Code of Honor

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Loren rolled on the throttle on the straightaway and the speedometer slid to sixty. The crisp night air sliced at her throat and froze the breath streaming through her nostrils. Her skin tingled. Adrenaline surged through her bloodstream. The macadam unraveled beneath her headlights like a silver ribbon swirling through dark chocolate, a seductive tease urging her to indulge in private pleasures. One mistake, one miscalculation, and the big bike would careen off the twisting road into the dense, dark forest. Loren laughed into the wind—she never felt more alive than when in danger.

A faint vibration against her left thigh signaled a call on the cell phone tucked into an inside pocket of her leathers. Whoever was calling wasn’t one of the Renegades. No one from the club would be calling her in the middle of a run. She’d spent two and a half years working her way up the club hierarchy, from prospect to voting member, but she was still a lieutenant. If the club president wanted to call off the run or change the orders, he’d be calling Quincy, his VP, not her. And Ramsey sure as hell would not be calling her on the burn phone he didn’t even know about.

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