Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Ride safe, brother,” Preacher says with a nod.
Devil laughs. “It’ll be fine. See ya in a few hours.”
They fire up their bikes at the same time and I make sure my grip is secure. Preacher's bike has a bassier sound than Crash's, a thrum that travels right up through my core like a gentle, never-ending earthquake. I never thought I’d have enough experience with bikes to be able to tell them apart by their rumbles.
Just like his bike, Preacher feels different from Crash. He’s broader around, but holding him is just as warm and comforting. All three men are so different. Devil is easy going and quick to joke. Crash has an impulsive, passionate streak a mile wide. And Preacher? He feels solid. Like the glue that holds them together, but I saw at the house that he’s every bit as dangerous and deadly.
It seems insane to me that I can even think about getting tired in the middle of the race from the police, but my eyes grow heavy as we cruise the highway, an endless panorama of guardrails and starlight. Dark shadows line both sides of the road as forest hems it in. It's been a while and I haven’t heard a helicopter or sirens. Does it mean that we got away?
Please let Devil and Crash be safe.
Two hours later, I’m barely awake. Preacher must feel my arms relaxing, because he squeezes my hand hard enough to make me yelp. He takes the next exit. It’s not so much a town as one of those nexus points with two gas stations, three fast food joints and a little fifteen-room motel. Preacher takes us around to the back and parks.
“We're stopping?”
“Yeah, angel. You’re about to fall off and you’re not used to riding this long. I could use the rest, too. You have to get off first.” He tips his head backwards in direction.
“Oh, right.” Once I'm standing on my own two feet, I realize he’s right. My legs are shaking and everything between my legs is sore, though if that’s from the bike or Crash, I’m not sure. Either way, I lean against a light pole to keep from falling.
Preacher swings his long leg over the back of the bike. “Come on. Stick close and act like you want to give me the same treatment you gave Crash earlier.”
“What?” I squeak.
He laughs. “Places like this charge by the hour for a certain clientele.”
Oh God. “Do I have to?”
“Is it that hard to imagine?”
“Huh? No! It’s not that.” My wind chapped cheeks can’t get any pinker which is probably for the best. “I… You’re very attractive.”
Preacher laughs long and hard. “You think I'm hot shit, huh?”
“I didn't say that!”
“You didn't have to.” He winks and takes my hand. “Come on.”
18
SUMMER
The motel office is small and dark, lit only by a neon sign outside that flickers and buzzes. I cling to his side but don't have to do much acting. The clerk is a thin, tired looking woman who barely glances at us. “How long?”
“Overnight.” Preacher's arm is slung over my shoulder and his hand causally strokes my breast.
She slides a key across the counter without looking up from her magazine. “Room 108. Be out by ten. You want a goodie bag?”
“Sure.”
She tosses a plain brown paper bag onto the counter. “That'll be $75.”
Preacher pulls out his wallet and slaps down a hundred. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks. Have fun, kids.” She grabs the money and stuffs it into her bra before returning to her magazine.
“This way.” Preacher leads me to the room, unlocking it with a click of a key. The room smells like stale cigarette smoke and old beer. There's one bed, a table with a chair, and a bathroom with a sink and toilet. The air conditioner rattles and hums loudly, but right now? It feels like paradise.
“What's a goodie bag?”
He grins. “Look and see.”
Curiously, I dump it out on the bed. “Oh! OH!”
There's a handful of different kinds of condoms, hand sanitizer, individual packets of lube, something with a strawberry on it that mentions numbing and edible panties.
He reaches for the panties. “Let's see what flavor you got. Peach, nice.”
“You don't… people don't really eat those. Do they?”
“Not more than once. Stay put. Don’t fucking leave and don’t answer for anyone but me, got it? I have to go get the bike out of sight.”
I nod, still staring at the small pile of sex goodies on the bed.
When he’s gone, I check my phone. It’s dead. Exhaustion starts to kick in again, and I put my head on the pillow. A mistake, because the next thing I know, Preacher is letting himself in. He sets all the locks behind him and pulls off his boots. I watch, too sleepy to hide my curiosity. Apparently bikers only come in size muscled, because he's as ripped as Devil and Crash. Dark tattoos with colored highlights wind their way up and down his arms.