Bomb (Ruin Outlaws MC #1) Read Online Free Page A

then only a short twenty minute drive to get to my work the next town over. Today, I figure that’s how long it’ll take, but sometimes things get in the way.
    The traffic is pretty chaotic, but nothing I’m not used to. I can hear my car clattering under the hood, but I don’t know anything about cars so I ignore it. Nothing I can do about it until a mechanic looks at it anyway. I tell myself that every time I am forced to open the hood. It all looks like greek to me, in engine. Whatever that would be.
    A flash of light in one of my mirrors catches my attention. It’s a motorcyclist and he speeds up in front of my car. I recognize the jacket patches from the other day, but I can’t quite see the rider’s face. My heart races when I see him, and my hands stick to the steering wheel. Great, I’m already making myself silly about some guy I’ve only seen once. I never even thought I had a thing for motorcycle riders. Sara would be awfully proud if she knew, I chuckle to myself.
    I desperately want to race up and get a good look, but the minivan in front of me refuses to go the speed limit. I groan loudly and lay on my horn, hoping it’ll do anything to make the driver go faster. I see a middle finger go up in between the seats of the car. Great. Come on. I look at the motorcyclist again. Let me just look at him, just a peek.
    The biker glances over his shoulder away from me, and I fume. I slam my hands on the steering wheel. The radio switches from a commercial to the DJ talking about something in the news, but I have my eyes fixed on the rider.
    He twists his wrist and jets off in front of the pack of cars, including me, and into the upcoming intersection. The light is turning yellow, but I gun my car forward and swerve around the van. I can’t explain it, but I have to see if it's the same biker as the other day. I just know I'll be so pissed if I miss the opportunity. Just the chance to see those eyes again, to take a look at his tattoos. To feel that freedom and live it through him. That rush of my heart.
    The motorcyclist weaves past the intersection just as the light turns red, and I’m too late. I’m jerk my head forward just as I’m passing under the traffic lights and another motorcyclist is cutting across the intersection, and I slam into him. The metal of his bike makes a horrific screech and the rider skids across the asphalt. I slam on my brakes and my mouth drops open. What the fuck just happened? My hands are shaking, and I can’t breathe.
    Quickly glancing over my shoulder for any vehicles in the way, I jerk my car to the shoulder, flipping my hazards on and jumping out of my driver's seat. The motorcyclist was thrown from his bike a good thirty feet, and he isn’t moving. Jesus Christ this can’t be happening, fuck, fuck.
    I flip open my phone and dial 9-1-1. Where the fuck did he come from? Was I that fucking blinded and tunnel visioned on the first motorcycle? I stare over the expansive road at the unconscious man, and pray he isn’t dead. I don’t dare step a foot closer to him. The first motorcyclist screeches on his brakes and throws his bike around the median, before howling back to the scene of the accident.
    Just as dispatch picks up, another roar of engines come from behind me. The deafening sound makes it impossible to hear the voice on the other end of the line. I lower the phone for a second and search for the sound, and six motorcyclists wearing the same leather vests stream down from behind me, their bikes scorching the pavement with black lines as they slide to a stop. They scatter and maneuver their bikes with an agility I can barely comprehend, and wave the stunned drivers away from the wreckage. Hell, the police couldn’t have responded faster if they were psychic.
    The woman on the phone shouts at me, “Hello? Are you there?” I shake away how dumbstruck I am and raise the phone to my ear.
    “There’s been a car accident.” My voice is shaky and weak. I feel like