Free Old Man's Ride: Dust Bowl Devils MC by Britten Thorne Page A

and Whitney.
    The tall guy looked around. listening to the approaching motorcycles and trying to pinpoint their direction. “We’ve got to go,” he said. He pointed at me. “Drop the weapon.” I took my time. I bent and placed it on the ground, shaking as badly as I could manage, whimpering, putting on a real show. I stumbled as I stood, choking out little sobs. He grabbed me by my collar. “Prospect?” he asked with an eyebrow raised. He shook his head. “I knew the Devils had low standards, but Jesus.” He released me with a shove. “On the bike.” Fuckers don’t know I shot the tires. What the hell did they think I was doing? He retrieved my gun as he climbed onto the seat in front of me. Whitney shot me a panicked look, but I kept my face screwed up and tearful.
    The motorcycle roared to life; they revved their engines and turned their bikes around in the street. I heard the blonde man curse behind us as we circled. “Bitch shot the tires!” he called.
    “ Fuck!” The tall guy switched off the bike, right there in the middle of the road. He was sunk and he knew it.
    “ Got you, motherfuckers.” I couldn’t resist the dig. It was a truly stupid thing to say, but I hated the scumbags and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
    “ Let’s run!” the blonde called. He’d already shoved Whitney to the asphalt and had parked his bike on the side of the road, as if the thing still had a chance of escaping unscathed. The Devils would burn it once they had their hands on the thing.
    “ And leave our bikes? And the girl? Are you fucking stupid?”
    The blonde shrugged. “I’ll be fucking alive!” He took off running. The tall man cursed. He turned and grabbed me around the throat. “I ought to kill you right now,” he snarled.
    “ No!” Whitney screamed, “Let her go!”
    “ You don’t have time,” I hissed. I could hear the motorcycles rounding a corner somewhere behind me; the look on the Eagle’s face told me that he could see them. He hurled me the ground with a roar.
    I hit hard. My head bounced once before I settled, and my vision swam. Three motorcycle went screaming past, presumably chasing after the two Eagles, and one pulled to a stop. I coughed and tried to push myself up, but a wave of dizziness stopped me.
    “ Prospect.” Gunner. Great. A pair of hands closed on my upper arms and pulled me so I was sitting upright. He crouched in front of me. “Hey.” I could hear shouting up the street. No guns, though. Maybe the guys had surrendered.
    “ You got them?” I asked, looking at the ground. “Where’s Whitney?”
    “ Hey!” He slapped me. My hand shot up to my cheek, and my eyes locked on his.
    “ What the fuck?”
    I thought he was going to hit me again as he reached back, and I shrank away. Instead, he brought up a flashlight and shined it in my eyes. “Sorry,” he said, “Need to make sure you’re still with us.”
    I rubbed my cheek. “I’m fine. I was fine.”
    “ Lily! Girl, you are unbelievable! I nearly pissed myself when I heard you behind those bikes!”
    I looked up. Whitney stood above us in a bathrobe. Aside from some scrapes on her knees, she looked just fine. “You’re okay?” I asked.
    “ Yeah. You showed up just in a time. You’re a madwoman, Lily, I swear to God.”
    Gunner waved her away. “Okay, Whitney, back off. She hit her head.”
    “ She gonna be okay?”
    “ I’m fine.” I stood. Or, I tried to stand. I wobbled on the way up, and Gunner grabbed my elbow. Between the ringing in my ears and the blow to the head, I felt horribly off-balance. Almost drunk, but without the fun and pleasant buzz.
    Gunner sighed heavily. “You did good, Prospect,” he said. He sounded like he hated to admit it, but he was admitting it.
    “ Thanks,” I said. I looked up the road. The two Eagles had been subdued and were sitting on the curb. “I want my gun back!” I shouted up the street, and immediately regretted it as it exacerbated the pounding in my head.