“I heard from this guy at the station that I’m friendly with that they picked up a few of them for drunk and disorderly, and they were talkin’ about blowing shit up. I don’t know if that’s figurative or literal, but I’d go for the latter.” Grunting in acknowledgment, I inhaled a deep breath and held it as I tapped my heel against the concrete floor. “We’ll see how it develops in the next few weeks, I guess.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nicole
I whipped my phone out to copy the address Bruiser had given me and input it into my GPS, and satisfaction made me feel ten feet tall. Swiping down the notification’s menu, I smiled broadly at the deposit alert. Slowly but surely, my online art shop was growing steadily, and I’d never been so fully booked.
“Pretty soon, I’ll be able to reduce my hours at the restaurant. One step at a time, though. I gotta go deliver this to Bruiser’s friend’s mom.” Nodding firmly, my mumble flooded my car as I slid my phone into the cup holder and turned over the engine. My destination was only ten minutes away, and I nibbled my bottom lip as I glanced back. Pulling away from the curb, my gaze caught the painting I’d rushed, and pride glimmered in my chest.
Bruiser had given me a bad quality picture he’d screen-grabbed off his friend’s mother’s Facebook, but I liked to think I did a great job reinterpreting her as a superhero. Flicking on my blinker, I tore my eyes off the rearview mirror to check the other lanes before rolling through a stop sign. I basked in the warmth of a job well done, and my previous client’s happy gushing rang in my ears. Finally, finally, I’m beginning to get some proper traction.
I wanted to make art my life, and it was so hard, but it was finally starting to pay off. I even had a few paintings I had to drop off at a new client’s home today, which I’d just finished.
I should call Bruiser. Pulling onto the side of the road, I grabbed my phone to navigate to his contact and tap the ‘Speaker’ button. He answered quickly, and I could briefly hear excited, rambling garble in the background.
“Hey, what’s up? Did you finish your delivery?” I smile, opening my mouth, but before any sound could come out, a huge rip of a motorcycle engine blasted past my car. My vehicle actually shook from the multiple, horrifyingly fast bikes that whizzed by, and I gripped the wheel tightly. Bruiser was quiet on the other end, and when he spoke up again, I could tell he was farther from the phone. “Where are you, Nicole?”
“Um, about ten minutes out. Sorry. I didn’t even hear them come upon me. That’s really dangerous to drive like that in the suburbs.” Grumbling toward the end, I held my phone receiver closer to my mouth as I checked behind me, but there weren’t any more idiots tearing up the roads. Pulling off the curb carefully, I cleared my throat before continuing. “I just was callin’ to let you know I’m on my way. I think your friend’s mom is gonna love it. I think it came out really good.”
“Awesome. When you get here, just pull onto the lawn on the right side of the driveway, okay? I’ll go meet you.” I hummed before hanging up, and the deep rumble of multiple engines roared behind me. I tapped the brakes, pulling over to avoid being swept past, and another five or so bikes of varying sizes and colors raced by. A dirt bike popped a wheely, engine roaring, and I scrunched up my nose in distaste.
How irresponsible. I hope they don’t hit someone. I crawled down the road, hugging the curb, and it took a few seconds before another group of bikers sped past me. There must’ve been twenty or so that were tearing up the neighborhood, and my heart beat hard. Anxiety coiled in my gut, and I gripped the wheel with both hands as I held my speed well below the limit. “Ugh . . .”
It seemed like a lifetime had passed by the time I took my final turn before the house, and I tensed and jammed my foot on the brakes. My car jolted, knocking the air from my lungs, and I licked my lips nervously. All those bikes that had rushed past me were circling the street, and a dense lump formed in my throat.
Saint George has a biker gang, and they don’t like Bruiser’s gang. Were they really gonna crash someone’s birthday party? Have some class.
I inched toward the house, my GPS indicating I’d reached my destination, and Bruiser sat on the front stoop. He stood up when he saw my car, and I flexed my fingers around the wheel. Thirty feet and I’d be on the lawn where he wanted me to park. The rev of bike engines shattered the air and bounced off my windows, rattling my teeth. Inhaling sharply, I held one foot on the gas, and one on the brakes as the bikers started circling my car.
Intimidating roars brought party guests from behind the house, and I had to stop when several bikers with no helmets got dangerously close to my front end. A cold sweat broke out on my back, and I held my breath as my heart leaped into my throat.
I honked my horn as two dozen motorcyclists circled me like vultures eyeing a carcass, and a shocked yelp escaped me when my car jostled by the back right wheel. They kicked my car! Grinding my molars, I struggled to take
