Page 112 of The Fractured

Seb climbed onto his sleek, matte black Yamaha with no issues starting it.

I shoved my helmet on, switched on the bike, cranked the throttle, and pushed down hard on the starter. The bike sputtered beneath me while the truck surged for my ass, drowning us in its headlights again.

“Dude!” Seb yelled, gesturing for me to move.

“Start, you motherfucker!” I kick-started it again, and the engine turned over.

Not waiting another second, I accelerated just as the truck's bumper nudged the back of the bike with a nerve-wracking crunch.

I twisted halfway in my seat and flipped off the driver as I drew out the space between us.

He still gave chase, but at least now we were even.

Seb raced beside me, capable of doing faster speeds on a sports bike.

Mine was built for off-road and awkward turns, but I had a plan.

With an intersection coming up fast, I motioned for Seb to cut behind me. He did, staying close and providing cover before I abruptly swerved, planting my left foot on the ground as I pivoted the bike and pushed the throttle.

Fishtailing onto the opposite side of the road, I aimed for the other direction as Seb sped off with a confused pickup truck driver giving chase.

I still had the duffle bag, but the driver had to slow down to double-check. It bought us time.

The wind ripped at my clothes while I looked for my next escape route. When the sound of screeching tires and sirens met my ears, I hit the brakes enough to pull into another narrow alleyway. It was lined with brick walls and dumpsters, making the path tight.

The sight of a 24/7 gym sign, just visible at the other end of the alley, caused me to slow right down. With no one in sight, I pulled up behind a dumpster and switched the bike off. I was met with silence, apart from the muffled thumping of music in the gym, and I manually wheeled the bike to sit by the brick wall before I got off.

Keys in the ignition, I removed the gloves and helmet and set them on the seat, like a cherry on top of a thief's dream find.

Heading to the adjacent street, I untucked the gun from my jeans and shoved it into the duffle bag of cash. I then removed my hoodie, tied it around my hips, mussed my hair, and dug around in my pockets for an earphone or two. I found one and shoved it in my ear. It had probably been through the wash a few times and most likely didn’t work, but no one else knew that.

To the public, I was just another gym-bro coming from a late-night session.

I stepped out of the alley and joined the rest of the late-night community going about their business, all the while minding my own as I began the walk to the subway. I would’ve called Seb for a ride back to Antonio’s, but there was a chance he was still riding, evading police.

I wondered if Lily was still awake.

Hoisting the bag over my shoulder, I pulled my phone out to check subway times.

My steps slowed as I read the temporary track maintenance warning.

“Fuck.”

I could book a ride, but it was Friday night, one of the busiest nights of the week, and, going off the line of people waiting on the curb for rides of their own, I doubted I would find one soon.

On a quieter street, illuminated by shop fronts and streetlamps, I crossed into Bensonhurst.

A street cleaner slowly cruised along the curb on the opposite side of the street, and bars were beginning to filter people out.

I already texted Lily, but got no response. I figured she was already asleep. Safe and hopefully finding some peace after the shit-show her parents put her through.

I rolled out my neck as I glanced at my phone again.

The soft beep of a horn brought my attention to the street, where a black Ford Mustang with a fleet number on the back pulled up beside me.

I never thought I would feel relief on seeingthiscar.

The front passenger window rolled down as I approached.