He gunned the engine of his bike, and the sound out-roared his angst. He was longing for a woman he couldn’t have and worried about bringing home the prize money, but he didn’t have any doubts about the road. The road was his.
He wheeled out to the start line, took up his position next to Scarface, who smirked at him smugly before flipping down the visor of his helmet. Micah smiled, his expression hidden. He gripped the handlebars and let his body relax, getting tunnel vision as he stared down the road. At the pop of the gun to signal the start, the engines of all five bikes that were in the race sent up a cacophony of growls, tires squealing as they shot forward.
The landscape transformed to a blur, but with his adrenaline in high gear, Micah could see everything—from the vulture circling overhead to the expressions of the manic onlookers screaming encouragement to the riders. He ripped a mile down the asphalt, leaving the jeering crowd behind. It was between him and his opponents, and Micah inhaled the exhaust from the bikes, as he nosed ahead victoriously. The road was a straight shot, but there were pitfalls to avoid, like the damaged asphalt and oil slicks from prior races.
There was no way that many bikes could stay side by side on the narrow strip, and that added danger as well as charm to the race. As predicted, Scarface McGill jarred a guy on his opposite side, sending bike and rider swerving off the road in a dusty tumble. Micah frowned fiercely, forcing his bike to go faster, out of Scarface’s range.
The wind ripped at his body, and the heat was partially eliminated, but not entirely. He felt like he was driving through the bowels of hell. It was terrifying, but electrifying, to move so fast that the world seemed to move in slow motion around him. Each throb of his heart pumped like a piston in his chest with spikes of excitement racing through his veins faster than the speed of living.
Micah felt himself get into the flow of the race, and he didn’t have to think about his next move. He was neck and neck with Dorin, the chick from Asphalt Angels. They were tied for first. The finish line shimmered ahead of them in a heat haze.
Micah knew he could do it. He just had to push forward.
Suddenly, from behind him came a familiar war whoop and the sound of Scarface’s Yamaha. There was something like premonition that came with years of riding and racing, and Micah could almost sense what his nemesis would do next. Micah rapidly downshifted and pumped his brakes, forcing Scarface to bypass him. The bald biker whipped his head around to see Micah just as quickly accelerate and zip around him, the planned clash gone awry.
Scarface jerked his wheel to the right to try to jam into the Micah, but it was too late. Dorin, in her attempt to see what was going on just behind her, had slowed. Micah took the hit from Scarface, but it succeeded in pushing him over the finish line. As the bike slid across the hot asphalt at a forty-five degree angle, Micah’s pulse sprinted with dread, knowing his left leg was about to be mincemeat.
He wrestled the bike with precision and skill he hadn’t known he possessed, coasting until the angle widened and he was able to maneuver the bike back upright. It was only then that he realized that the crowd was yelling triumphantly, yelling for him.
***
“There are worse things than being single,” said Quinn with a lecherous grin. “You could be shackled to a wife you can’t stand. Come on, man. Perk up. We’re celebrating!”
Pinwheel handed Micah a beer, French swear words floating off her tongue like a ribbon of silk. “Besides, you’ve always got me, lover boy. That girl was taking up too much of your time and energy anyway.”
“To races won and more to come.” Dante, the Southern Wonder, sat down at the table with a satisfied grunt, muscling the others on the bench out of the way. He held up his beer, and the crew clinked glasses. They had just made it back in town from the desert race, and they were in high spirits. Money in each of their pockets meant the night was sure to become a drunken good time.
But, Micah wasn’t enjoying himself. He was putting on a show. He knew his best friends were right. He should be celebrating; yet, he didn’t feel particularly celebratory. He felt like he was missing out. Like he wasn’t where he needed to be. He toasted with the others and sank into his thoughts as he sipped the brew.
“You want to talk about it?” Q asked. The table had cleared out, and it was just the two of them. Micah shrugged.
“Really not much to talk about. We had a thing going. I thought it was good. I guess I wasn’t. It’s about her folks, you know. Culture clash.”
“It’s like that sometimes,” Q admitted. “I told you early on leave her alone. This might be a case of the universe stepping in where common sense didn’t.”
“How do you figure?” Micah bristled.
Quinn shrugged and smacked his lips after taking a long gulp of warm beer. He patted Micah on the back, knowing he could be candid with the guy who had grown up in the same trailer park as him, both of them raised by single moms, both of them making it out and making something of themselves one way or another. Quinn crossed his arms and studied his longtime bud. It was time for some hard truths.
“Guys like us, Micah, we don’t have room for sweet little innocent lovers, long as we’re doing this kind of stuff. Think of the shit we get into man. How do you think Zoya would’ve felt about you entering that race today? Okay, we ain’t out there running drugs or smuggling hot shit, but we got our share of business dealings that ain’t exactly on the up and up—if you take into account the racing. The way I see it, she did you a favor. You didn’t have to break her heart, and you didn’t have to keep her around and make her worry about what day you’re gonna come home in a body bag.”
“You make it sound like a guarantee.”
“Damn sure might as well be. We’re gettin’ old for this shit, man. I mean, it was a blast in our early twenties, but it’s about that time you either settle down with a normal, Regular Joe life or you marry the road. Some folks are made for this lifestyle, bro. I can tell you I’m starting to feel it ain’t in me.”
“What are you talking about, man? Don’t tell me you’re abandoning me, too.” Micah shook his head and shoved his empty bottle across the table in frustration. “Let me ask you something. What kind of life is getting up, going to work, and coming home to the same predictable shit every day, huh? Biking is the only way I feel alive.”
“Hmph. You ain’t looking too lively ever since your girl left you—in my opinion.” Quinn looked at him pointedly. “Look, all I’m saying is, if it’s racing and riding bikes that you love, then you gotta put that other shit out of the picture. You’re into a lifestyle that she can’t be a part of, and I guess she’s got a lifestyle that you can’t be a part of. It’s even-steven. Let that shit ride and come on out on this dance floor while you still got me on the team to show you some pointers on how to dance.”
Quinn chuckled and waved him out of the booth of The Punchline. For a handful of hours into the endless night, Micah felt more at peace, but when he finally made his way home hours later and threw his exhausted body into a hot bath, he was alone with his thoughts with nobody there to talk him down off the ledge. He rested his head on the lip of the tub and contemplated whether or not he should call her. She hadn’t called him, and she hadn’t answered any of the hundred calls he’d already placed. It had been three days since he had last seen Zoya. She had come to his bed one last time and disappeared before the sun rose, but the memory replayed in his mind like a special type of torture.
The way she had held him… Her mouth on his had been velvet desperation slick with tears. He had tasted her sorrow as she willingly undressed before his eyes, but he hadn’t understood why she was crying. At the time he hadn’t known what had transpired in the lapse of time from her older brother catching them kissing outside under a streetlamp and her calling him to come pick her up from her home after Miad left. He had only known she wanted to be with him with a fire that had been missing during their first weekend together. The first had been about exploration. The last, he was realizi
ng, had been about goodbye.
She was a sad song stuck in his head. The last time, she had stripped naked as soon as she had walked into the house, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and ripped it over his shoulders and head. Her mouth had gone immediately to his small, dark nipples nestled in chest hair, and she had kissed him all the way down his torso. She hadn’t hesitated. She had eagerly dropped to her knees and unfastened his pants.
With lips untested, she had placed her mouth to his swollen member and flicked her silken tongue down his length. Growing bolder by the second, she had taken him into her mouth, as Micah stared down at her with shocked pleasure. The way she’d felt! Micah had had his share of women before, but none like Zoya. It was her innocence that heightened the experience. Her dainty hands fluttered over his shaft, her tongue inquisitive, her lips seeking the appropriate pressure—all of it had blown his nearly jaded mind.
He’d tangled his hands in her thick brown hair and felt it ripple through his palms like a river as he released her, grabbing her by the shoulders and dragging her up to his lips for a kiss that branded her as his . He had moved her over to the sofa to lay her down and return the favor. His mouth had devoured her while his soul fed her ecstasy, feeling her thighs clench around his face and her fingers tug at his hair.
He had suckled her sensitive clitoris until she had begged for him to give her what she needed. Then, he had mounted her perfect, lithe body and poured his lust into each stroke and caress. In and out with heightening frenzy, their mating had been a hurried affair. Had he known it would be the last time, he might have lingered.
Yet, he had pleased her and taken her upstairs. There he bathed her and put her to bed. It was almost like a dream—until she broke all contact. Now, it was a nightmare.
Micah pushed his weary body up out of the lukewarm bathwater, realizing it was near dawn, and he trudged to his bedroom to pretend like he didn’t still smell her on his sheets. He fell asleep dreaming of her, knowing he would wake up and she would still no longer be a part of his life.
CHAPTER 10 “Zoya, I made up in my mind a long time ago that whatever you decided about Micah, I would support you. Now, I’m trying my best to wrap my mind around this whole process of you breaking up with him just because Miad said so, but I’m having a hard time. Do you realize how hypocritical your brother is being? He’s a drunk, Zoya! He’s holding you to a higher standard because you’re a woman, and that’s not fair.”
“It’s not about fairness, Callie,” Zoya sighed and pulled her hijab over her head, readying herself for class. “And, just because my brother has fallen by the wayside doesn’t mean I have to do the same thing. To you, it might look like I’m just following orders, but I’ve thought this out, Callie. What my brother said was right. I have an obligation to my family… and a responsibility to myself to make better choices.”
It was Monday morning, a new week and a new start. It was amazing how after everything that had happened, not much had changed in her world. Zoya frowned at her reflection. Behind her, the living room she shared with her best friend was exactly the same. The sun was shining outside. The world hadn’t ended. It was only her heart that felt like it was limping along, trying to remember how to beat properly around the hollow spot where her relationship with Micah had made her feel whole.
She pushed aside the weakness and focused on getting herself together. Callie paced, a restless shadow in the background. It was almost like her best friend was taking the situation even harder.
“Tell me what’s wrong with you caring about Micah. You’re not exactly running around with every Tom, Dick, and Harry, Zoya. You like a guy for fuck’s sake! From everything you’ve told me about him, you have good reason to like him, too. He seems like a kind, hard-working, open-hearted, and open-minded man. Your parents couldn’t ask for better.”
“He’s not Muslim.”
“He might convert. Don’t look at me like that. He might! Okay, even if he doesn’t, you could choose to be with the man you love or live a lie, which is still—correct me if I’m wrong—a sin!”
“Argh! Enough about this, Callie! I just want to get on with my life, okay? I respect your concern, but you don’t have to worry about me. It’s like you don’t want my parents to control me, but you want me to listen to you and make my decisions based off of what you’re trying to tell me to do. Why won’t any of you understand? It’s hard enough without everybody’s well-intentioned advice!”
Callie winced from the unexpected outburst, taking a step back with her hands on her hips. Zoya realized she had been shouting. She sighed helplessly and shook her head regretfully. “Callie, people break-up every day, and they survive. I’ll be fine.”
The platinum blond with the multi-colored dreadlocks rolled her eyes, crossing her slender arms over her meager chest. She plopped down on the sofa, giving up the argument, and watched her beautiful best friend apply liner to her eyes and a touch of lip gloss before grabbing her backpack and heading to the door. “All I’m saying is make sure you’re doing this because you want to and not because Miad or anyone else is making you,” she called after her.
Zoya walked out the door and ambled to her car, shaking her head. She was trying to banish thoughts about the week prior entirely, but Callie wasn’t letting it rest. “Make sure I’m doing this because I want to,” she muttered. “You can’t always do what you want, Callie.” She climbed into her car and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, as she took a deep breath to steady herself and cranked up the engine. Zoya hadn’t spoken with Micah in days. As much as it tore at her spirit to be away from him, it was the right thing to do. There was no point in holding onto something that just couldn’t be.
The sex had been…amazing. She wouldn’t undo that, even if she could. But, she never should’ve allowed herself to get so invested and involved with Micah in the first place. They were from different worlds, not just culturally. He was a biker. She was a graduate student. Admittedly, he was also a mechanical engineer, but ultimately he wasn’t the guy for her.
She eased into Monday morning traffic and inched her way onto campus, marching into class just a few minutes late. But, for all her sensible speeches to Callie, Zoya’s mind was in turmoil. She found it hard to concentrate on her studies and impossible not to think of Micah. In a lot of ways, Callie was right. He was perfect for her. The question was, how to convince her parents?
There was no answer because she had already given Miad her word she’d stay away from Micah. Head bowed over her textbook, she ignored the buzzing of her cellphone. She reached into her backpack and discreetly silenced the phone. She knew who was calling: Micah. And, she couldn’t talk to him. It wasn’t allowed.
She went through her classes with a frazzled mind, not able to focus on anything of importance. In fact, she was so out of sorts that she decided to skip her last class of the day. By the time she got home, Zoya was on autopilot. There was no way she’d be able to interact with Callie without her best friend picking up on her bad mood. Callie knew her like a sister. So, Zoya closeted herself in her room and made time to pray. She needed spiritual guidance.
Alone in her room, there was no judgment and no confusion in the communion between her being and her Creator. She collapsed onto the carpeted floor in complete submission and humility, opening her heart for healing and understanding. Though she recited words from rote memory, there was more to her prayer than mere words, and when she was done praying, she felt renewed. She felt at peace. Zoya stretched out on her bed. She had no ready answers to her dilemma, but she knew in time the signs would come.
***
The days slipped quietly onward with the same monotony as life pre-Micah. With no one to rush home and talk on the phone with through the week, Zoya had plenty of time to finish and edit her thesis, do her assignments, and improve her grades. She spent Fridays at mosque more diligently than ever before, and she reluctantly spent Saturdays with her family. However, the situation at her parents’ house was st
rained.
It was hard to imagine she had been without Micah for half a month. The worst of the energy sapping, mind-numbing blues had passed; however, there was a lingering malaise to missing the person she wasn’t allowed to have, and it didn’t seem prepared to let up. The pros to the passage of time was that her best friend had finally stopped using every opportunity to discuss how Zoya should still be with Micah, and Micah had finally stopped calling her phone.
The con was that no matter how much time passed, Miad’s suspicions seemed stubbornly unmovable.
“Is he still drinking?” Callie asked.
Zoya, curled on the couch, glanced from the television down to Callie, who was working on an assignment on the floor at her feet. “He tries to hide it from me, but I can tell. He wears too much cologne and looks unkempt. He stays in his bedroom in the basement, and he tells Maman and Baba he’s stressed from trying to find a job, but I know better. He’s getting worse.”
BIKER DADDY_The Chain Gang MC Page 25