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Keira is wrapped around me, her head pressed against myback, her arms circling my waist, holding me tight as we travel at a safe speed.

As I’m thanking my lucky stars we’ll make it back to my place in one piece, thunder roars and it’s pouring again.

Fuck.

From the mirror, I spot the nose of a cargo truck gunning down the highway. Those motherfuckers are an annoyance on a sunny day. Worse on a day like today.

I curse.

I grip the handle of my custom Fat Bob tighter and steady it.

Even though the Harley-Davidson is a sturdy bike, I’ve never missed my SUV or one of my many cars more than I do now.

Time to get off the highway. Fast.

I move one lane.

Then, another.

A row of bumper-to-bumper vehicles prevents me from moving one more lane.

Shit.

To my left, another cargo truck inches forward.

A bigger one this time.

The fucker zooms by us like a speeding bullet. In doing so, the 18-wheeler’s tires hit a puddle, splashing enough water to fill a swimming pool straight at me. I mentally prepare myself, white knuckling the bike’s handles, praying to God I keep my eyes open. My breath hitches from the impact against my visor.

Jesus.

My heart pounds and adrenaline shoots through my veins as I struggle to regain control of the seven-hundred-pound beast roaring between my legs.

If I let the bike fishtail, we’re dead. Cars around me honk their horns, only adding to my stress. It’s a tug-of-war for a fewfrightening seconds, but years of riding kicks my instincts into gear.

Keira’s arms close around my chest like a vice.

At least, I haven’t lost her.

The cargo truck is long gone and oblivious to its destructive wake.

Fucker.

When I see an opening, I change lanes.

I don’t have far to go to reach the exit.

Thank God.

I rev up the engine and leave the jungle behind.

I spot a gas station and set course towards it.

Once I get there, I turn off the ignition and lift my visor.

Dirty water drips everywhere.

I look up to the sky and exhale on a prayer.