Chapter 7 Stone
SEVEN
STONE
After peeling myself off the damn concrete, I looked around at my scattered groceries.
I grabbed the handlebars of my bike and tipped it back up, grunting as I moved.
I’d taken many dives over the handlebars of my motorcycle over the years.
I knew how to tuck and roll. I knew how to protect myself.
Even though my helmet somehow ended off my damn head and mingled itself with the broken glass, I’d kept myself out of harm’s way.
Came with the territory of my lifestyle.
“Fucking hell,” I murmured.
I gathered up the things that weren’t completely ruined on the road.
Four bottles of beer that hadn’t busted.
The cheesecake that hadn’t popped open. Some other random shit that hadn’t mangled itself in the process of pouring out of my bike.
I shoved it all back into the storage compartment before closing it up.
Then, I dusted my leather coat off and started looking around.
Traffic eased slowly around me. Some to get around the glass, and others?
To get around me. I looked around at the cars to see which of them speeding off had hit me.
Surely there was some sort of mark on their fender or some shit.
People in San Diego were notorious for hitting bikers and speeding off.
Like if they hit us, we were going to automatically pull weapons on them and fill them with lead.
I looked behind me and saw a woman behind the steering wheel of a rundown station wagon. Wide blue eyes. Dark brown hair piled into her face. Her beauty would have made my cock throb had it not been for the trickling of blood running down her nose.
I furrowed my brow as I leveled my eyes with her.
She was hurt. How badly? I studied her from beyond her windshield as people continued cruising beside us, around us, like we didn’t fucking exist. I narrowed my eyes a bit to get a better view, moving my body to get around the glare of the sun off her damn windshield.
I didn’t want to spook her. If she was hurt or concussed, she needed a fucking doctor.
But I saw those hands of hers white knuckling her steering wheel, and I didn’t want to spook her away.
Slowly, I bent down. I reached my hand around on the ground trying to locate my helmet.
If I held her eyes, she probably wouldn’t run.
She probably wouldn’t try to flee the scene.
Just in case, though, I needed to make sure I had my helmet to toss over my head.
The blood kept running down her face, and she was so shell-shocked I wasn’t even sure she noticed it.
Her tan skin radiated with the sun that bared down onto our backs.
And when I didn’t feel my helmet grazing my fingertips, I tore my gaze away from hers.
Away from those striking ocean blue eyes.
I picked my helmet up as quickly as I could.
I leaned back up, steadying my bike against my thigh.
I tossed my helmet around in my hands, trying to make sure the outside of it hadn’t been compromised.
I pressed it between my palms and gauged its give.
It didn’t feel cracked. It didn’t groan or give underneath my skin.
A grin slid across my face as my eyes leveled with the woman’s again.
My helmet was good to go, and I was ready to challenge her if she decided to flee the scene.
I should have known the second I slipped that damn thing over my head, it would be on.
Just as I brought it down against my neck, I heard the squealing of tires.
Horns honked and people cussed as a waft of wind crashed against my left side.
Oh, this pretty girl had guts. Lots of them.
I watched her station wagon tear around the left-hand turn at the light as my leg quickly slipped over my bike.
“Not on my watch,” I murmured.
I was equal parts pissed and concerned. Her car weaved around, and I didn’t know what kind of condition she was in.
Also, she’d fled the scene. They always fucking fled the damn scene without a care in the world as to the damage they could have possibly done to me or my fucking bike.
I chased after her, blowing through the red arrow as I careened around the corner.
I ignored the people who yelled after me and honked their horns like some chorus of fuckwads who were angry at absolutely nothing.
I had a woman to track down.
I followed her from stop to stop, trying to keep a distance.
For some reason, I kept toggling between unhinged anger and unadulterated worry.
Every second that passed by made me more concerned for her head and more confused as to why the fuck I cared so much today.
Maybe it was because of this shit with the club or maybe it was because of that bullshit at the grocery store with that woman and the guy stalking her.
But I figured I was at least warranted in chasing her down.
What the hell was in the water for these women today anyway?
I pulled off onto side roads and kept on her tail.
I used tactics Notch taught me to keep my bike as muted as possible.
I followed her from stop to stop, keeping an eye on the old, beat-up station wagon she drove.
The damn car looked like it was about to shit itself simply from love-tapping my chrome back end.
“Woman’s not safe in that car, either,” I murmured.
I darted down another back road, keeping my eye on the intersections. Every time I passed one, she passed. Our vehicles were perfectly in sync. We rode that way for a few blocks, my bike muffled and her car groaning at the speed she was trying to move.
Then, I crossed an intersection that didn’t have her matching up with me.
With a furrowed brow and a worried state of mind, I slipped myself down an alley.
I came out at the intersection, shrouded by the buildings that loomed over me.
My eyes cased the road. I looked across the street.
I tried to track down where the fuck that girl had gone before I found her pulling up to a window at a fast food joint.
She paid for some food. She pulled up to receive it. Then, right there in the damn drive through, she inhaled some french fries and a drink.
My kind of woman.
I grinned as she eased out into traffic.
She was in the perfect position for me to make my move.
I looked both ways before my feet eased my bike out onto the main highway, and I slipped into the lane beside her.
I revved my engine as I picked up speed.
I saw her tap her brakes before her car sped up.
She darted in and out of traffic, weaving around cars in an attempt to get away from me.
But no old station wagon was a match for my bike.
I rushed to catch up with her in the lane that was clear in front of me. She kept pulling into it to try and get around other cars, but it was no use. The stoplight coming up in front of us was yellow, and I had a feeling she wasn’t the type of girl to risk blowing a red light.
I smiled widely when she slowed down at the red light.
I rode up beside her and peeked in through her window.
She kept her eyes painfully straight, her knuckles still white against her steering wheel.
She was cute, I’d give her that. Ballsy, for sure.
It looked like the blood on her head had dried and she wasn’t puking up her food, which was a good sign.
I pushed away my worry and let my anger have its turn.
I reached over and knocked my knuckles against her window. At first, she ignored me. Her eyes darted over, but she didn’t turn toward me. But after the bang of my fist against her window, she jumped and looked my way.
She locked those ocean blue orbs with mine and I felt my stomach clench.
Why the hell does she have to be so cute?
I waved my finger around in the air, motioning for her to roll down her window. The lights were cycling through, leaving us stranded in the lanes that headed out toward the ocean. The woman quickly shook her head no. Like she thought she had a choice in the matter.
I flipped up my visor and glared at her, and it wasn’t long before her window rolled down. Giving me the perfect view of her voluptuous tits that sat against a thick, vivacious body.
Just my fucking luck.