Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 128097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
God, there are so many people and cars and bikes and trucks. All of them are parked haphazardly, with no system at all.
I stop the car at the edge of the field and take in the scene before me.
The people are shouting and dancing and writhing. But mostly, they are gathered around something deep but huge.
A hole in the ground.
Only this isn’t a hole, it’s more like a canyon and Jesus Fucking Christ, a bike is racing toward it right now.
I grip the wheel tightly as I hear the roar of that unknown bike, louder than the ruckus of the people. It’s hurtling right toward it, gaining speed until the ground is no more, and then it arcs over the gap. I swear for a second no one speaks, no one makes a sound and it’s all dead-silent.
Oh my God, he’s going to die.
But the bike somehow manages to lunge across and stomp back onto the ground. But I guess it’s not a smooth landing because the guy slips and loses control of the death machine he’s been sitting on.
He gets thrown off and the bike skids away from him.
I know I should be more concerned about the guy who was riding it. But he has a circle of people gathered around him and I have a bigger problem.
A bigger, badder problem. Namely, Zach.
While I watched that unknown biker trying to kill himself, I completely lost track of him. Every cell in my body is telling me that Zach’s going to do it. He’s going to jump across the hole in the ground.
I would’ve laughed if I could at the irony of it all. He fell into a hole when he was a kid, so now he spends his nights lunging over one. With his fucking bike.
I leave my car where it is and stumble out. I don’t even have the time to shut the door before I go straight down. I fall on my knees, busting them over the dry hot gravel. The heels of my palms skid and the skin scrapes.
“Oh fuck!”
They’re bleeding slightly and I feel so weak. I don’t think I have the strength to even sit, let alone get up.
But I have to.
I’ve come this far. I can’t turn back now.
I’m going to kill him after I save him. He better watch out.
Somehow, I drag myself up and shut the door of my car. I take a few deep breaths that do very little to settle my stomach, but at least I can walk.
I cross to where the people are gathered, all the while looking for Zach. Most of them are drunk or high or are getting drunk or high. Half of them look like bikers and all of them look like criminals to me.
Hey, I’m not judging. I’m just extremely scared as to what this place is and how is it that it’s not crawling with cops. None of this looks even remotely safe or even legal.
But then, I don’t have the time to ponder over the legal repercussions because I hear another bike revving and cheers have definitely made me deaf this time.
It’s not Zach, the guy on the bike, and I’m both relieved and disappointed. Where the fuck is he?
From this close, I can see the wheels of the bike churning the gravel. I can even smell the gas, the leather, the freaking sweat.
This biker does the same thing as the last one. Charges to the canyon, and when I think he’s going to fall off and break his stupid neck, he launches into the air, makes the huge lunge and lands on the other side.
Again, the landing isn’t smooth. In fact, it’s worse than the other guy’s. People gasp and holler when he curls into himself and grabs his foot while his bike careens away from him.
Okay, enough.
I have to find Zach.
And I do. As soon as I turn, I see him.
He’s on his bike, revving it, and he’s in the woods, straight across from where he needs to make the jump.
Under the moonlight, I can see that he’s staring at the canyon with a single-minded focus. His black-as-night eyes are pinned to it as my eyes are pinned to him. To his frozen, rigid frame. He’s straddling his bike, but somehow, I’ve never found him taller or broader than at this moment.
And then, he puts the helmet on before doing the turn-thingy with the hand-grip, throttling the bike and hurtling toward the hole.
The drunken crowd parts and I try to get closer to him. I cut my way through the people, jostle them, bump into them to get close to the edge.
“Zach!” I call out his name but he simply passes me by, blowing up the strands of hair in my face.
I stand there panting as I watch him zooming close to the canyon, and when he arcs the bike in the air, I shove a fist in my mouth to stop screaming.