an ample view of her long legs and tight, full ass.

  The officer climbed inside the open door of her cruiser and Chan let out the breath of air she had been holding. “Holy shit,” she breathed, wondering if her brother was as moved as she was.

  “Yeah, no kidding. We are so fucked.” He kicked the ground, apparently missing her real meaning.

  “No, I mean her.” She indicated the Department of Public Safety cruiser that sat several yards from where they stood, its lights still flashing.

  “What?”

  “Her…the cop,” Chan said softly, almost to herself. “She’s unbelievable.” Excitement coursed through her veins. The woman was goddamned gorgeous. Chan had never seen anything like her. Every other woman she had ever laid eyes on vanished from her mind, including the one she had been with only hours before.

  Hank folded his arms angrily over his chest. “You’re serious?”

  “Hell yes, I’m serious.”

  Couldn’t he see it? Did he have no idea how a woman who looked like that could excite her? And in uniform, to boot? Granted, she usually liked her women a little wild, like herself. But there was something about this one, something about her confidence, stoicism, and control. She was tall, strong, and self-assured. Vastly different from the lovers Chan usually bedded.