“I've never—”
“It's easy,” says Wild Child. “Hold on to Hero, lean when he leans and try not to think too hard about all that vibrating power between your legs. Or the bike.” He grins like he just said something funny.
“Get on.” Hero throws his leg over the bike. “Just don't think it makes you my old lady. At least not yet.”
“Old lady?” I ask as I climb onto the bike, using his massive form for leverage. Just having to straddle this thing feels a little dirty, but having Hero in there between my thighs as well makes it even more so.
“Like a wife,” says King. The way he's looking me up and down makes me wonder what he's thinking. “You'd be his property, unlike the sluts, who're free game for anyone in the club.”
Property? Hero starts up the bike before I manage to think too hard on it. The bike rumbles between my legs in a way that's positively indecent. I try to position myself so I'm not completely straddling Hero, but he settles into his seat and I'm pressed against the Screaming Eagles logo across his broad back. The heat of him is warm even through the denim. There's no way I can fully reach around him, but I grab fistfuls of his denim cut and pray the stitching's good.
Then we roll out.
19
EMILY
My scream is lost in the roar of engines and the rush of air blowing past me. I cling to Hero like every moment is about to be my last. But we don't fall over or crash or anything, and Hero seems to have perfect control, so little by little I manage to calm myself.
I'm even enjoying it a little, if nervously.
I'm outside. For the first time since I was captured, I'm breathing fresh air, or as fresh as it gets in a convoy of motorcycles in the middle of a city. I'm not free, but I'm starting to understand a little of what attracts the guys to riding like this. A car seems so sterile in comparison.
The sun is bright and there's hardly a cloud in the sky. It's hot out, but on the back of the bike, I don’t notice. The club has formed up in a kind of upside down V formation, with Eagle-eye at the lead and the rest spread out behind to fill the full width of the street. People are coming out of their houses to watch us roll by, and kids are running down the sidewalks and cheering until we're past. It's obvious the club is popular in the neighborhood.
“You okay back there?” yells Hero, even his deep rumble almost torn away by the wind.
“Yeah,” I yell back while making sure my grip is still good. And just getting better. As I adjust to the feel of the rumbling machine between my legs, the wind in my hair and the comfort of Hero's large shape to cling to, I feel like I could do this forever. When I'm returned to Dad, I'll never have this opportunity again, I'm sure of it, so I'm going to enjoy it for what it's worth.
The caravan weaves its way through the streets of South Side. These neighborhoods are so different from the gated estates at home. There, every estate is like an island on its own, while here there are so many living together. I couldn't tell you who the people who live up and down the street from us are, but here there's a community, even if the houses and apartment buildings look way shabbier and worn down than the constantly renovated properties I grew up with. I'm seeing it from the outside, and I'm sure I'm naively romanticizing the lives of people who'll never have the opportunities I've had, even with Dad being how he is, but seeing people out and kids stopping their basketball game to watch us ride by and families out in a park we circle, I can't help be a little envious.
Then the compound shows up ahead of us, and I know the ride's about to end. The victory lap has been ridden, and the members are eager to get back and get to the drinking, partying and presumably fucking part of the celebration.
Wild Child's words come back to me, suggesting I take them both on. And I remember how King was looking at me when Wild Child suggested it. Maybe I'm not quite ready to go back yet. It's a little too big for me to contemplate.
So I yell to Hero, “Can we do another lap!”
I can't see his face to judge his reaction, but he signals to Wild Child and King, and then we peel away from the pack to ride off on our own. Wild Child gives a thumbs up while King nods before we turn down a side street. Without the whole club with us, we take a different path, veering through back streets and cutting through a park with some tagged-down sculptures in the middle of it. I can't even make out what it was supposed to be before we're past.