Page 13 of Bad Attitude
And that’s the truth, right there. Kawasaki’s chances of escape are plummeting fast.
“…desert and I’ll… thatchica’sfault…”That’s him out of range too. Finally.
A minute later, I pull off the main road and into the suburbs, find Lou’s van and go straight up the ramp. It’s short work to strap the bike in, then switch to my beautiful Ducati waiting for me in the sunset.
“Thanks, Lou.” I nod to the trusty Yamaha, sad to see it go. “You burn it good, you hear?”
“No problem, Raven, it’ll be gone tonight.” He offers me a hopeful grin. “You get a decent haul?”
“I guess so.” No idea what’s in it, but it feels heavy enough.
I give him the best smile I can, kick my bike into gear, and head back west. Time to go home.
But for how long?
DamnKurt anddamnthis job. I should’ve walked away when I could.
I don’t care what happens to Kawasaki. He can go to prison and rot there as far as I’mconcerned. That notion doesn’t bother me at all. What bothers me is I don’t trust him one tiny bit. I trust the rest of the crew. Hale I can't read, which is either a good sign or a very bad one. But Kawasaki? Never.
Chances he’ll escape, and I’ll see him crowing and obnoxious tomorrow night?
Five percent. Maybe.
Chances he’ll get caught, then turn me in to strike a deal and save his skin?
Fucking astronomical.
Four
Declan
Iflee down Route 111, trying to keep my speed under sixty, riding a stolen bike with a bag full of stolen God knows what. Jewels, cash, gold maybe—it’s heavy enough for bars of the stuff.
And I don’t care about any of it.
I should be riding adrenaline, that buzz of success, of being the prey for once, knowing the cops are back there, looking for me. But all I can feel is pure incandescentragedirected at that fucker Pablo.
And underneath it,loss. Helpless frustration.
It takes all my control not to spin this bike around and race back. North.
Past where all the cops are.
To where Genesis is.
Fuckthat girl. I watched her fight off Pablo four days ago, and haven’t stopped thinking about her since. I should’ve intervened; I’m still sitting with that guilt. What would’ve happened if she hadn’t handledit like she did? I don’t want to think about it. Intervening wasn’t necessary, but itcould’vebeen. I prioritized keeping my cover over her safety, and Ihatethat I had to do that.
But she smashed a bottle over him, broke a pool cue across his head, put her knee into his face, and left him broken and bleeding on the floor.
Fuck.
I’m hard right now, just thinking about it. It’s not a comfortable state while I’m riding my bike.
This thing with Genesis isn’t merely attraction. It’s way worse than that.
It’s not even just her spirit. She’s the full package. Gorgeous chestnut eyes to go swimming in, sun-kissed skin, hair so dark it’s almost black. Jaw delicate yet firm, a mouth that…fuck.
This isn’t helping.
