Page 11 of Raggedy Dan
Dan’s lips twitched despite himself.“I guess you do.It’s real nice.”
“Thanks.Had an ex tried to take it in the breakup.I kept the bike.He retained the herpes.”She swung a leg over the seat with easy grace.“I decided I’m not staying home tonight.I’d be too easy to find.Think you’ve got a spare room at the clubhouse?”
He blinked.Most women would’ve asked for a hotel or a safe house or, hell, even a lift to the bus station.She was asking to ride straight into the lion’s den.
“You know who we are,” he said.
“More importantly, I know who you’re not.”She pressed the starter.The bike barked once, sharp and mean, then settled into a low, predatory growl.She pulled on a pair of goggles, still staring at him.“Are you coming, Raggedy Dan, or do I ride alone?”
He watched her for a beat.All that red hair wild under the streetlight, eyes steady, chin lifted like she was daring the whole world to try her again tonight.
Then he tugged the bandana back up over the lower half of his face, thumbed his bike to life, and rolled forward.
“Try to keep up.”
***
Riley
They rode out of the lot in single file, two dark shapes cutting through the sodium-lit streets towards the edge of town.The wind hit Riley like a slap.It was cold, dry, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow.She opened the throttle, let the bike eat pavement, and quickly matched Dan’s pace without trying to prove anything.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, adrenaline mixing with a confusing feeling she couldn’t name.The clubhouse was thirty minutes out.It would be isolated, guarded, and full of men who killed clubs for sport.She should’ve been terrified.
Instead she felt alive.For the first time in a long-ass while, she was living.
Halfway there, on a long straight stretch of empty highway, Dan glanced over.She caught his eyes in the glow of a passing streetlight—dark, steady, carefully watching her like he was waiting for her to bolt.
She didn’t.
Instead, she leaned forward, twisted the throttle enough to pull ahead a bike length, then eased back until she was riding on his right shoulder.When he looked again, she lifted one hand from the bars—for a second, just long enough—and pressed her palm to his back.
Then one arm.
She wrapped it around his waist, loose at first, testing, holding her front forks steady with her throttle hand.His body went rigid under the leather, then slowly, very slowly, relaxed.She felt the shift, the way his shoulders dropped a fraction, how the bike seemed to stabilize under him.
Riley, leaning far over, rested her cheek against his hip, felt the heat of him through the layers, and swore she could hear the steady thump of his heart under the scars and ink and armor.
She didn’t say anything.
She didn’t need to.
This was all about trust.
I can trust him with everything.
The wind roared past them, carrying away the last of the vomit-taste from her mouth, the ghost of Ronnie’s smile, and that paralyzing fear she’d carried too long.
For the first time in years, she wasn’t riding alone.
And neither was he.
She knew that Dan had told himself it was just protection detail.
He was a shitty liar.
The clubhouse lights appeared on the horizon like a beacon—or a warning.
They didn’t slow down.
