Page 151 of Bad Attitude
“Stay on task, Declan,”Kurt’s voice cracks out. “Down and safe, but short of my LZ. Wind too strong.”
“Down and safe,” Dario adds, with a grunt.“Fucking streetlight.”
I can’t shift one of my buckles, but pull the other strap off, wriggling out of my harness. I abandon the ’chute, draped on the side of the building, and run back up to the intersection I should’ve landed at, ignoring the open-mouthed stare of an elderly couple on the sidewalk.
“We’ve reached Cole,”Cammy says.“He’s down and safe, Tasha is getting him. Declan, you have an SUV your way too. Raven, there’re two bikes heading south.”
“I’m on foot.”Kurt’s voice comes through breaths of exertion.“Security behind me.”
I hit the intersection, taking the corner at a run. Time enough to glance back toward the building I just leaped from, towering into the sky, and to see the SUV racing down the street toward me.
Then I’m running as fast as I can toward where I parked my bike, hoping to God it’s still there. Taking a side street, behind the back of a building. And my beautiful Ducati is sitting where I left her, my helmet chained to the seat. I slide the tumblers of the lock with trembling fingers, then pull my lid on, sitting astride my bike as I work my hands into my gloves.
“Intercepted here, going dark.”Kurt’s voice is crackling in my ear, too many buildings distorting the signal. My heartrate jumps. That means he’s torn his mic and ear piece off, maybe throwing his gun away, and he’d only do that if there was no other option.
“Cammy? What’s happened? Can you see him?”
“Negative. We have Cole, but he’s bleeding badly. Heading over now, but we have our own problems.”
“I saw him,”Dario replies.“He was met by four suits getting out of a black sedan.”
“Dario, can you reach him?”That’s Tasha’s voice, with a bite to it I rarely hear.
“Negative. They’re putting him in the car.”
Fuck.
“Declan? Where are you?”
“On my bike,”he replies, the distortion so bad I can barely hear him.“Heading out now.”
“At mine in ten seconds,”Dario adds.“That sedan… Kurt’s gone.”
It’s a reminder that I’m carrying everything that matters to him. I slap my visor down, starting my bike, just as the security SUV drives into the street.
Shit. They must’ve seen me.
I accelerate away as the engine of the SUV roars. On an open road, I can leave this thing in the dust, but here, I don’t have the space. I have to slow for sharp corners, and it’s almost on my rear tire as I jink a quick left-right, back onto the main street.
Just in time to see two bikes tearing down the road toward me. A single glance tells me they’re not sportbikes but street bikes, more maneuverable than mine through the city, but slower on the open road.
Assuming I canreachthe open road with these things chasing me.
But while we might be in the city, it’s so late at night that the cars are few and far between. I open the throttle, burning south, picking up Market Street at the bottom. It’s a long, straight road running southwest, bus lanes in the center, and I tear down it.I don’t even have to slow for the lights; even if there’s traffic crossing, if it’s not already there, it won’t hit me at the speed I’m going. My bike tops a hundred, and the SUV’s so far back I can’t even see it in my mirror. I zip past a late-running streetcar that takes up way too much damn space, ignoring the honk of horns and the occasional shout from the few people on the sidewalks.
“Anyone hear me?”
No answer. I’m out of range, the buildings blocking the signal.
I swing south again, taking a street at random, hoping to lose my pursuers. With one eye on my mirrors, I look for somewhere out of the way to pull over. They must expect me to head for the 101, and I will—as soon as I’m clear. But I spent the last two days riding this place, and I don’t have to look for long before I find what I want: a single-lane backstreet hemmed in with buildings, a few thin trees and parked cars to give me cover.
Pulling up on the side, I remove one glove, my heart pounding as I reach for my phone. I’m tempted to make a call right now, find out what’s going on, but I can’t sit here forever. The radio setup Tasha uses has a 3.5mm audio jack that doesn’t plug into my phone, and I have an adapter for just this purpose.
I’m digging it out of my pocket when I hear a bike ride by the end of the street.
I freeze, hunching down, listening. My helmet doesn’t make that easy. I can’t see anything in my mirrors; maybe they went past.
For the first time in my life, I regret sitting on the only bright-red motorcycle in the whole damn city. But that’s not fair to my baby, and I tap the tank with my free hand, telling her it’s notherfault.
