I took the Pacific Highway on the way back, down the road past Big Sur, enjoying the weather and the scenery. Nothing felt better than the bike between my legs, the sun on my face, and a ride like this. I should have taken the highway and just headed straight back to the clubhouse, but hell, Tank and Itchy and the other guys were already on their way back. It would be no big deal if I took my time. Mad Dog would understand. Shit, he’d understand anything that involved getting *.
Riding solo like this gave me time to breathe. I loved the Inferno MC, more than anything, but it was like spending all your time with family, a huge fucked up dysfunctional one. Sometimes you just needed to get out and ride alone, clear your head. Of course, my head was plenty clear right now. Hell, I'd just gotten laid this morning. But it was too sunny and this was too good a ride to trade for the shorter one down the interstate.
It was late afternoon when I hit open road, and I finally sped up, trying to cover more mileage before nightfall. I'd gotten out of the scenic part of the the Pacific Highway, so I needed to get this show on the road. I shifted uncomfortably on the seat. I needed to stop and stretch. My back and hands started getting sore now more than they used to; at thirty-eight, I was nowhere near old, but damned if I hadn't started feeling old the past few years. I really needed a piss break too.
I looked up at a couple of cars ahead of me, after miles of nothing-a minivan full of kids and a red convertible, some rich kid probably out for a joyride. Revving the engine, I started to pass the cars, and saw red out of the corner of my eye.
"What the hell?" I swerved onto the shoulder, feeling my back tire start to spin out and nearly losing control of the bike.
"Fucking bitch." Slowing to a stop, I adjusted my helmet and took a minute to calm myself down. The convertible was up ahead of the minivan now. That girl hadn't even slowed down. Motorists never fucking watched for bikes, and that kind-the rich, entitled college girls whose daddies bought them expensive cars? Those were the worst.
Heat boiled in my chest. I could chase her down, run her off the road, teach her a lesson. You should do it. A year ago, that's what I would have done. Before Althea died. A year ago, I'd have pulled up beside her, kicked her driver's side mirror off the car, and made sure she understood she needed to watch where she was fucking going.
"Fuck!" I yelled, letting the rage pass. Althea's death had hit me hard, made me rethink things, start calming my shit down. Calm? That’s not a good thing for a biker, that voice in my head said. No, it is a good thing. Means you gave a shit about your foster mom, actually learned something from her.
Down the road a while longer, I had let it all go. I was fucking Zen, thoughts of that spoiled rich bitch completely gone from my head. Then I saw it up ahead. That bright red convertible, pulled over to the shoulder, and I was right back in the same spot I was twenty minutes ago. Filled with rage. I might have let it go before instead of chasing her down and kicking the shit out of her car, but now? The car up there, disabled on the side of the road, was a gift from God, a big flashing neon sign telling me this girl needed to learn a lesson. And I was a good fucking teacher.
I slowed the bike, rolled up behind the vehicle, and turned off the engine. Up ahead, the driver's side door was open, and I craned my neck to see around it. There she was, ahead of the car, on her knees in the dirt.
What was she doing? Oh, Christ. She was puking her brains out, crying something fierce. I sat there, frozen on the bike. I was good at beating the shit out of things, but chicks crying? I would rather someone kick me in the nuts a bunch of times than have to deal with a crying girl.
I didn't think she saw me yet. I could just ride away. It's not like I know her.
I thought of Althea, about the look on her face if she knew I had just abandoned some girl on the side of the road. Goddamn it, Althea, I thought. Even from beyond the grave you still know how to guilt me into doing what you think is right. Now I was going to have to get involved in some drama I didn't need.
Swinging my leg over the seat, I dismounted the bike and stood a few feet away, watching her. I was waiting for an excuse, anything she might do or say that would give me a reason to get back on my bike and burn rubber out of there. I was still pissed about her cutting me off, even if she was a total mess on the side of the road. I shut her driver's side door with a bang, but I didn’t kick a dent in it with my boot. Even though I wanted to. Give me a reason, I thought.
The girl jumped up, wiping her mouth on her hand. She might be a mess but she’s hot mess, I thought. Emphasis on hot. Keep your dick in your pants, Blaze.
She looked up at me, with big brown doe eyes and pouty lips, tears still wet on her cheeks. I squinted at her. Yup, she had snot dripping from her nose. Not that I’d kick her out of bed, even for that. I looked her over. Shit, she had to be all of twenty.