Cole grasped my jacket and jerked me back against him. “Stay tight to me.”
“What? Why?” I cried. What the hell was he planning on doing?
“It’s gonna be okay,” he assured me. “I’ve got you.”
He was using his appeasing tone with me. Just like he had a couple of hours ago back at my condo when I’d been freaking out about everything. Just like I was now. He knew how nervous riding on his bike made me. It wasn’t the wildness of it or anything. I was a bit of a wild driver myself. Given the work that I did, the dangerous existence I lived, I’d been in a few situations where I’d had to use some badass evasive driving skills to protect myself. But I’d been in full control then. Riding bitch on Cole’s bike offered no semblance of control at all and it was unnerving, putting me on edge the entire time.
I loved Cole and I trusted him.
But I still couldn’t shake my uneasiness.
I watched Cole tap the earpiece over his right ear. I strained to hear what he was relaying.
“Slade. Got four on my six. One riding, three in a van. One hour out. No, they won’t shoot. Nik would never risk her like that. Yeah. Uh huh. Got it.”
He tapped the earpiece again, ending the call, as he turned his head and called to me, “Hold on real tight.”
“Wait. Why?” I asked, unable to hide my anxiety.
“Gonna lose them.”
I swallowed hard and pressed my body as closely to him as possible, holding onto him so tightly, my arms like steel bands around his waist.
My stomach lurched the instant he initiated his plan.
Rubber burned.
Screeching filled my ears.
The bike shot forward.
It weaved and swayed from side to side.
It was brutal and I wasn’t sure my body was going to be able to handle it.
Our pursuers sprang into action when they realized Cole was launching evasive maneuvers. The van sped up, tailgating us, while the Suzuki rode into the oncoming traffic lane, coming up on our left side.
Cole shifted his weight and took his left hand off the handlebar as the guy reached us, riding parallel. Why wasn’t Cole speeding up? I knew his Harley had the means to do a hell of a lot more than he was currently doing with it.
Over the roar of both bikes, the Suzuki’s rider called out, “Pull over and nobody gets hurt!”
I rolled my eyes. Not only were the Strikers known for breaking promises, but they were also all about the hurt.
“Like hell,” Cole muttered.
The next thing I knew, the bike was lurching as Cole shot out his hand, delivering a chop to the rider’s right arm that had him losing his grip on the throttle. The asshole cursed and flailed, his bike dropping back dramatically.
Experience and some major skill under his belt enabled Cole to keep the bike upright and balanced despite the initial lurch when he’d assaulted the Strikers rider.
I snuck a look at Cole’s mirror to see the rider fumbling to grab hold of the throttle again, even as he fought to stop the bike from spinning out.
Cole didn’t waste any time, taking full advantage of knocking the guy out of the picture, even temporarily. A few moments were all he needed to turn the tables on them.
“Brace yourself and lean,” he called over his shoulder at me.
In the next second, he made an incredibly sharp turn, the bike squealing and straining to make the right onto the on-ramp. I followed his lead, leaning as he did as he navigated the winding path to the highway. He must’ve figured that it would be easier to maneuver in a larger space, rather than dealing with the restrictions of the country roads.
We managed to survive the turn and Cole punched it as we sped onto the highway, merging easily with the limited traffic. I spotted the van again in our rearview mirror, the Suzuki still nowhere to be found. He must’ve spun out then. The van could barely keep up with Cole’s Harley, as he expertly weaved in and out of traffic.
With enough distance from it, Cole pulled off the highway, took several twists and turns, then backtracked, and got on the path for Warlow.
He’d done it.
We’d lost Nik’s guys.
And I got the answer to my earlier question.
My stomach wasn’t able to handle it.
Uh oh.
***
“Lovely,” I groaned.
I rose back to my feet and tugged my hair from Cole’s grip. He’d been holding it back for me through my lengthy vomiting episode all over the grassy bank along the side of the road.
“Morning sickness,” Cole commented, smoothing out my hair in that sweet, caring way of his.
It just angered me, though. Just like his fucking words.
I shook him off and brushed past him. “Or, your crazed riding!”
I heard his motorcycle boots crunching on the dirt road following after me.
“Urgh!” I yelled. “Just stay back! Give me some space! I need a fucking second!”
The crunching stopped.
Sighing heavily, I leaned over his bike, bracing my hands on the saddle, fighting to get myself together.
God, I was in a state. I didn’t get car sick, or bike sick. Even though his riding had been insane as he’d fought to evade Nik’s guys, it shouldn’t have affected me like that. I had an iron stomach. If that wasn’t enough, I’d just exploded all over him. I’d just suddenly snapped unable to reel it in and I could still feel it burning through me. Talk about a major lack of control.
“Urgh! What the hell?” I yelled, fisting my hands in my hair, frustration taking me over.
Thunder cracked overhead and not a second later it started pissing down. My pink leather pants and jacket protected most of my body, but my hair and makeup were drenched in seconds.
“Really?” I screamed up at the sky, stomping my feet in fury. “Come on!”
“Time’s up,” Cole announced, striding up to me. “We need to
