Page 25 of Rebel

“And if I wreck it?”

“Don’t.”

Rio laughed then, a short, sharp sound that seemed to surprise even her.“You’re not big on bullshit, are you?”

“Waste of time.”I pushed off from where I’d been leaning.“So is standing around talking when we could be riding.”

She studied me for a long moment, like she was trying to read something written in fine print on my face.Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because she nodded once.

“I’ll need a helmet,” she said.

“Got one for you.”I moved to the clubhouse porch and pulled out a matte black helmet with a tinted visor from a paper sack I’d stashed there.“Should fit.”

She took it, checked the sizing with a critical eye.“You planned this.”

Not a question.I didn’t treat it like one.

“My bike’s around back,” I said instead.“Meet you at the gate in five.”

I turned to go, but her voice stopped me.

“Rebel.”

I looked back.

“Thanks,” she said, the word awkward in her mouth, like she didn’t use it often.“For the ride.”

I nodded once.“Don’t thank me yet.Ride’s just starting.”

As I walked away, I heard the Nightster’s engine roar back to life behind me.The sound followed me across the parking lot, a promise of speed and freedom that made my blood hum in response.Whatever baggage Rio carried, whatever had put that wariness in her eyes, it wouldn’t matter once we hit the open road.

On a bike, going fast enough, the past can’t catch you.At least not for a while.

* * *

The coastal highway unraveled beneath our tires like a snake shedding its skin.Rio kept the Nightster steady beside me, neither falling behind nor pushing ahead.The ocean crashed against the surf off to our right.She rode like she had something to prove, but only to herself.No stupid risks, no showboating.Just pure skill and the kind of focus that told me more about her than words ever could.

Wind tore at my clothes, a constant battle that kept the blood pumping.Beside me, Rio leaned into a curve, her body an extension of the machine.The Nightster responded to her like they’d spent years together instead of less than an hour.Natural talent.Couldn’t be taught.

The sun hung fat and low over the water, casting a golden path across the waves.The highway curved, taking us closer to the beach, then further away, before curving back again.

Rio didn’t hesitate.She took the tighter line, the Nightster’s pipes echoing as she accelerated through the turn.I matched her, staying close enough to see her in my peripheral vision but giving her space to maneuver.

Rio glanced over at me, her face obscured by the helmet but her posture relaxed now, fluid.She gunned the engine, pulling ahead by a bike length.Challenge issued.I grinned inside my helmet and opened up my throttle.

We weren’t racing.Not exactly.Just two predators testing each other’s speed, finding a rhythm that worked between us.No words needed.The bikes spoke for us, negotiating boundaries with engine growls and tire squeals.

The highway curved inland for a stretch, cutting through a stand of palm trees.Shadows dappled the road, making it a constantly shifting puzzle.Rio had been wasted in the Army.This was where she belonged.

Twenty minutes later, the road brought us to a stretch of beach dotted with weathered buildings.One caught my attention, a wooden shack perched on stilts just above the high tide line.Smoke curled from a chimney, carrying the scent of butter and seafood.

I signaled, pointing toward it.Rio nodded and followed my lead as I turned onto the gravel lot beside the building.We parked beneath a wooden awning that creaked with each gust of wind off the water.The sign above the door simply read “CATCH” in faded red letters.

Rio dismounted first, pulling her helmet off in a smooth motion.Her hair tumbled free, tangled from the wind but somehow making her look more alive because of it.She ran her fingers through it once, a practical gesture with no vanity behind it.

“Hungry?”I asked, removing my own helmet.

“Starving.”She looked at the shack with skeptical eyes.“This place actually serve food?”

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