Free Punished By The Alphas by Willow Wilde

Punished By The Alphas
     
    B efore every hunt, I always took the time to reflect on my past. Call it a ritual, if you want. It felt cleansing to my soul, as if it somehow forgave some of my sins for the things that I had done…and the things that I continued to do.
     
    Letting the engine of my motorcycle thrum to a low idle, I kicked down the support and pulled at the light chain around my neck. I quickly tightened the fingerless, leather gloves over my hands before popping open the locket with a slip of my thumb.
     
    A fingertip from my free hand slid lovingly across the glass frame. It was the only picture of my parents that I had. I gazed upon my father, with his strong jawline and thick brunette hair, smiled a winning smile — while my mother laughed radiantly at something off-camera. They had been high school sweethearts, and this picture had been taken a few weeks before their graduation. They looked so young, so full of life. They wore the faces of people who had not a single care in the entire world.
     
    That was before everything was taken from them. Taken from me.
     
    Snapping the locket shut as I slipped it back against my skin beneath my tight-fitting top, I pulled the leather jacket around myself tighter. Within seconds, I was back on the highway, my eyes dead ahead on my destination: Greenpaw Mountain.
     
    Overpowering my own tension was easy with the motorcycle between my thighs, thrumming loudly and powerfully. Weaving between cars as I swapped lanes like discarded lovers, the rush of the wind filled my veins with euphoria. This was the part of what I did that I truly loved. The fresh air, pelting over me as I sailed across the highways — I had always felt stifled driving a car, breathing the same general air. No, I liked it free and wild, rippling around my body as I surged down the interstate. The smells, too — being in the cities was usually a cacophony of gaseous, industrial mess, and I generally tried to spend as much time outside of them as I could. Once I hit the road and passed across long stretches free of chemical plants, refineries, and factories, I felt alive again.
     
    My fingers tightened around the grips as I wove a particularly narrow turn between two cars. The driver on the left had been holding up traffic with the self-entitlement complex I saw seemingly every few minutes on the road. You would always see these better-than-thou folks closing off the passing lane, despite it being illegal in many states. They thought it was their duty to run the speed limit and prevent speedsters like me from breaking the law.
     
    I turned my helmet to face the left driver as I sailed between the cars. She was glaring indignantly at me, a skinny little twerp no older than myself.
     
    Hate to burst your carefully manicured bubble, sweetheart, but I break a whole lot of laws.
     
    As I put her in the rear view of my side mirror, I glanced quickly towards the sun. On the horizon was the very cusp of sunset, the colors already beginning to change into their beautiful array of oranges and reds. I knew that they would look particularly beautiful over the plains, as I’d seen this sort of grand, eye-filling canvas before. With a heart full of anticipation, I felt a certain sense of peace overcome me.
     
    This is where I belong , I thought to myself. In tiny moments like these — quiet, beautiful, and free. This is what I really live for.
     
    With that mantra in mind, I focused on the road to come. I had another forty-five minutes of driving ahead, and plenty of time to absorb the setting sun during the final leg of my journey.
     
    *              *              *              *
     
    Under the heel of my boot, I knocked down the kickstand to my motorcycle in the police department parking lot. Removing my helmet, I shook my long, curly hair free — it had been a long drive, and I was ready for a little refreshment.
     
    But there was work to be done