Joyride

by DD Prince

  ***

  We were leaving the studio and he was quiet until we got into the car. When we got into the car, me tossing my Duffle into the back seat, he turned the ignition and put a hand to two and a hand to ten on the wheel. Rider blew out a slow breath and then said,

  “You’re in so much trouble, Missy.”

  I snickered.

  I hadn’t exactly been honest with him. I had one-on-one classes with my instructor, a fifty-year-old dancer who had retired from exotic dancing, but she had a waiting list for her classes, because she was damn good.

  And she told me that I was good enough on that pole to go pro. It helped that I had danced until I was 14 in jazz, tap, ballet, and contemporary, so I had rhythm. I’d been taking her pole-dancing classes for almost two years and I knew I was good.

  I called her a few days ago to renew my once-per-week membership, which was an expensive membership being one-on-one coaching. I knew my future was uncertain, but before all this drama, I loved it and I loved what it did for my body, so decided I’d give something else up to be able to take these classes.

  I ate junk food a few times a week (or 100 garlic bread sticks) and somehow managed to keep svelte thanks to these once a week classes and twice a week classes with Pippa the Yoga and Pilates Sergeant. Pippa wasn’t all sweet and namaste with me. She yelled at me when I wasn’t perfect in pose.

  I’d never had a guy see me do my pole dancing class before, and I knew I’d impressed him.

  “I’d be in more trouble, I’m sure, if I’d let Jesse bring me.”

  “Fuck.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “That’s for damn sure.”

  And then he put an arm around my seat and looked over his shoulder as he backed out of there.

  Two minutes later, we were on a backroad by the town dump, a deserted service road that no one really used.

  “What are we doing back here?” I asked.

  “Get over here.” He turned the car off, unbuckled my seatbelt, and then hit the button to recline his seat.

  I climbed over, still wearing my workout tights.

  “You got something else to put on in your bag?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Bottoms?”

  “Yes….”

  He looked down and grabbed the crotch of them with both hands and shredded them between my legs, exposing my panties.

  I gasped.

  “Rider Valentine!”

  “Give me that mouth,” he demanded and then grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me to his waiting lips.

  “Work my fly undone,” he ordered. “And take your spanking and fucking like a good girl.”

  Holy shit.

  I did it and rubbed all over his piercing.

  “Get me in you.”

  “Mm. You want in me?” I teased, rubbing my thumb over his piercing.”

  He growled in my ear, “Right now, baby.” He slapped my butt.

  I obliged.

  It was fast, and it was furious. And my ass was definitely pink, because he slapped it about five times.

  I whispered in his ear, coming down from my orgasm, “I want you to fuck me on your bike.”

  He raised his eyebrows and yanked on the length of my hair and attacked my throat with his teeth.

  “I wanna ride you, while we ride…” I walked my fingers up his chest to his mouth and ran my index finger along that sexy, pillowy bottom lip.

  His eyes lit with fiery lust. “That’d be dangerous. Operating a dangerous machine … dangerously.” He laughed as he said dangerously and I giggled.

  “I operate dangerous machinery every time I climb onto you,” I told him.

  “Mm. Best get off the dangerous machine, so I can drive us home. Next time we fuck in a car, let it be mine. Not enough room in here.” I laughed and then I climbed between the front seats into the back and got into my Duffle bag to get my yoga pants out.. I switcheroo’d, and was still in the back seat, stuffing the ruined tights into my bag when I heard, “Fuck! Buckle up!”

  “Wh…what?” I heard the sound of motorcycle pipes. He turned the ignition and we rocketed forward.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw four motorcycles behind us, gaining on us.

  Did they follow us?

  “Fuckin’ cunts! Why can’t we be in the goddamn Charger?”

  We were driving fast. I still wasn’t buckled up. I struggled to get the seatbelt fastened, because the motorcycles were trying to catch up to us.

  Rider took a sharp right at the last second on a back road and the tires squealed as he did it, gravel flying everywhere.

  I had one hand pressed against the door and the other clawing the back of the seat in front of me.

  Oh God!

  I was thrown around in the backseat a little, bouncing from one side to the other. We were spinning out and somehow, I miraculously got the middle lap belt done up. Then, there was the sound of screeching, the smell of burning, and glass breaking, metal crunching, as we smashed into a van. My front airbag was out, and Rider was wedged between his seat and the air bag.

  I heard a loud ping noise and then a whole bunch more of them. I ducked and covered my head, staying low.

  I heard a couple more ping noises. We were being shot at! I got the seatbelt off and turtled in the space between the passenger seat and the back seat.

  My God! Rider!

  And then I heard sirens off in the distance. I heard and felt the vibrating roar as motorcycles pulled away. The van that we’d t-boned into backed away and pulled away, too.

  Seconds passed while I was just, I don’t know, blinking? And the sirens were louder. I got up from my crouch and looked into the front seat and there was blood on the air bag. Rider was slumped into it. Unconscious.

  “Rider?” I climbed between the seats.

  He was definitely unconscious. His face was bloody, a cut over his eye.

  “Baby?” I croaked.

  I checked myself. No holes, no blood. The windows were all broken and there was blood on the windshield, blood on the dash, the air bag.

  I choked on emotion.

  I saw the flashing twirling lights through the spider web of my windshield. The cops.

  The fire department and ambulance followed a minute or two later.

  I heard them say he’d been shot. At least twice.

  The front end of my Jetta was smashed in, but they got to him, got him out of there and onto a stretcher.

  Someone talked to me. Someone got me to the back of the ambulance and checked my vitals. But I was just crying and begging Rider not to be dead as they were working on him.

  I was banged up from bouncing around inside the car, a cut over my eye, a bump on the back of my head, but I was otherwise unharmed. Except on the inside. My heart was breaking. They had an oxygen mask on his face. They were leaving with him and me in the ambulance.

  He was bleeding from his arm and from the right side of his chest and he wasn’t waking up amid all they were doing.

  ***

  Ella and Deacon, Spencer, Deke, and my father and Deb were all in the waiting room with me. I didn’t know how they knew to come. Spencer got there first. I hadn’t stopped crying when I was asked questions, so I don’t know how anyone understood me when I told them our names.

  They took him and now I was pacing. I couldn’t sit. I had a bit of tape over my eye in lieu of stitches. An ice pack for the back of my head.

  I was pacing because Rider was in surgery.

  I was pacing, because my heart was not inside my body right now. It was in Rider’s hands. If he didn’t make it, I would not survive. I would not.

  I’d never ever felt like this. I’d never been through anything this frightening, this gut-wrenching. He was just lying there. My strong, vibrant, sparkling-eyed biker was just lying there, bleeding.

  When Spencer got to me first, hugging me while the police fired questions at me, I wasn’t doing well, I wasn’t helping the police because I was falling apart. Spencer made me look into h
is eyes and told me to take deep breaths and calm down. And then he told me that I needed to talk to the police to help them catch the fuckers that did it, so that was when I was able to get coherent sentences out.

  I’d talked to the police and told them about the four or five motorcycles that had been going up and down the street all day long. If someone identified who those four bikers were, and someone had to have seen them from all the busy shops along the street, that’s who the cops could arrest. That’s who either tried to kill us or who helped. That’s who might have succeeded in killing my beautiful biker.

  I wasn’t sure if bullets came from the van, too, but I think they did.

  Please no.

  I spewed out as much detail out as I could, crying in Spencer’s arms the whole time.

  “He flatlined on the way here, in the ambulance, Spencer. His heart stopped beating for a few beats, but they got it going again. If he doesn’t make it, I can’t, I can’t…”

  It absolutely undid me to see them pumping his chest.

  Spencer kept hugging me and rocking me until Deacon, Ella, and Deke arrived next. Ella took over the hugging and rocking then, until I couldn’t handle being hugged anymore.

  By this time, Scooter, Jesse, and Bronto were with us. It was the first time I’d seen Bronto since he’d been shot. Andie and Pippa were there for a bit, but it was really crowded, so they left.

  They all hugged me, but I was numb through the countless hugs and finally pleaded for people to stop hugging me.

  More bikers showed up and Spencer and Deacon stopped them from crowding me. People brought coffee and donuts and pizza and more coffee and I was sick of getting asked if I wanted something so I just kept pacing, not wanting to be hugged or touched anymore.

  After hours and hours of pacing, the doctor came out and asked for Deke, knowing he was Rider’s father.

  Deke stood and put his hand on my shoulder. Ella got to the other side of me, there, in case, in case…

  Deacon and Spencer were behind us. Ella’s Dad behind them.

  “Please, please, please, God, please,” I chanted.

  Ella was crying softly, holding tight to me.

  I heard Deb’s voice hitch. She, too, was crying. She’d come in with Dad and they’d both hugged me before I cut off all the hugging, but I don’t think I was really all there at that point. I just kept pacing for hours and hours, refusing offers of coffee and food and whatever the eff.

  The doctor started to speak, and the place was so quiet you’d hear a pin drop.

  “Mr. Valentine, your son made it through surgery. The two bullets are out. We almost lost him twice during surgery. His heart stopped beating, but we got him back.”

  My knees were Jell-O and they wobbled. Deke supported me by putting his arm around me. Deacon moved in behind Ella and put an arm around each of our waists.

  “Tonight is critical. We have to just wait it out. It’ll probably be a long night. You’re welcome to visit with him for just a minute, but only one at a time. If he makes it through tonight, we can be cautiously optimistic.”

  I pulled away from the teary-eyed Ella and then I was following the doctor, Deke behind me. I glanced back and saw Deacon holding Ella, looking so angry. Ella’s hand was on his jaw. She was trying to comfort him.

  Spencer had his forehead and his palms against the wall.

  Deke and me went in together, completely disregarding what the doctor had said.

  Rider was connected to all sorts of machines, a breathing thing in his mouth. His chest and shoulder were bandaged.

  I leaned over and kissed his forehead.

  Deke leaned over and did the same.

  “Don’t you leave me,” I demanded.

  Rider didn’t answer me.

  “Don’t you dare, dare leave me, Rider Valentine. You’re in. You finally got inside my Kevlar and I need you to stay there.”

  I could hear his machines. I could see all these numbers and graphs on the screens that told me he was still alive. I felt like I was falling apart, though. If he didn’t make it?

  I started to lose it.

  “He fought his way back three times, Jenna. Three times they’ve got his heart going again. He’s not givin’ up. Don’t you give up, Ride,” Deke ordered. “Don’t fuckin’ stop fightin’. You got a girl here waitin’ for ya. We don’t let those fuckers win, son. They do not get to win.”

  I sobbed some more and sat in a chair beside his bed and put my hand on his. I kissed his knuckles and then I carefully put my head to the left side of his chest, cautious not to disturb any wires. I could feel it, sort of.

  “I don't wanna hear these machines. I wanna hear his heart,” I told Deke.

  “Jenna, darlin’... these machines here tell you his heart is beating.” His voice was gruff.

  “But I wanna hear his heart properly. I know it sounds stupid, but... when I’m upset or freaking out, he always calms me down by getting me to listen to his heart,” I told Deke. “These machines are too loud.”

  He gave me a nod and left the room.

  “Please don’t leave me, Rider. I love you so much. I’m just getting my taste of that rainbow. We’re supposed to joyride through life. Winding roads. Babies. Sex games. Angry sex. Riding the banister. I want all of that with you. Even the bad days. I’ll take a thousand bad days to have just a few good ones with you. You come back to me, okay? I’ll stop pushing you away. I promise.”

  Deke was back with a stethoscope. I didn’t know where he got it, but I gave him an appreciative smile and put it on and put it to Rider’s chest and closed my eyes to listen. I moved the circle thing around until I found it loudest. I listened to the steady beat of his heart and tears just kept rolling down my cheeks, but I knew, I knew he’d come back to me.

  They wanted me to go, but I wouldn’t. I stayed in my little chair beside his bed and stayed out of their way. Deacon came in. Ella came in. Spencer came in. That was it. They took turns trying to get me to eat or drink, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I heard them in the hallway talking and saying they’d called Jojo and told her. And then they kept talking about shit with the cops, about something about Gordino. I asked them to please go talk somewhere else and let me listen to his heart with my stethoscope in peace. My eyes closed, holding his hand. They left.

  I guess I finally fell asleep, but woke up feeling my hand getting squeezed.

  He was squeezing my hand. I straightened.

  “Rider?”

  He opened his eyes just a little and squeezed my hand again.

  I pushed the button for the nurses, who were probably already on their way as they were watching his machines from some other desk, too. They started taking his vitals and asked me to step out in the hall.

  I did, but stayed in the doorway so I wasn’t out of his sight.

  His breathing tube got pulled out and I was invited to come back. I gave him some ice chips, and then he squeezed my hand and pointed to the stethoscope around my neck with a confused look on his face.

  “Oh, I wanted to play hot dirty doctor with you. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” I whispered this.

  The nurse who was there smirked.

  “Could you go tell his dad he’s awake? I don’t wanna leave him.”

  She smiled and left us, saying, “Yes. The doctor’s gonna come, too, so pause the doctor game.”

  She winked. I smiled at her and looked to Rider. “I was listening to your heart. It was settling me down. I was so scared.”

  “C’mere,” he whispered, his voice all scratchy.

  He reached for the stethoscope and I leaned forward. He put the circle on my chest kind of fumbly, he was definitely doped up, but I caught his drift. I lifted it up off my neck and put the circle to my chest and then put the ear pieces in his ears. I moved in and he drowsily reached forward and adjusted it until he found the right spot and then he listened to my heart, closing his eyes and smiling.

  God, I loved him so much.

  I closed my eyes a
nd said a prayer of thanks.

  ***

  A Week and a Half Later

  Debbie took care of the salon until a few days after Rider was home from the hospital. She and I didn’t talk, but Dad had asked if I wanted her to take care of it and I’d gratefully nodded.

  When she had been at the hospital and hugged me, then backed away and stood there with my father, I hadn’t even registered at the time how right they looked together. I was too busy falling apart and praying that the man I loved wouldn’t die.

  Deb was dark-haired, like me, like Mom. She was shorter, petite, pretty, and bubbly. And she fit on my father’s arm like she belonged there. He looked worried, for me, but he looked happy with her.

  My dad told me, at the hospital, that he’d told my mother what’d happened, that we were in a car accident, that we’d been shot at. That I hadn’t been hit, but that Rider had been shot twice and nearly died.

  Mom didn’t text or call, and she certainly didn’t come.

  I didn’t care. I didn’t need her. I had a family. A big, huge, beautiful noisy obnoxious loving family who were driving me crazy trying to take care of me, do things for me. People who accepted me as I am.

  The crowd of bikers at the hospital had been seen in more than one pow wow. I knew they were planning their retribution. And I wanted to get in line with them, learn to shoot. Annihilate those bastards who had raped and killed Jet, who’d killed Lick, who’d sodomized Scooter, who’d tried to hurt Ella, and who’d almost taken Rider from me.

  Rider was in the hospital for several days. Me at his side other than to sleep and shower (though I slept at the hospital that first night) and then we were home for a few days when I got the call from the real estate agent.

  My business had sold.

  Already.

  ***

  It had gone into a minor bidding war between two buyers who must’ve seen it while Rider was in the hospital. No one had called me to say they were looking at it.

  The winning bidder wanted to take possession within two weeks. The bidder wanted to meet with the current manager in two days. And that would be me.

  I wasn’t happy. To put it mildly. I knew this was coming, but couldn’t believe my mother hadn’t put it on hold with me almost losing Rider.