Dangerous
Dedication:
To my favorite motorcycle enthusiasts—
My husband, who’s
always
shared the back of his bike with me,
My son, who’s had a motorcycle since he was two, and
My daughter, who’s made my heart skip a beat more than once while riding her dirt bike.
Look twice.
Save a life.
Motorcycles are everywhere.
Dangerous
by
Suzannah Daniels
Copyright © 2013 by Suzannah Daniels
Cover Art by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
http://okaycreations.net/site/
All rights reserved.
First Electronic Edition: March 2013
Dangerous / by Suzannah Daniels
www.SuzannahDaniels.com
Other Books by Suzannah Daniels
Stone
Fear.
At one time, it was an emotion that was unfamiliar to me. When I was young, I wasn’t afraid of monsters under my bed or gorillas in my closet. I wasn’t afraid of getting in trouble or of Santa marking me off his list or of visits to the dentist. As I grew, so did the list of things that I refused to be afraid of. I wasn’t afraid to sneak out of my bedroom in the middle of the night or to take my parents’ car for a joyride without their knowledge. I wasn’t afraid to steal a kiss from a girl or to mercilessly tease my brother when he didn’t have the courage to do the same. The truth is I had never truly known fear…until the accident.
Thunder boomed in the distance, bringing me out of my reverie, forcing me to focus on the present. Ominous, gray clouds hung heavy over Quail Mountain, Tennessee, the mundane, little town I called home. I gazed at the sky, noting how much darker it was than normal for this time of day. I suspected it wouldn’t be long before huge, fat raindrops splattered the Earth and everything in between, including me, my bike, and the newly paved road that would lead me to work.
I shoved my helmet on my head, fastened the strap, and swung my leg over my glossy black crotch rocket. I cranked the engine, revved it with a few, quick twists of the throttle, and popped the bike into gear, pulling it up into a wheelie as I barreled down my long driveway.
This bike had been a present from my parents a few months ago for my eighteenth birthday. As far as material possessions went, it had been the only thing I had really wanted. Hell, who was I kidding? I didn’t want it. I
needed
it.
My body shook as I let the front wheel hit the ground again and came to a quick stop at the end of the drive. The June air was stifling, so I opted to keep the shield of my helmet up, leaving my sunglasses to protect my eyes from airborne debris and insects. Once I determined no traffic was coming, I pulled into the street and torpedoed toward town, hugging the curves of the asphalt as I wound my way down the mountainside. I was reckless, and I knew it. Perhaps there was a huge part of me that wanted to taunt death.
When I reached the bottom of the mountain fifteen minutes later, I pulled under the carport behind Quail Mountain Books, a medium-sized shop that sold books, movies, CDs, and video games.
I took my helmet off, welcoming the stormy breeze on my sweat-dampened hair, and opened the metal door that led into the back entrance of the store. The door shut softly behind me as I laid my helmet down on the laminated countertop that ran around half the room. I was in the kitchen, which had been renovated about a year ago out of necessity. Sleek, black appliances were tucked under the new counter and a matching microwave hung over the stove. I opened the refrigerator door, grabbed
a bottled
water, and twisted the top open as I went to look for Tom Sullivan, the manager.
“Stone,” Tom called. “What’s up?”
Tom, who was a couple of years older than me, was seated behind a computer along the checkout counter, a newly opened box of video games beside him. His shaggy, brown hair grazed his eyebrows. He was the epitome of a geek from the glasses that constantly rode down to the end of his nose to the hideous plaid pants that he wore.
“Not much,” I answered, walking over to the box and picking up one of the games. I took a sip of my water and set it on the counter.
“Just got those in,” he said.
“Yeah, I heard this game rocks.”
“Let’s hope so,” Tom said. “With any luck, this will bring in some customers and give the sales numbers a boost.”
“School’s out now,” I said, having just finished my junior year at Quail Mountain High. “Business will definitely pick up over the summer.”
“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “I just hired the seasonal help.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “In fact, she should be getting here any minute.”
A large boom of thunder shook the building. Tom and I both looked up at the large, plate glass window along the front of the building. Rain began to patter against the asphalt in the parking lot, leaving it dappled with wet spots. A few seconds later, it began to fall furiously, pelting everything in its path. Lightening sizzled in the sky, like electrified scissors slicing through the dark gray gloom.
“Looks like it’s going to be one helluva day,” I muttered to Tom.
“There she is now,” Tom said, ignoring my comment.
I watched as
an old
, beige, piece-of-shit, tank-of-a-vehicle pulled into not one, but two parking spots. The car shook and sputtered to a stop. The taillights went out, and Tom and I both watched, waiting for the new girl to make her exit in this godforsaken weather.
“Hope she brought an umbrella,” Tom mumbled to himself.
The car door cracked open, and she struggled as she pushed the heavy door open farther, squeezed through the crack, and then closed the door with a quick shove. She darted into the rain, her messenger bag thumping against her hip as she ran. Tanned, slender legs stretched out beneath a blue jean skirt and disappeared into a pair of brown rain boots with pink polka dots.
By the time she reached the front door, she was drenched. The bell chimed as she opened the door and entered the building. She gave a slight wave to Tom as she approached the counter.
I glanced down the length of her body, admiring every last, magnificent inch of her. It was Tom’s voice that snapped me back to attention.
“Stone Hamilton, I’d like you to meet Dara Golding. She’s going to be helping us over the summer.”
Dara! My eyes flew to her face. I knew that name. I hadn’t recognized her at first. Her shoulder-length, blond hair was so saturated that it looked much darker than normal. Even now, droplets of water clung to the ends of her hair. Dara Golding hung out with the popular crowd from my new school, and she was a freaking snob. She would be a senior next year, like me, thanks to the fact that I had flunked out of boarding school and had been forced to repeat my junior year at the local public school. Unlike me, she made good grades. A regular teacher’s pet. She also dated the leading running back of the high school football team.
Of all the people Tom could’ve hired, he had to pick her?
She held her hand out to me, and I noted her delicate bone structure and her nails, which were painted a soft pink. Reluctantly, I took it. She gripped my hand firmly and shook it with enthusiasm. Not what I expected from such a girly girl.
“Hi, Stone.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dara.” Passing her in the hall at school as she hung off of Chance Murray’s arm hadn’t given me the opportunity to notice the color of her eyes. They were almost bright enough to be Kawasaki green.
“Sorry if I got you wet,” she said as she smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. “I’m soaked. Are there any paper towels around here?”
Her eyelashes were spiked with water droplets. When she blinked, they splashed against her cheek and rolled down to her jawline. “I can get you a bath towel,” I offered, taking in just how drenched she actually was. “I try to keep one around for emergencies.”
“So now I’m an emergency?” Her laughter filled the air.
I don’t know what I had expected, but that wasn’t it. I would have thought she would’ve been really pissed off about her hair being ruined and her mascara running and all that other nonsense girls like her were always worried about. She was making it really hard to keep thinking about her as the uptight snot I had always imagined her to be.
“Follow me, and I’ll get you the towel. Then, you can use the restroom just off the kitchen to dry off.”
I opened one of the cabinets over the new countertop and removed the towel that I usually kept reserved for wiping down my motorcycle seat if I got caught in the rain. I handed Dara the towel and watched her as she walked to the restroom. Seeing her outside of school had a whole different feel to it. Maybe it was because her annoying jock wasn’t attached to her hip. Her tanned legs looked as smooth as silk, and I suddenly had the urge to glide my palm along her thigh.
She disappeared behind the closed door, and I decided it was a good time for a cigarette.
I pushed the back door open and stepped out beneath the carport, letting the door shut behind me. The rain had eased up some, but it still drummed rhythmically on the metal roof of the carport. I pulled a loose cigarette out of my front shirt pocket and lit it, drawing in deeply. I closed my eyes and exhaled. Chance and Dara were the ideal high school couple, the kind that were crowned Homecoming King and Queen, the kind that were voted Most Popular, the kind that had perfect lives. I drew off my cigarette again, the end of it turning bright orange as it burned away to ash. They were the kind of couple that irritated me.
I exhaled and propped my arm up against the support post of the car port. Watching a tendril of smoke drift off the end of my cigarette, I wondered why Tom chose her. I cracked a smile. I knew why. One look at her was all it had taken. He probably hadn’t even made her fill out an application. Lightening flashed, followed by a clap of thunder. I was glad it was such a nasty day. It matched my mood.
I put my cigarette out in a puddle forming near my feet, carried it inside, and tossed it in the trash. Dara was nowhere in sight, but the towel was sitting on the edge of the counter, carefully folded. Her messenger bag hung on a row of hooks near the back door.
I went to the restroom to brush my teeth and then walked back through the kitchen to the front of the store.
Tom had already put Dara to work unloading the newly-arrived box of games onto an endcap that was visible as soon as customers walked in the front door.
“Did that shipment of books come in?” I asked, interrupting him as he entered data into the computer.
“Yeah.”
He pointed to a stack of boxes on the floor by the wall on the other end of the long counter.
“Got some CDs in, too.”
