Angel

by Victoria Johns

  When I woke up the next morning, I felt relieved it was the weekend and I didn’t have to face going into the office. Honestly, I was never interested in going to work, but usually the Davis banter somehow made it worth it. After last night’s demand of a dance from Declan, there wouldn’t have been banter, only a prying eye until he could no longer hold in his questions. I couldn’t blame him really. If the tables had been turned and I wanted to know something, I would have stopped at nothing short of water boarding him for that information. I could tell Davis knew Declan’s deal, but if I learned anything more than I already knew it would be my downfall. I’d lived enough of my life with the Black Sentinels in a haze of lies; adding more weight to that scale would surely tempt a tipping point I wasn’t ready to face yet. If ever.

  My emotions over Declan were so confusing. One minute I was hot for him and couldn’t get over just how handsome he was, and the next minute I was a hot mess because he was a reminder of just how our lives had once imploded, all because of me. Having him near felt familiar, but having him here was dangerous. He knew too much and I wasn’t ready for my life to implode a second time.

  What I needed was fun. A distraction. Something worthy of a sunny Saturday.

  Dirt biking was my answer and as always, it didn’t take much to convince Throttle to come with me, which was good seeing as I needed him to bring the bikes on the trailer. As much as I hated to admit a weakness, there were some things I just couldn’t handle and mauling two bikes onto a trailer was definitely one of them. If I put my mind to it, I could do it, but it’d take me too long. I’d also be knackered after the effort—too knackered to actually go dirt biking, and if I dropped one of them, there would be hell to pay. I could fix pretty much anything mechanical that I broke—of that I was sure—but bikes were Gods around here. You treated them better than your equal, better than your wife and in some cases, first born, and admitting defeat on pushing one on and off a trailer was how I paid my respect.

  “Well, I guess we know what your day entails,” Dad mumbled, sipping his coffee as I flew into the kitchen dressed in my dirt bike gear. I was wearing old, but tight, oiled stained denim jeans that had been through the wash so many times they felt more like brushed cotton, and a black, long sleeved Henley. Ever the lady, my feet were safely encased in lady-like pink and white dirt bike boots. I didn’t mind being one of the guys, but there was no reason to compromise on style.

  “Yeah, Throttle’s loading up the bikes and then coming to get me.” I raced back out again and found the rest of my gear in the utility room. White helmet and pink goggles, to coordinate with my boots, a pair of feminine, yet black gloves and last but not least, my chest protector. Dirt biking was a dangerous activity; one lapse of concentration and you were off. Exactly why it was perfect for today. I needed my head in the present, not thinking about three million other things swirling around Declan that I had no answers for.

  “Go careful out there.”

  I could hear the inflection in his voice. He was always worried when I didn’t have both my feet firmly on the ground. It shouldn’t have been a shock to my parents that I wanted to get my ass on a bike. It was all I’d known since I’d come to live with them. We’d argued about it for some time until dad came up with a compromise. He told me that if I helped fix one up, he’d teach me how to ride one safely. It was an offer I was never going to turn down, but mostly because I got to spend time with him. Dad spent months teaching me and it was intense and enlightening, but he kept his promise. It was only as I grew up that I realized what his intention had been all along. When JP and Vix took me in, they had a ten-year-old stray on their hands who they knew nothing about. Stripping down a little bitty bike engine gave us quality time to get to know each other. I think that’s maybe when the guilt started to creep in. He was taking the time to teach me and show me that I had nothing to fear from his biker family all because of what I’d seen Chopper do. Unfortunately, he had no idea how fucked up and twisted the situation really was, how I really was.

  “I will.” The truck and trailer pulled to a dusty halt outside, and as I went to grab my gear, my dad appeared behind me to help.

  “Look after my girl, Prospect,” he shouted before handing over my stuff to Throttle. Calling him that instead of his club name made it was intended to be, an order.

  Before I climbed in the cab, I went to check on my girl. She was a KTM 125 SX and had a tiny 80CC engine, it suited an aggressive rider like me who was small in stature. The bike I’d done up with my dad had long since been passed on to the kid of another biker in our family, so this little beauty was new and a Christmas treat from me to me with a Davis bonus. She was a low weight two stroke with enough grunt to make me feel like I was being whipped and cracked around a forest course. My girl was white and orange, and had stripes on the fairing that made her look like she was on fire, which was completely perfect because to me, she was scorching good fun.

  Less than forty minutes drive from the Sentinels property was Forest Ives—a huge forest of around ten thousand acres situated slap bang in the middle of two huge rivers. It had something to offer everyone—picnic areas, nature trails and right in the furthest corner, an abundance of dusty tracks that were perfect for dirt biking. It was like Mother Nature had created it specifically for our enjoyment.

  The sun was beating down on the truck as Throttle secured the trailer down and began to haul the bikes off. “I’m gonna say this once—please take it easy otherwise the boys will have my ass on a spike.”

  I smirked back at him as I strapped my chest protector in place and braided my hair so getting my helmet on wasn’t like wrestling a plastic bucket onto the head of a woolly mammoth.

  With glee, I walked towards my bike and kick started it. It rumbled for a promising second and then died.

  I tried again, with the same result.

  By the time I’d tried kicking it over six or seven times, Throttle was in my face pushing me out of the way. “Pull the choke, Angel. The first start is always the coldest. You need to prime her like you love her. Everyone needs to be primed before they’re expected to perform,” he smirked. Throttle got her going and my irritation was evident. “Just relax. Stop being so impatient. This is supposed to be fun.”

  The constant screaming of the engine was loud enough to make the leaves on the trees shake and quiver, and I loved it. When I swung my leg over the seat and grabbed for my gloves, I felt my body stir to life at the vibration beneath me. Feeling it tickled my senses, and the ‘bring and pop’ sound when I twisted the accelerator only increased that buzz.

  I watched and waited for Throttle as he threw a backpack onto his shoulders and began to get his beast ready. I was bouncing on the seat of mine in impatience, feeling the springs of the shock absorbers repay me with a response. In an open face helmet, I saw him smile and nod that he was ready.

  “Ladies first!” he shouted, throwing an arm out while fighting to be heard over the engine noise. I positioned a pretty boot under the gear lever and shifted my little fire-breathing monster into first before revving off. I went through my routine to settle into it, taking it slow to get used to the weight and feel of the bike, standing up and down on the foot pegs to remind my muscle memory how she handled when I was twisting and turning out of the seat.

  The brightness of the paintwork flashed in the sunlight as it breached the tree cover and I finally felt like my mood was changing. The fresh air, the freedom and motherfucking nature reminded me just how good it was to be alive.

  I picked up one of the easier tracks that showed the signs of tire wear and tear and buzzed my way along it, knowing that Throttle was either right behind me or shadowing me at an acute angle. It’s amazing how in sync we were considering we’d only been friends for just over six months. I was pretty sure he would make an excellent Sentinel and the thought of having him in my future and part of the family was warming and reassuring.

  The trees finally parted open, and in front of us was something mor
e attuned to what I’d come for—humps, bumps and jumps. I briefly paused at the beauty in front of me, feeling grateful that there was no one around. It was empty. There’d be no waiting in line and being respectful to other trail users. It was just Throttle and me, and we could go wherever the hell we wanted. Tree trunks that had fallen during storms and man-made craters became my Everest—the things that were going to suck up all my available brain space and remind me who I was.

  I am Gracie Collins.

  I am Angel.

  I am the daughter of the Black Sentinels President.

  I am a beautiful woman in the prime of her life and I am a petrol head. Like it or not, I don’t give a flying fuck.

  Throttle and I had been tackling obstacles for the last couple of hours, but whereas he’d been taking in jumps and executing spectacular landings, I’d been racing round, taking corners on the edge of my ability and general pushing my own limits until my heart had been beating in my throat. The power delivery of my girl was snappy and abrupt, a couple of times I’d been fighting not to scream or shut my eyes in fear. When I got like this I knew it was time to take a break and talk some sense into myself. After ten minutes of watching Throttle and what could only be described as some serious skill, he headed in my direction and parked his dirt bike next to mine.

  Both of us were dusty, but the glorious grin on his face was a definite match for my own. “You have a perfect set of dust goggles still on your face. It’s extreme out there today.”

  “Yeah. The ground is hard and unpredictable. Glad you decided to calm down when you did, Angel. Nearly puked when I saw you weave in that one-eighty over there.”

  Throttle came and sat on the ground next to me, pulling the backpack from his shoulders and reaching in for a can of Coke. As soon as I could pop it open, I gulped it down, desperate for refreshment. “This is the life, Throttle.”

  “It is.”

  “Where are you from?” I don’t know what made me ask him for personal information, but I couldn’t take it back the question once it poured out. I watched as he drank his Coke down, noticing the way he curled his lips around the lip of the can. “Do you have family?”

  “Nope,” he answered quickly as his eyes flashed with something that was gone in an instant.

  “Are you… single?” Throttle turned to look at me. There was a frown on his forehead. “What? It’s just a question.”

  “I’m single.”

  We both drifted back into silence. Throttle was no doubt wondering how to get away from me, and I was wondering why it was such a big deal, and I felt compelled to ask him questions. Then it hit me. I’d never seen him with a girl. Ever.

  “Throttle, can I ask you something?”

  I watched as he shook his head in disbelief. “Now she asks if she can ask personal questions?”

  “Are you gay?”

  Maybe I should have waited until he wasn’t mid-mouthful before I asked. As quick as the can was tipped up and at his lips, it was brought back down again, and Throttle was coughing and spluttering. I think a little bit of Coke even came out of his nose. “What the fuck, Angel?”

  “I’ve never seen you with a girl. Dad never mentions you with any and you don’t hook up with the available pussy that hangs at the club.”

  I watched as he carried on wiping the Coke from his chin and denims, which had also suffered as a result of my outburst.

  “I should hope Prez never mentions me with a girl. A brother expects a level of discretion and I don’t go randomly fucking at the club. Those women aren’t the cleanest and I like my dick functioning.”

  “Why haven’t you got a girl?”

  Throttle stood and picked my empty can up from the floor. “How about you show me some respect and drop it. We’re not discussing this.”

  “I think we are,” I pushed. Because that’s what I always did, pushed. “Is there something wrong with you?”

  “Angel.” I could hear the warning in his tone, but because I was me, I carried on regardless.

  “Are you a virgin?” I giggled.

  “Fuck. This is ridiculous.” The tension in his body told me that he was becoming less impressed with my jokey questions as the seconds rolled by.

  “Did someone break your heart?” I stood up because he did. “Where are you going?”

  “For a piss. Now fuck off.”

  I carried on walking right behind him as he tried to move deeper into the forest growth for some privacy.

  “There is someone isn’t there? You’ve got your eye on someone.” Throttle stopped abruptly, and I bounced straight into his back.

  “Yes. I have as it happens. But she’s off limits.” Before I could cogitate his words, he spun around and I was no longer looking at his dusty black t-shirt and denim-covered ass. I was face to face with his neck. “You, Angel. You’re under my fucking skin and I can’t have you.” He clenched his fingers into fists, trying to hammer his point home.

  My eyes bugged out like they were on stalks and Throttle smirked his in return. My mouth was now as dry as the dirt track we’d just raced over and as I opened it to bawl him out over his crazy words, he kissed me. His hands suddenly seized the opportunity and took hold of my face, his fingers tangling in my wispy, air ridden braid. “For once,” he muttered, “I’m gonna kiss you and see what I’m missing.”

  In all honesty, he wasn’t a bad kisser. Throttle was generous at both giving and receiving, playing both parts equally. His lips were soft and tender, and it wasn’t long before the kiss deepened for both of us. It was Throttle, though, who brought it to a close. In a smooth move, he gently slowed it right down until we were both breathing heavily and our foreheads were touching.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be. Where did that come from?”

  Our bodies were flush against one another and I could tell he was affected. His breathing was labored and his dick was stabbing me in the stomach. Had I not been wearing my chest protector, he would have seen the same level of affection from me. My nipples were rubbing up against hard Kevlar and quite frankly, I wanted to explode and unleash a different kind of frustration—one that no amount of dirt bike riding could be considered a substitute for.

  “That shouldn’t have happened, Angel. I need your word that you’ll forget about it.”

  Was he kidding me? I was attracted to him and we’d been on and off with the innuendoes and banter from the moment we both realized it was a great game to play. “You’re not serious?”

  “Completely. I have to be. I’m a prospect at your dad’s club. If he finds out I’ve laid a finger on you then it’s over for me.”

  Hearing him point out that the brotherhood meant more to him than I did made me mad. “Who’s the fucking girl here?”

  I caught the warning in his eyes before he said, “Angel,” to remind me of who I was dealing with—a brother of the Black Sentinels, with more pride than your average lion pack.

  “You want me. I want you. This is ridiculous.”

  “Stop acting like a petulant child. I acted on something I shouldn’t have. It’s going no further and we have to go back to how it was.”

  Failing to believe he’d just said that and with all the attitude I could muster under the hurt, I snorted and spun around. “You’re right. I like my men with a little more between their legs. Like some balls.”

  “Angel!”

  As I stormed off back to the bikes, I left him to take his piss. Although, with the hard on he was sporting it could take some time—that, or he’d be pissing in all directions like a broken hosepipe. I was secretly hoping for the latter; it would serve him right if he covered himself.

  I saw him move back through the forest as I snapped my goggles into place on my face. When I went to kick start my bike, I prayed it would turn over first time. Him having to do it for me again would not improve my disposition. When it did turn over, I over exaggerated the revving of the throttle and scowled at him. I saw as he mouthed some words at me and they di
dn’t look pleasant. Fortunately, I couldn’t hear and I was in no mood to listen.

  This time I wasn’t gentle when I stamped down into first gear and took off, showering him in dust and anything else that happened to be in my path. If he hadn’t been pissed off before, he would be now. Too bad, I was beyond caring. My humiliation was snaking through my subconscious, and if I had to off-road it all the way back home, I would. I would do anything that got me out of sitting in that truck with him.

  As I twisted and gripped the accelerator, I stood up on the pegs and assumed a stance that meant business. I weaved around bushes and ducked around low hanging branches, hearing only my bike and my own heartbeat in my padded ears. I spotted a small jump ahead, something I’d not noticed before, and as I fed some extra power to my KTM, I raced towards it, deciding that being airborne was what I needed. The reckless nature of it would scrub away at some of the edginess I was feeling. As I got closer and closer, I could hear a bike screaming up behind me. Throttle was pushing his heavy four stroke faster than he should to try to catch up with me. I glanced quickly at the structure of the jump as I neared it before deciding to head for its dead center and take flight, when a bird swooped low in front of me, startled by the bike engines, and completely knocked my concentration.

  The fright caused a bad chain of reactions.

  I was startled, which caused me to mishandle the bike, and I knew if I went through with this, I’d not be landing rubber down on the other side. I was going too fast and the angle was all screwed up. As I panicked and slammed the rear brake on, the back of my bike began to snake and weave as I lightly stabbed the front brake on and off. My instinct was to grab the biggest handful of front brake I could, but I knew that would lock the front wheel and I’d be airborne immediately, without my bike. I’d be soaring with the same trajectory as the fucking bird who had caused all of this. As the mound of dirt that had been crafted into a jump obstacle loomed closer, I managed to swing the front wheel to the right of it, but hadn’t given myself enough clearance, and the left foot peg ground in and caused the bike to spit me off.