Logan
Logan leaped across the threshold of the warehouse’s only open door, listening with horror at the sound of Zook’s voice coming from behind him. Zook was still laughing as Logan pumped his muscled legs, trying to put as much distance between himself and his former friend as possible.
He’s trying to set me up, Logan realized, his muscles quivering as he pushed himself harder and faster across the grass. This whole thing was a motherfucking setup.
As his bike came into view, Logan threw himself forward, his legs wobbling with weariness. Only the knowledge that the police would be right around the corner drove him harder. He refused to serve time for someone else’s crimes and that meant getting the hell out of Dodge. Right now.
Once at his bike, Logan threw himself over the seat like a cowboy leaping into the saddle and was off, his tail lights a blur in the autumn night air. Cop sirens spun wildly in the distance, setting his heart pounding. Logan turned off his headlights and pulled off the road to drive through an open field, his tires complaining as he slipped and slid over the hard-packed dirt. He prayed to whatever god would listen that he didn’t hit a hole or a stump on his way over the unstable land.
His heart thundering unsteadily in his chest, Logan listened at the sirens grew steadily closer. Blood thundered through his veins, his body filled with adrenaline. Any mistake now could be fatal. Any instability in the ground he rode over could throw him from the bike, a thought that filled his whole body with terror. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he stared forward, looking fruitlessly through the darkness for any signs of obstacles.
This was such a stupid idea.
But it would be worth the risk for a chance not to spend the rest of his life rotting in jail. He couldn’t. Not when his people needed him. Not for something he hadn’t done.
Although he was leader of the Satan’s Chaos Motorcycle Club, he knew he would have to leave his people without a leader for the time being. At least until I figure out a way out of this.
Soon the sirens faded off into the distance, and Logan breathed a little easier. Getting out of the dirt, he found a new road to travel. He slipped out of the grass and back on a highway, heading west. Not knowing where he was going, Logan set a cruising speed right at the speed limit, unwilling to risk any brush with the law.
Because Logan knew they would soon be looking for him.
# # #
Francesca
Francesca stared down the burning pyre of her ex’s things, her eyes streaming tears.
Cheating asshole deserves to be set on fire along with his stuff. Along with the woman who I thought was my best friend.
Now, Francesca was entirely without friends. She felt a bit like she was lost out at sea in a storm. A lump formed in her throat as she glanced down at her cell phone, lit up with several messages both from Davis and Nikki. She didn’t want to look at either right now, though she had an idea what they had both had to say.
Davis is already angry that I took his prized Rolls and wants to know where it is; Nikki is apologizing to me for the 400th time, stupid ex-best-friend bitch. “I didn’t mean it, I never should have touched him, blah blah blah.”
“Fuck you both!” she screamed, throwing Davis’s keys into the firestorm before her. She thought that setting the whole thing ablaze would make her feel better, but instead Francesca just felt worse, emptier. Mindlessly tossing her beautiful, long locks of blonde waves to one side, she turned away from the blaze, feeling the heat of it press up against her back.
I should have saved this for the cameras. But instead her anger had driven her out into the middle of nowhere, her heels sinking into the loosely packed sands to try and burn away her own pain. The TV producers would have loved the ratings from this kind of scandal.
But Francesca didn’t want this on TV. Maybe we can recreate the scene later if my reality show can afford another Rolls.
More than anything, she wished she’d never walked in on her boyfriend and her best friend; she couldn’t get the image of them fucking in Davis’s bed out of her mind. She wished she hadn’t screamed so loudly. She wished she hadn’t confided in her brother, Marston. His words still burned like fire under skin.
“You’ll be crawling back to Davis in no time, little sis,” he said, his stupid face smiling with wicked thoughts. “Davis has you around his little finger, like a ring.”
Punching him in his broad chest, Francesca shook her head. “No, I will not. That prick is nothing to me.”
Marston didn’t even move an inch when she hit him. “Half a mill says you’ll be licking his boots before this is all over.”
Shaking with anger Francesca jammed a finger into his chest so hard, Marston actually winced. “Half a mill that asshole will come crawling back to me first.”
Burying her face in her hands, Francesca felt her heart shattering, breaking into a thousand pieces. She couldn’t swallow around the tears, couldn’t breathe. Everything seemed to have gone up in flames along with the Rolls, including her ability to think clearly.
I can’t believe I made that bet with Marston. But of all my regrets, she thought, warily looking up from her manicured hands, the worst is that I have no way home. I would normally call Nikki, but… That thought squeezed her heart, pain lancing through her whole body.
Tears slipped through her mascara, painting lines of despair down her perfect skin. She stood there and cried for a long time, her feet throbbing and her heart hurting. The only sound out there in the desert was her wracking sobs in the cold, night air.
Until another noise joined it. The low rumble sounded like nothing familiar, and Francesca looked up from her tears to see what had interrupted her grief. A light came quickly around the bend, the thrumming sound resolving into the purr of the engine. Hurrying to the road, still sobbing, Francesca leaned over the asphalt with her thumb out, hoping to attract the attention of whoever was out this late on this road in the middle of nowhere.
Much to her delight, the motorcycle pulled off the road. Francesca backed up, hoping to keep the worst of the desert dust off of her white Dior pencil skirt.
Walking toward the vehicle, Francesca called to the rider as soon as he turned off the engine. “Hey, can I get a ride? I’ll give you a hundred bucks.” The rider turned to her, and Francesca almost fainted at her good fortune.
The rider got off of the bike, his tall, muscular body moving like a hunter’s. His brunette buzzcut matched the beautiful hot chocolate color of his eyes. Everything about him, from the sun-kissed tan of his skin to the black lines of his tattoos peeking out from the edges of his t-shirt set Francesca’s body aflame. His deep-set eyes watched her, his expressive mouth looked very happy to see her. Francesca’s eyes traveled up and down his body for a second, and she had to close her mouth to keep from drooling.
Lucky for her, Motorcycle Man was hot.