This bike didn’t breathe the same air as other bikes. Before now, she’d seen it only in pictures. She came to stand beside it and didn’t even notice that the garage had gone deathly still. Both men in the room were watching her.
Her gaze slid over the motorcycle, from the gauges and controls to the engine cover, through the power train, all the way to the radial tires and machine, slotted disc wheels. It was an artistic study in the dark side. The only thing that wasn’t black was the single blue-white lightning bolt that sliced across the engine cover as if it were actually being struck with a bolt of electricity. It looked so real. It was an amazing custom job and it sent a jolt of something wicked and delicious straight through Annabelle.
It was perfect.
“You have a Night Rod Special,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “When did you get a Night Rod Special?”
“It was one of the first produced. I’ve had it for a while, actually.” Jack said softly, coming to stand beside her. “I got it as a birthday present.”
“Last year? It only has twelve miles on it,” Annabelle said, shaking her head at the odometer readout. “You haven’t ridden it even once since your birthday?” And even then, he had to have only ridden it from the dealership straight into the garage. That was insane! This bike was meant to be ridden and ridden hard!
Jack took a slow, deep breath in and let it out in a whoosh. Annabelle turned to gaze up at him. He shook his head and ran his hand through his thick hair. “Well, the timing is shit, but the truth is, luv, I didn’t get it for my birthday. I got it for yours.”
Annabelle didn’t move. She didn’t really even breathe, actually. She was pretty positive she hadn’t heard him right, but if she had –
“My birthday?” She found herself whispering. It was all the sound she could make. Watching her best friend snuff someone didn’t phase her, apparently, but this did?
“Yes, Bella. You know. The one that happens this Sunday. May seventh.”
She slowly looked from him to the bike and then back again. She blinked. Jack smiled. He leaned in close and she could feel his breath across her ear as he said, “Happy birthday, luv.” His Sheffield accent echoed in her head as he finished, “Now get on it and start it up. We’ve gotta get the hell out of here.”
He straightened and Annabelle watched him move toward the covered bike in the corner. She felt dazed and numb and strange. Maybe she was dreaming? If so, then the nightmare she’d been experiencing was taking a turn for the better.
“Can you ride, Dylan?”
Dylan stared at Jack, still a little wide-eyed. After a moment, he blinked and shook his head. “Uh, no. No sir.” He swallowed and his hands tightened on the laptop he was carrying. “Not really.”
“Then you’ll ride behind me. Give the laptop to Annabelle so that she can put it in her pack.” Jack turned away from Dylan and moved to a bench against the back wall. He selected a pair of riding gloves and slipped them on. Then he reached for a black leather motorcycle jacket that hung on the wall above the bench. He switched it out for the sports coat he’d been wearing and Annabelle was in awe of how effortlessly the new piece melted into the rest of his black outfit. He was the quintessential easy rider. She was pretty sure that on the night he’d been born, a hundred Hell’s Angels were twisting their throttles somewhere in his honor.
She continued to watch him as he then moved back to the hooded motorcycle, grabbed one side of the flame-colored cover, unhooked it from below, and, in one clean movement, pulled it off of the bike.
“Jeeeeezus, Mary and Joseph…” Annabelle muttered under her breath.
Jack stepped back and stared down at the motorcycle he’d just uncovered. He stood there for what seemed like a long time and then he looked up at Annabelle, capturing her gaze. He smiled.
“This one was my birthday present.”
Annabelle could only watch as he gracefully mounted the Triumph Rocket III and turned the key, bringing the machine noisily to life.
Somewhere overhead, a fan system automatically switched on, pulling the bike’s exhaust through the ceiling. Annabelle blinked, gave herself a physical shake, and smiled. The man never ceased to amaze her. He even had sound-activated exhaust systems in his garage. And a Triumph Rocket. Well, of course. He was a bloke from across the pond, was he not?
“Give me the laptop, Dylan!” She shouted at the teenager, who was still staring wide-eyed at Jack and his monster motorcycle.
Dylan seemed to jerk out of his reverie. He moved quickly toward Annabelle and handed her the laptop. She shrugged off the backpack and drew out her own motorcycle jacket, which had been cramped in the pack anyway.
She pulled it on over the hooded sweatshirt, ignoring how idiotic it looked with her pastel sweats. At least it matched the boots.
She slid the laptop inside the pack in its place. Finally, she pulled out the pair of riding gloves that was hidden in the second pocket of the back pack and then re-zipped it shut. The riding gloves were an extra pair that she’d just happened to be keeping in the pack for the past year. Jack hadn’t grabbed her usual gloves or her helmet from the office, most likely because they’d been in the cabinet beneath her desk, hidden from plain sight.
She was just happy he’d thought to grab the backpack.
She shouldered the pack once more and then gestured toward Jack, leaning in close so that Dylan could hear what she had to say. “Get on the bike behind him, Dylan, mounting from the left.” She waited for him to acknowledge her directions and, when he nodded, she continued, pulling on her own gloves as she spoke. “Then wrap your arms around his midsection and hold on for dear life. Don’t lean to either side; just look over his shoulder in whatever direction he’s going. And, for God’s sake, don’t grab the seat or try not to hold on just to look cool. The Triumph Rocket III is the fastest vehicle ever made. If you don’t hold on tight, you’ll fall off. Period. Understand?”
Dylan hesitated, his eyes locked on Jack, who was power-walking the massive, beautiful bike down the last aisle on his way toward the garage door. He swallowed. A bit of his regained color had once more drained from his young face. Annabelle didn’t envy him. She could have offered to take him herself, but she knew that Jack simply wouldn’t allow it. And, besides, the Night Rod was un-tried for her. She definitely wasn’t ready to take passengers on it.
Finally, Dylan nodded. She gave him a reassuring squeeze on his arm and he met Jack at the garage entrance. She turned away from them and concentrated on her own bike.
Her own bike.
Her bike. Her Harley Night Rod Special. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. A part of her was apprehensive about accepting such a lavish gift from Jack Thane. But that part of her was drugged and tired and overwhelmed. It was a rather powerless part of her at the moment. So, she ignored it and did what the happy part of her told her to do, instead.
She slowly mounted the bike, taking the time to enjoy the movement as she swung her long leg over the V-rod and eased her body into the plush leather saddle. There wasn’t a force on Earth that could have prevented the smile that spread across her face in that instant.
She shook her head, utterly unable to stop grinning.
“Christ.”
And she didn’t even have to wear a helmet.
Chapter Eight
When Jack hit the button beside the garage door that sent it sliding open, Annabelle’s heart leapt in her chest. The bike beneath her rumbled dangerously. She was apprehensive, at best, about taking it out into the street, in the dark, for her first try on Harley Davidson’s official racing engine. And, when it came right down to it, she sort of wished she had her helmet after all.