Page 8 of Mile High With the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC #10)

RORY

Everyone is quiet on the way to the airport.

Nothing feels quite real. Did I really have sex with Bull less than an hour ago?

And I was about to—I shove the memory down.

Not because I’m ashamed, but because I can’t focus on that when there’s so much else to worry about.

I lean my head against the window and watch the world fly by.

The next thing I know, Diesel is stroking my arm gently and I’m blinking my eyes open.

“Hey, beautiful. We’re here.”

I yawn. The sun is well on its way down and the car smells a little like we’ve been camping. “Did I miss anything?”

“Not really,” Diesel murmurs. “There’ve been some reports about the crash, but no details are public yet.”

Shrapnel pulls into one of the long term parking lots, well away from anything.

He drives all the way to a back corner where there are several massive trucks parked across multiple rows.

Between two of them is a gray tarp covering something more car sized but the shape is wrong.

The guys get out first, then signal for me to join them.

Bull peels off the tarp, revealing three motorcycles.

“I can’t ride,” I blurt out, feeling a little dumb for being shocked that literal bikers have motorcycles waiting.

Shrapnel wheels one of the bikes back. “You’ll be fine. Feet on the pegs, hold on tight and try to follow what feels natural for balance.”

“No, I mean. I can’t ride.” I gesture down at the skirt that hugs my legs and falls nearly to my knees.

Diesel pulls a switchblade out from inside his jacket and flicks it open. “Easy enough to fix.”

“Hey! I have a change of clothes in my bag just—” I motion with my finger for them to turn around.

“It’s a little late to convince us you’re shy,” Bull teases. “We’ve seen the goods, angel.”

“This is different! Sort of. Please?”

They glance at each other. Diesel rolls his eyes, but they line up at the end of the spot with their backs to me.

I rip open my backpack and pull out my clothes.

It’s nothing fancy, just some lightweight black travel pants, a gray t-shirt and some slip-on shoes, but getting out of that stupid uniform makes me feel more like myself.

My phone is still in airplane mode. I chew on my lip as I stare at it sitting in my hand. The temptation to connect to the network and see if anyone has tried to call or text is hard to resist. Dad and I might not have the most normal relationship, but I don’t want him dead.

No.

Can’t check yet. I power it off completely and shove it back into my bag along with my balled up uniform. This isn’t how I planned to run, but maybe it’s fate.

“Done.” I shiver. It’s summer, but the breeze is cool tonight. I move to get my uniform jacket back out of my bag, but Shrapnel is faster.

He shrugs off his leather vest and holds it up for me to slip into. “Here. It'll block the worst of the wind. Did you want us to drop you off somewhere or do you want to come back with us for the night? The clubhouse is downtown so we've got a little ride to go before we can relax.”

The vest is huge on me, but it’s already warm from his body heat, and the scent of him surrounding me makes my heart beat faster. “Um, sure. I can crash with you if that’s okay.” I’m actually relieved by the offer because it’ll give me a night to figure out what I want to do.

“Never going to turn down the company of a pretty woman.” Shrapnel swings his leg over his bike, then pats the seat behind him. “You're wearing my cut, so you're riding on my bike.”

It takes two tries, but I manage to get my leg over the seat and settle behind him. They very kindly don’t laugh, but I’m pretty sure I hear a chuckle. When the insides of my thighs are pressed against the outside of his, and my arms are wrapped tightly around his waist, he starts his bike.

Oh my God, it's like sitting on an industrial strength vibrator. Okay, not quite, but I can definitely see the appeal.

Bull’s bike roars when it comes alive, before settling into a steady purr. “Let’s roll.”

We pull out after Bull, with Diesel behind us.

At first it’s hard to ignore the feeling that we might tip over every time the bike leans, but on the straightaways, it’s actually kind of fun.

At least until we hit the highway and I swear they’re trying to break the sound barrier.

A couple hours ago we survived a literal plane crash and now a motorcycle ride is making me dig my fingers into Shrapnel's sides in sheer terror.

The scary thing about being on the motorcycle is that there’s nothing between me and the road except trusting in physics and Shrapnel’s skill.

But the ride is smooth, and panic can only last for so long.

Eventually it’s almost like meditation. Nothing is important but the feel of Shrapnel in front of me, the rumble of the bike underneath, and the cool air rushing past my face and making my hair flutter.

I'm free.

But at what cost? I wanted to get away. Needed time to think about what the Hermes project really means and if this is what I want from my life, but I never planned on disappearing forever.

I just needed space to talk to Dad without being under his thumb.

As much as I resent him and think he’s making a big mistake, I don’t want him to burn up in a fiery explosion, not to mention Tim and Mason, who are just doing their jobs.

I hope they’re all okay. If anyone could get him out safely, it's them, and at this point there’s nothing I can do about it from the back of a motorcycle.

The highway passes through patches of suburban sprawl on the outside of the city before we hit downtown and the bikers take an exit near the river.

Then we weave through unfamiliar neighborhoods.

It’s an older area, a mix of commercial spaces with apartments above, and single-family homes.

Some of the buildings have boards across the windows, but most are neatly maintained in spite of needing a little TLC.

We pause at a red light, and I look up. We’re here.

A large compound with tall walls sprawls in front of us, the only way in through a massive two-part gate that's shut tight.

Rising behind it is a warehouse with a sign on it that has to be at least a story tall on its own.

It's lit up by spotlights and reads “Screaming Eagles MC” with an eagle logo below it, just like the guys have on the backs of their vests.

I steel myself to go in, but instead the guys roll through the light and pull into a side street, slowing down in front of a bar.

The sign over the door identifies it as The Eagles' Roost, and it looks like it’s in full swing even though it's well after midnight. Loud rock music pours out the open door, and there’s a row of motorcycles parked on the sidewalk out front.

Small groups of big tattooed men in leather and jeans mill around, chatting, drinking and smoking.

They pull around the back into an alley, and Bull hops off, unlocking a tall gate and swinging it open.

He rolls his bike in as Diesel and Shrapnel ride past to park.

Shrapnel lowers his feet and kicks down the stand.

Before I even get the chance to figure out how to dismount, Bull takes care of it for me, lifting me right off like I don't weigh anything, and putting me down on the asphalt.

I stumble after so long in the saddle and have to grab his strong arm to steady myself while my legs come back to life.

He wraps an arm around me to support me. “Steady, girl. You okay?”

I’m so exhausted that I just lean into him.

“Oh you know how it is. I met these crazy bikers at work, and then there was an orgy, a hijacking, a plane crash, stealing a car… The usual. I’m sure a couple hours of bar hopping will be a great end to the night.

” I yawn, the kind that starts small and then feels like a full body experience.

Shrapnel laughs. “That wasn’t an orgy, baby. That was just the warm-up act. Stick around and we’ll be happy to show you.”

“Our apartments are upstairs.” Diesel kicks the stand down under his motorcycle and pushes it up on them with a familiar ease. “But we can get in through the Roost, and we need to let some people know we're back. Eagle-eye probably won't be there, but there's usually an officer around.”

“Eagle-eye?”

“Club president.” Shrapnel answers as he locks the bikes away. “If you meet him, you'll understand.”

Hopefully I won’t need to meet the president of a motorcycle club. Staying here tonight is a temporary measure. I like these guys, but I’m not exactly a biker chick. All I want right now is some sleep, maybe a shower. And if they have somewhere safe to do that, I’m happy to go along.

At first I think I'm seeing double. Twin bikers guard the door.

They're huge, like Bull, with short dark brown hair and neatly trimmed short beards. One of them watches us closely, his big arms crossed over his chest, while the other has a friendly grin, casually leaning against the door frame. His eyebrows go up when he sees me. “Hey boys, you’re home. Pick up something in duty-free? Did you bring enough for everyone?”

“Fuck off, Lightning.” Shrapnel gives him the finger, but there isn’t much heat behind it.

Diesel puts his big hands on my shoulders and guides me past them. “You wouldn't fucking believe the day we've had.”

“You fucking look it,” the more serious twin rumbles, getting out of the way.

The Eagles' Roost is bigger than I thought from the outside, deep and widening the farther back you go.

The thick scent of leather, beer and tobacco washes over me.

The stools along the bar are packed, and groups of men fill up the raised booths on the left.

You can't turn around without running into a big guy with tattoos and a biker vest. The most common logo I see is the Screaming Eagles, but not everyone.