Page 7 of Courting Danger
“Ocean,” he replied, clasping forearms with the man the way his father had taught him.
Pope nodded. “Hell of a thing, you being out here on the road today.”
“I was on my way to surf Dad’s beach when my wheels got stuck in the mud,” Ocean replied. “Heard bikes coming and hoped to flag down help, then I heard the truck and the car it was racing. I got their license plate numbers; I really need to write them down before I forget them.”
“Here,” Pope said, removing a small notebook and pen from the inner pocket of his coat and passing them over.
All the bikes were vertical now and lined up along the side of the road, while several men picked up pieces that had broken offmachines. Ocean jotted down the numbers and a description of each vehicle before passing the notebook back.
“Kinda fucked up, you all hitting this stretch of road at the same time when there hadn’t been anyone through here in over fifteen minutes,” Ocean remarked.
“Thanks for this,” Pope said as he tucked the notebook away and turned his attention to Danger. “If she starts, can you ride?”
Danger nodded, grimacing as he shifted around, trying to use his good arm to leverage himself back to his feet. Ocean hurried to help him, with Pope stepping in on Danger’s other side. Together, they got him standing so he could limp closer to his machine.
“If she’s good, I’m good,” Danger said.
“Hey, you the one with the first aid kit!” A burly man called out as he rapidly approached.
“Yes, sir,” Ocean replied and hurried to scoop it up, offering it to him.
“Just need a few Steri-Strips if you’ve got them,” the man said.
“I should, unless someone already got to them,” Ocean replied, digging around for them. “Shit, no, they’re gone, but I’ve got a suture kit.”
“Perfect, because we’ve got a Doc,” the man said. “Thanks, kid.”
“You’re welcome,” Ocean replied.
“Mark,” Pope said when the man turned away. “This is Riptide’s boy.”
“Holy shit!” Mark said, turning back around, gravel crunching beneath his boots as he invaded Ocean’s space.
The moment was surreal as hell, considering everything else that had happened this afternoon. If this was theMark…
After eying him up and down for about a half a second, Mark yanked Ocean into a bone-rattling, backslapping hug that made his teeth clack together.
“Unfuckingbelievable!” Mark bellowed as he turned him loose. “Shit, let me get this to Doc, but don’t you move!”
He hurried away while Ocean stood there blinking and tried to regain his equilibrium.
“Was that the same Mark whose kid my dad saved?” Ocean asked Pope.
“Yup,” Pope replied. “And he meant it when he said for you to not go running off anywhere. He’ll want to catch up and hear more about your dad. A bunch of us will.”
“Couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted to,” Ocean replied. “Which I don’t. I was hoping to run into someone wearing one of my dad’s old patches. Just never expected it to go down like this.”
“Fate has a fucked up sense of humor,” Pope said, chuckling as he knelt and started inspecting Danger’s bike.
Danger needed help kneeling beside him, and then shoulder to shoulder, they went over the damaged machine while Ocean watched others doing the same. The rough, rattle clack of an engine trying and failing to fire drew his gaze over to where a redheaded man stood shaking his head at his bike.
Pope’s head swiveled in that direction too, another rattle followed by harsh clicking forcing the man to turn off the machine.
“Craven!” Pope barked. “Quit fuckin’ with that before you break it worse. Scout rode back to the shop for the flatbed. Creature is working his way down the line checking out all the bikes. He’ll get to you.”
“Thanks, brutha,” Craven replied before getting off his Triumph.
“I’m not seeing any fluid where it shouldn’t be, just a lot of dings and that scrape. Fire her up and let’s see what happens,” Pope instructed Danger several minutes later, after a thorough, hands-on inspection of his Harley.
