Page 6 of All's Fair in Love & Chaos
I’m going to kidnap Camden Young and make him wish he had never been born.
Chapter Three
CAMDEN
Sin set up the meeting in fucking Oakhaven, two hours away. It’s neutral territory, which is the only place all the presidents will meet, to semi-guarantee we won’t all turn on each other and shoot someone in the face.
As a rule, I never travel alone, always having Malice with me at a minimum, but even that’s rare. But the last thing any of us needs right now is to put on a show of force, riding through Amberwood and the next towns, announcing that some shit has gotten under our skin or is about to go down.
The late-summer air is balmy, my undershirt sticking to my skin. The sun is high in the sky, its rays beaming down and heating everything they touch. The ride to Oakhaven will be a welcome reprieve from anything else I would have done today, and I’m actually looking forward to a solo trip. There’s nothing in the world that can top being on the open road, the wind at my back, the hum of my bike under me. It’s a freedom so few get to experience, and one I don’t take forgranted.
I straddle my bike after topping her off with gas, putting my sunglasses back on as I notice a gorgeous, sleek, all-black bike parked across the street. I don’t recognize the bike, and Amberwood is small. It could be someone passing through, but there’s something in the pit of my stomach telling me it’s not.
My bike rumbles to life under me, the purr of the engine reaching my ears as my boot connects with the kickstand and I walk her forward, my gremlin bell jingling under my foot. It reminds me of Lucas, a reminder of what I had and ultimately lost.
As I pull out, I look in my mirror just in time to see a flash of chrome. The motorcycle starts up, the rider pulling it onto the street two cars behind me. Pin pricks scatter across my skin, the air around me shifting, putting me on edge. Maybe I’m being overly paranoid, but with everything going on, and since I’m traveling alone for the first time in years, I’m not taking any chances.
I drive through town, the cars behind me pulling off onto side streets, the biker staying a few car lengths behind me, his all-black helmet giving him an edge of purposeful anonymity. I’m no amateur; I know when I’m being tailed, and this asshole is following me. The way the biker stays a steady pace behind me, not weaving, not pulling off at the turns, is a dead giveaway. Whoever it is, they’re not just cruising, and they sure as shit aren’t from my territory. Just as I reach the outskirts of Amberwood, I take one last look at the biker in my mirror and gun it.
My bike’s front end lifts slightly off the pavement, the wind ripping over my leather cut. I feel the shift in balance, the surge of speed, then I slam the front back down, kicking it into overdrive.The road stretches out ahead, empty except for the windwhipping through my hair, the hum of the engine beneath me, steady and familiar. I lean into each tight curve, winding around the narrow back roads, hitting one hundred and pushing it further.
I know it’s reckless.
I know it’s dangerous.
I don’t give a shit.
Just as I thought he would, the biker takes off after me. I grip the handlebars tighter, my eyes scanning the road in front of me, constantly checking my mirrors, while adrenaline pumps through my veins. The roads out here are narrow, the quaint buildings and cobblestone sidewalks of downtown Amberwood long behind us, nothing but open roads, miles of woods, and mountains on the horizon.
I know these roads like the back of my hand, and there’s not a lot of places to lose someone out here, but I’m positive I can outrun him, unless he’s got some skill, then I might be in for a game of cat and mouse. A game I don’t plan on making easy for him.
I give the throttle a twist, the bike surging beneath me, the roar of the engine blasting as I push it to its limit. The road blurs, but the sound behind me doesn’t change. Like a shadow in my wake, he matches my speed, pissing me off further, adrenaline spiking through my veins.
I dart into a curve, leaning my bike into it, taking it at a hard, quick angle, my tires squealing as I hold my ground, testing the asshole behind me. I don’t look back, but I feel the weight of him still on me. Whoever he is, he’s damn good. Which means I need to either lose him or kill him, because the chances ofrunning into a stranger in Amberwood while I’m traveling alone are slim to none.He’s not here to play nice.
On the next curve, I brake hard, swinging my bike into the tight turn just before a gravel patch, my back wheel spinning, spraying dust behind me. I keep the throttle pinned tight, digging deep into the power of my bike, my pulse in sync with the machine I know as well as I know myself. I ride her like an extension of me, knowing exactly how much she can take and what she needs.
The sound of the engine roaring behind me, hard and fast, only pisses me off more. There’s no fucking way this asshole has kept up with me. I’ve been riding since I was a teenager, and I’d argue that I’m one of the best riders in the state. The fact that I haven’t been able to shake him makes my steely resolve slip slightly.
Who the fuck is this guy?
Realizing I’m not going to outrun this asshole, I resign myself to facing him head-on. Now it’s a game of who’s got more guts, and his just may end up spilled across the pavement when I’m done with him.
I drop my speed quickly, my tires screeching, leaving trail marks on the road behind me as I pull off to the side of the road, the fucker hot on my ass doing the same. I’m off my bike faster than should be possible, the gun in my holster now securely in my palm. I turn to face the assailant, drawing my weapon and holding it in front of me, pointed right at him.
Long, lithe legs climb off the motorcycle so elegantly it’s like watching an erotic dance. Leather combat boots tie around petite ankles, leading up to a set of bare legs and the tightest shorts I’ve ever seen. A leather jacket is zipped up tight, andby the time my eyes reach the top of the feminine body in front of me, it’s just in time to see the helmet lifted from her head.
Long, sleek black hair tumbles from it, cascading down her shoulders until it reaches her waist. She shakes her head slightly, and I swear to fucking god, I hear angels singing. Everything moves in slow motion.
The gun I’m holding starts to sink toward the ground, my hands shaking slightly.
My heart pounds against my rib cage.
My breath catches.
My mouth salivates.
My dick hardens.
