A Risky Prospect by Elizabeth Barone

Author:Elizabeth Barone [Barone, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Maietta Ink
Published: 2019-03-18T00:00:00+00:00

32

Olivia

I speed all the way to Esther's grandparents' house, hoping that this will be the one time Naugatuck cops won't be assholes. That maybe this is the one night they're not hanging around, just waiting to pull someone over. Time is being wrenched away. I can't afford to drive the speed limit.

I also can't afford to get a ticket, or arrested. I slow the Street Glide to only 5 mph above the limit. I should've become a cop instead of a social worker. Then I could fly all over this town.

Approaching a stop sign, I slow down. Naugatuck is all about the three-second stop. When Lucy took me out with my learner's permit, I actually counted out loud, for fear a police cruiser would materialize and arrest me. How things have changed. Now if I see a cop, I'll do the full stop. If there isn't one in sight, I roll right on through.

Everyone here does it.

A squad car pulls up behind me, its front bumper only a few inches from my rear tire. I take the full stop, putting both feet on the pavement. I count to three in my head.

One.

Three seconds is an agonizing amount of time when there's a cop watching. It's even longer when they're watching and someone's life is on the line. Tonight, it's three.

Two.

I check my rearview mirrors. He stares at my ass through his windshield. Or maybe he's noting my plate. Technically, I don't have a motorcycle license yet, and the Street Glide is registered under Mark's name.

I swallow.

Three.

I pause, taking a breath. Then, putting both feet back up, I ease forward. Blue and red lights twirl through the street.

"Motherfucker," I grumble, rolling to a stop again. He must've run my plate numbers.

Of all the nights.

He creeps up behind me, again nearly kissing my back tire. The lights wash the whole street in a slow strobe, an effect that makes my temples thud and my eyes ache. He doesn't get out of his cage.

I glance into my mirrors again, without turning my head. I don't want him to see that I'm nervous. Tonight I'm just a girl out for a ride, a girl who obeys stop signs and speed limits.

A girl who doesn't have three kids and a rapist to worry about.

Make that two rapists.

My fingers twitch toward the throttle. On this bike, I can outrun him. I'm not far from the Aguirres's house, so all it'd take is a quick canvas of the neighborhood and he'd find me. Plus I'm wearing my cut, and he's probably already run the plate.

"Fuck," I breathe.

I'm wearing my cut.

And my gun.

I'm fucked.

Completely and utterly done.

If he's run my plates, he knows I'm not the owner. When he asks for my license and registration, he'll know I'm driving this thing illegally. And since he's a Naugatuck cop and a total dick by default, he'll probably pat me down, just to piss all over the MC.

Because even though the police and the club have an uneasy agreement, they're still cops and we're still bikers.

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