The look in his eyes raises warning flags. He wants to punch me next. At the very least, he’s considering it. We all deal with anger issues, thanks to our fucked-up pasts, but Hawk keeps his bottled up. He’s a loaded gun with a hairpin trigger. I’ve seen him explode once, and the unfortunate asshole he let loose on almost didn’t make it out alive.
A motorcycle’s scream from down the road breaks through the tense silence. Hawk shakes me off and stalks away to put a generous amount of space between us. While he paces near the restaurant’s front doors, he taps at his phone’s screen, probably investigating the other camera angles.
“I’m sorry,” Aiden mumbles.
I turn to him and cup the sides of his helmet, forcing him to look at me, but he keeps his eyes downcast and refuses to meet my stare. His happy-go-lucky attitude is gone, replaced by defeat.
“It’s not your fault, okay?” I say.
Aiden nods.
I jerk him closer by the helmet, forcing him to look at me. “Mickey was going to attack them no matter what. We’ll catch the person who ran to the Kings. We’ll take care of them.”
Aiden grabs my wrists and clings to me. His vulnerability twists the organ inside my chest as he swallows hard and nods. “Yeah.”
The motorcycle’s screams get louder until Jaxon pulls into the parking lot and stops three feet from us. Hawk peeks over his shoulder, then turns back to his phone. Jaxon parks and dismounts from the seat.
I cock my head. He didn’t bring Dahlia with him.
Jaxon shoves his visor up as he strides toward us, sparing a glance at Hawk. Aiden releases me and steps back. I let my arms drop to my sides, and I watch Aiden carefully as he waves at Jaxon.
“Hey, man.” In a blink, the despair in Aiden’s gaze disappears. He forces cheer into his voice, and life returns to his eyes.
Jaxon nods in greeting. “We riding?”
“Yeah,” I say. “But did you, by chance, see anyone else hanging around your house when Mickey was there?”
“No.” He looks between Aiden and me. “Someone else was there?”
I give Jaxon the same quick rundown. Anger leaches into his gaze, but his posture remains loose, as if he’s not upset at hearing this news.
“I’ll look at the video feed,” he says.
“Hawk is looking at all the cameras placed around the neighborhood. There aren’t any by your house,” I say.
Aiden’s cheery mask slips.
Jaxon shakes his head. “I set up cameras a while ago as a precaution.” He glances at Aiden in understanding, then turns to me again. “Give me a day, and I’ll see what I can find.”
I nod. “Until then, we should be on the lookout for any shadows.”
“Thank fuck for your obsession with Dahlia,” Aiden breathes. He slaps his gloved palm on his chest over his heart. “I thought I fucked up.”
Jaxon shrugs. “You didn’t fuck up.”
Aiden sucks in a calming breath and releases it in a heavy sigh. I nod and pat his shoulder. The pure relief in his gaze is enough to make my insides relax. I wasn’t mad at him because I know firsthand that shit can happen, but Aiden took it hard. IfMickey had hurt or killed Jaxon and Dahlia, Aiden would have carried the burden to his grave.
We part ways and head toward our bikes. I’ve been dying to ride with them so I can clear my head. After the shit that’s been happening the last few days—not just physically, but mentally—it’s needed.
Hawk strides toward his bike, then changes direction at the last second. He stops beside Aiden and says something I can’t hear over the engines. Whatever he says is brief, but it’s enough to make the latter’s posture more relaxed. They playfully swat each other before Hawk rushes to his bike and mounts it.
I take the lead and ride out of the parking lot with the others following close behind. Once on the main street, I gain speed and fly down the empty road. Wind lashes me, and the familiar stomach-drop feeling is enough to chase away the numbness I’ve been dealing with since I was a kid.
The only time I feel alive is when I ride. The adrenaline pumps through my veins until it’s almost unbearable. Ifeelso much. If someone were to examine my head, they’d find how much I love chasing a high that drugs can’t touch.
Despite knowing the rope can snap or the parachute might not deploy, people still bungee jump and skydive. They’re all chasing the exhilarating feeling of death on the horizon. The same can be said for riding a sports motorcycle. A car could hit me, or my tires might blow out and toss me from the bike. I could lose control while going well over one hundred miles per hour. Shit, I could accidentally hit a pothole, go flying, and become a goddamn pancake.
That’s why I do it. The constant threat of death gives me the adrenaline rush I crave. It makes me feel so fucking alive.
