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to be enough to please the gang leader, however, and Slammer took a step back and relaxed his pose. “Good,” he said. “And you better keep on trusting me. Or else, if one of these days I find out that you’re going behind my back, well, your punishment won’t just be a beating. You know that?”
    Roads didn’t respond, but Slammer kept going. “If you cross me,” he went on, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
    “If I disagree with you,” Roads replied, “I’ll make sure that you know it. But the girl’s still riding with me.” His eyes rose back up to meet Slammer’s.
    It didn’t matter any more, though - I could see that the leader of the bikers felt that he had won. He had made his opponent back down, and that was what mattered. “Fine,” he said, shrugging and waving away the issue with a hand. “We’re all going to the same place anyway. Back to the haunt.” He raised his voice and waved one hand towards the bikes, parked in the lot. “Let’s ride!”
    As the other bikers nodded and headed towards the choppers, Roads once again stepped up to me. “Come on,” he whispered down to me. “That red chopper, parked up in the corner? That one’s mine. Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle before?”
    I stared at the bike that he had indicated. It was huge, a giant piece of gleaming red metal, black leather seating, and shining chrome. Wordlessly, I shook my head. I was definitely intimidated.
    Roads stepped up to the bike, and threw a leg over it. Straddling it, he used his weight to shift it upright, off of the kick stand that was holding it up, one hand steadying the front wheel by resting on the handlebars. He turned towards me, and his other hand patted the leather behind him. “Climb up here,” he said, not unkindly. “See these pegs at the sides? Those are for your feet to rest on. It’s just like sitting on a see-saw at a jungle gym.”
    Yeah, except see-saws don’t contain an engine and go roaring out from under you at seventy miles per hour. I climbed onto the back of the hog, putting my feet up on the little foot rests that Roads had indicated. I saw a problem, however. “What about my hands? What do I hold on to?”
    Despite the situation, Roads grinned briefly at this. “That would be me,” he replied. “Go ahead and wrap your arms around me - trust me, I won’t be bothered if you end up squeezing tightly.”
    Around me, loud roars marked the other bikers firing up their machines. I glanced around at them. Biggie was on a massive black cruiser that seemed to be riding especially close to the ground - although that might just be his weight, forcing the shocks to their maximum compression limit. Chainz was on a chopper that seemed to be all gleaming chrome, blinding in the last rays of the setting sun. Flamer’s chopper was bright orange, a clashing but somehow fitting match to her burning hair. And the last man, the one with the glasses, had a slightly smaller blue bike with saddlebags hanging off the sides and a hard-shelled container on the back behind him.
    Roads opened his mouth to say something, but his words were washed away in a thundering roar, and Slammer pulled up alongside us. The gang leader sat astride a massive chopper, bigger than any other in the gang. Painted a matte black color, something about it just looked, well, angry. I noticed that there was a ram’s skull strapped to the front, above the front wheel and between the handlebars, just above the large, single, angry headlight.
    “Is this the little kitty’s first time on a real bike?” Slammer asked in a mocking tone. He grinned at me. “She’s in for a treat! You sure you can handle her, Roads?”
    “I’m fine,” Roads replied shortly, and then, grabbing the handlebars with both hands, I saw him mash down a button on the right grip, and between my legs, the bike suddenly roared into thundering life.
    In shock at the sudden noise and movement, I threw my hands around Roads, clinging tightly. I