Looking at Spill, at his concerned gaze, at his gun, I suddenly had second thoughts. This whole thing was crazy.
But I didn’t want to be locked up. And besides, he was joining a violent and dangerous gang. He understood the risks.
“Sorry, Spill,” I said.
“For what?” he asked, smiling.
But that smile quickly disappeared, and I could tell he knew what I was planning.
He was too late. I had already cocked my leg back and smashed my foot right into his crotch. I kicked him in the balls harder than I’d meant to, but I wanted to make sure he went down.
“Oh fuck,” he grunted and dropped his gun. He cupped his nuts as he fell to the ground. “Oh my god.”
I turned and ran. I couldn’t believe I had done that, but it was too late to go back now.
Poor Spill. I really hoped I hadn’t hurt him too badly. It wasn’t like I had any real ill will toward either of the pledges. They were just doing their job after all. But I wanted to get out of there, and he was standing in my way.
I made it to the bikes a few seconds later. I straddled the first one, pressed the clutch, and started the engine.
It roared to life. I grabbed the helmet from its rest on the back seat and popped it onto my head. It smelled like sweat, but that didn’t matter.
Taking deep breaths, I slowly backed the bike up.
I heard shouting from over near the cabin. Ryan was coming at me, waving his arms.
I hit the gas, revving the engine. Slowly, so slowly and gently, I let out the clutch. The bike went into first gear, bucked a bit, and jolted forward.
I flew down the dirt road, going way too fast. I quickly got myself under control, slowing down slightly. I made it all the way to the highway before I heard the sound of the other bike coming after me.
Once I was on paved road, I opened it up, driving fast. I flew forward as the other bike hit the road behind me and tried to catch up.
In that moment, I felt freer than I had in a long, long time.
I loved riding on the back of bikes. I was an awful driver, but there was just something about riding that made me feel good. But in that moment, in control, I realized that I had been born to ride.
I laughed loudly, driving faster and faster. Ryan kept pace behind me but didn’t move to cut me off at all, probably afraid to knock me off my bike.
Which was a good call, because a minute later I nearly smashed into the back of a Honda that was stopped at a light.
I grabbed the brakes, the tires screaming on the asphalt. The back of the bike fishtailed and I almost lost control, but I managed to keep my balance as the bike came to a stop.
I was breathing hard as I put my feet down on the ground. Ryan pulled up next to me. “Get off the bike,” he yelled.
“No,” I said. “I’m going to the clubhouse. You can follow me or not.”
He started to say something else, but traffic was already moving.
This time, I didn’t ride too fast. Ryan kept pace just behind me, but he didn’t try to stop me.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I couldn’t believe I had successfully escaped from them, let alone was riding a motorcycle. Sure, I was taking it easy, keeping to the right lane and riding slow, but still. I had control, and I was free.
I laughed the whole way into Austin. I knew the way to the clubhouse, fortunately, and had no trouble navigating the wide city streets. Austin was a newer city, so I didn’t have to worry about heavy pedestrian traffic or tiny alleyways.
I pulled up outside the clubhouse and killed the engine. Ryan pulled up next to me.
I grinned at him. “Shouldn’t have stopped me,” I said.
“Caralee, please.” He stood next to me, looking terrified. “You can get me in serious trouble. Please come back to the cabin.”
“Sorry, Ryan,” I said. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, but I’m not going to be your prisoner.”
He looked seriously troubled. “Listen to me. They might kill us over this. They don’t fuck around. Please, come back.”
I looked at him for a second, and the full weight of what I had done came crashing down.
I knew what kind of men I was dealing with. They were violent and serious men, not the sort of people who messed around. Ryan and Spill could get in some serious trouble, and who knew what that really meant with a motorcycle gang.
And this whole escape was childish. Truth was, I was angry and upset that Ford had ditched out on me the morning after we had gotten married and slept together for the first time. I was taking it out on Spill and Ryan, and it really wasn’t their fault.