Chapter 4
Four
Declan
And I don’t care about any of it.
I should be riding adrenaline, that buzz of success, of being the prey for once, knowing the cops are back there, looking for me. But all I can feel is pure incandescent rage directed at that fucker Pablo.
And underneath it, loss. Helpless frustration.
It takes all my control not to spin this bike around and race back. North.
Past where all the cops are.
To where Genesis is.
Fuck that girl. I watched her fight off Pablo four days ago, and haven’t stopped thinking about her since.
I should’ve intervened; I’m still sitting with that guilt.
What would’ve happened if she hadn’t handled it like she did?
I don’t want to think about it. Intervening wasn’t necessary, but it could’ve been.
I prioritized keeping my cover over her safety, and I hate that I had to do that.
But she smashed a bottle over him, broke a pool cue across his head, put her knee into his face, and left him broken and bleeding on the floor.
Fuck.
I’m hard right now, just thinking about it. It’s not a comfortable state while I’m riding my bike.
This thing with Genesis isn’t merely attraction. It’s way worse than that.
It’s not even just her spirit. She’s the full package. Gorgeous chestnut eyes to go swimming in, sun-kissed skin, hair so dark it’s almost black. Jaw delicate yet firm, a mouth that… fuck.
This isn’t helping.
My radio is silent in my ear, save for the background hiss that tells me it’s still on. And I know—I know—that asshole is still talking to Genesis. They both went north; they’ll be in range of each other for ages yet.
“Chica, you come help me out, I’ll feed you my cock nice and slow. I know you want it.”
If he touches her, I’m going to rip it off and feed it to him.
I tell myself she’s far too smart to go anywhere near him. And it’s true, I know it is. But I still worry. Pablo’s a walking disaster area, and I don’t want her anywhere near him. He’s the kind of idiot that gets people killed.
Riding with Briggs’s gang these last six months has shown me that.
The intersection with Route 74 is coming up, far too damn soon. I shouldn’t have hit it yet. I check my speed, and I’m doing ninety. I’m riding faster in response to my mood, and it’s reckless. I know better than this.
Getting pulled for speeding with a bag stuffed with hundreds of thousands of dollars of stolen goods? Fucking amateurish. Embarrassing.
I slow for the turn, take the right, and now I’m heading back to LA, the long way around. Palms to Pines Highway, up over the Santa Rosa mountains. I know it well, ridden it a bunch of times, and the corners fly past one after the other without any thought.
But there’ll be no cops up here, and I let the bike have its head, taking my anger out on the road.
I’m going to kill Pablo anyway. It’ll be doing the human race a favor, and I did not like the way that asshole spoke to Genesis.
That decision feels good, and I grin inside my helmet. Only problem is, for that to happen, he has to not get caught. He’s just not that smart.
And that’s a problem, right there. He is going to get caught. I know it, she knows it. How the hell Renner doesn’t know it is beyond me. The guy’s supposed to be a pro.
So now we have a liability.
Pablo can’t point to me, not really. He knows nothing about me beyond the fact that I have a shithole apartment somewhere in Boyle Heights, which he’s never seen. And the license plate of my Fireblade, which I don’t give him enough intelligence to remember.
I’ll change it when I get back anyway. I have enough spares.
It’s not like it matters. It’s not like he can do anything to me, other than cause some embarrassment I could do without.
No, it won’t be me he hangs out to dry. It’ll be her.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
Put a bullet in his head and drive him out into the desert, let the coyotes have his body.
No… not personal enough. I want him to suffer.
Take him for a ride over Angeles Crest and just give him a gentle nudge on the right bend.
It won’t kill him—not right away, not unless he gets lucky.
He can lie at the bottom of the gorge, bones broken, in agony for the last few hours of his life, thinking it was an accident, expecting me to send help for him.
That moment as his life seeps away, when he finally realizes there’s no help coming, that I did it on purpose.
Yeah, that’ll work.
Dark thoughts, Declan.
But he deserves nothing less for talking to her like that.
My speed, my fantasies of killing Pablo, the reckless way I’m taking each corner—they’re all to avoid having to face the real problem here.
Genesis.
The truth is, I did not expect Genesis.
Ever since that bar fight. No, even before then—I always notice a girl on a bike. But she’s something else. She doesn’t just ride a bike, she fucking flows on it. She’s not just good, she’s amazing.
Better than me, and that’s… rare.
She could ride professionally. World Superbike. MotoGP. Hell, I reached regionals, and could’ve gone further if I hadn’t joined the Marines instead.
Mistake number one.
Could’ve kept it up when I got out, three years later, but it was too late, too long before I got back on a bike, too much time lost on a bachelor’s degree, veteran’s pathway. Political science.
Mistake number two.
I shake my head at younger me.
Where’s that passion gone? It’s been lacking, for so damn long.
Until Genesis awoke it again. When I watched her bust a pool cue over Pablo’s head. Twice.
Fast, brutal, not a whisper of hesitation.
God, it made me hard watching that.
Some 5’6 girl in leather pants and a strappy top with ink on her chest, her arms, her shoulder, smashing a bottle of beer over his head, then ending it with that ruthlessness?
Holy fuck. I wanted to take her out back myself.
Instead, I let her go, like the idiot I am, not taking my shot when I had the chance.
For the next three days, she filled every waking thought—and half the sleeping ones, too—and then. And then. Briggs gets me an invite into Renner’s crew, and she’s sitting right there.
Dumb. Fucking. Luck.
But of course she would be. She’s exactly the kind of rider he uses. Young, competent, reckless, ruthless. Gorgeous.
Is Renner sleeping with her?
The thought makes me sick, and I swallow bile with a grimace.
Everything would suggest he isn’t, that it’s not his style, that he’s too competent. But… this is Genesis. How could he not be?
Or Cole. Or Dario.
Yet my instinct says no. No glances, no touches.
Renner’s hand on her hip.
Yeah, but even that was… fatherly. Possessive, yes, but… not sexual.
Right?
Damn it. It could have been.
No, I don’t think it was. If he was sleeping with her, if she was his, he’d have just told her straight out to do the job. None of that whispering.
She’s not his. She’s none of theirs.
She’s available.
Genesis. The creation of everything. Apt.
My rear wheel slides as I brake into a bend, and I catch the bike with a burst of adrenaline. This road demands more focus than I’ve been giving it.
Genesis is going to be the death of me.
The thought makes me grin; worse ways to go.
For a few miles, I try and concentrate. It’s getting dark now, my headlight reflecting off the trees, and the corners come up fast. But the road is empty, and I can ride at whatever speed I want. It’s real freedom, the only chance I ever get it.
And it hasn’t felt like this in years.
I know why. More accurately, I know who.
The last few miles of Route 74 are almost flat, narrow but straight roads past fields.
My headlight picks out two white crosses on the verge, opposite an intersection.
No way of knowing, but they were probably bikers.
Some guy out with his girl, gets her killed.
I clench my jaw. I’ve hardly noticed that stuff for so long, but now it has another meaning.
I take I-5 north into the city, and the freeway is busy, even this late.
Holiday traffic, readying for the weekend ahead.
An hour later, I pull up two blocks short of my apartment, and abandon the stolen bike down an alleyway.
It’s about done on gas anyway. Out of habit, I give it a quick wipe down, then walk away, stripping my gloves and helmet off as I go.
Tonight. Tomorrow. Then I get to see Genesis again.
It’s enough to put energy in my steps, despite how tired I am.
What I really want to do is get the TV on and find out what’s happened to Pablo.
There’s no way he’s not splashed all over the news with a chopper after him.
It takes the vultures that are the local media about three minutes to respond when their police scanners pick up something like that.
A bank robbery and a fleeing suspect on the eve of July Fourth weekend?
It’s a gift for them. I’ll get to see them capture Pablo in high definition.
Genesis will need to hide. I can help her with that.
I let myself into my apartment. It’s a one-bed, shit lying everywhere. I see it with fresh eyes. The empty pizza boxes. Beer bottles lying discarded. Garbage overflowing. The weights out of their rack, clothes lying dirty on the floor. I can’t bring her back here, not like this.
The TV goes on first, sound low. It doesn’t take long to find coverage; it’s on every goddamn channel. I flick until I find one that’s summarizing, not replaying. The headline says it all.
Breaking: Suspect Killed After Suspected Palm Springs Bank Robbery—Suspect Fired On Officers—Riverside County Sheriff Confirms.
I grimace. He’s dead, which means Genesis can breathe easy. But I wanted to kill him myself, and I feel cheated.
It doesn’t take long for the footage to start looping again. Sweeping, clean desert aerial of a dirt bike trailing dust, running hard as the sun sets. Easy to follow from above, just like Genesis said. The only moving thing for miles.