Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(41)
So…that left them with only one option for retrieving the thumb drive in a timely fashion. Namely, fifteen hours on the back of a rumbling, roaring piece of two-wheeled steel.
Oh, man, Ali was so in for it.
“Let me introduce you to Phantom,” she said, hoping to reassure the fidgeting woman a bit, because who wouldn’t be reassured with such a badass piece of machinery grumbling along between her legs? “Along with Ghost, this bad boy’s gonna take good care of you.”
She herded a reluctant Ali toward the bank of cycles parked against the east wall. They were as much her works of art as the murals on the walls or the paintings in the lofts upstairs. She was proud of each and every one of them. Not because they were über-sweet bikes, but because they represented each of the men she’d grown to love and respect over the years.
Each one was as different as the Black Knight who rode it. Each one was as tough as the man who’d helped her design it.
“Okay,” she motioned to the fourth bike in the row. “This beauty here is Phantom. He’s an El Diablo Sturgis Special with a six-inch stretch, a Baker six-speed transmission, S&S 124ci engine with LBC pipes that sound like hell on wheels. I replaced the single seat with a king and queen this morning, so you guys are good to go.”
Ali smoothed a reverent hand over the black leather king and queen seat. “Are you speaking English?”
“To put it simply, Phantom is one kickass bike,” Becky boasted, taking a shammy from her front pocket and polishing the already sparkling forks on the front end.
“It’s very pretty,” Ali enthused.
Pretty? Pretty?
The sucker was a wicked mofo raised to the nth degree. It was a mean machine with enough…Okay, Becky had to admit. It was pretty.
“Do you do all the work yourself?” Ali queried, touching a tentative finger to the chrome gas cap.
“Nah, each Knight helped in the design and the building of his individual bike. It’s as much their creation as it is mine. They provide the inspiration; I provide the technical expertise, and together we supply the blood and sweat.”
Except for Frank’s bike. Building Boss Hog had been an exercise in blood, sweat, and tears. At least, Becky had cried herself silly a time or two during the process. Particularly those days when Frank worked side by side with her for eight long hours only to pat her on the head like a kid sister and make an evening trip to Lincoln Park.
The big, stupid dill-hole.
“Is the artwork yours? I noticed paint on your T-shirt yesterday.” Ali used her finger to follow a swirl of glittering ghostly gray paint on Phantom’s custom-made gas tank.
“Yeah. It’s my release.” Her escape from the fact that she was crazy about a man who—
No. She had to stop thinking of him. She had to get on with her life and stop clinging to childish dreams—like winning the love of a knight in shining armor who’d whisk her away on his glowing white steed.
Yepper, and it didn’t escape her attention that Frank’s last name was Knight or that Boss Hog just happened to be painted a shimmering pearly white.
Talk about life’s little ironies.
“You’re very talented,” Ali said, tracing the face of the phantom barely discernable in the middle of the gas tank. “It’s amazing how you made that ghostly face appear out of the mist like that.”
“Thanks, I—
“Everything ready?” Ghost suddenly materialized beside them.
Phantom appearing out of the mist? Ghost materializing out of nowhere? Wow, perfect timing.
Becky glanced down at the thick-soled biker boots on Ghost’s big feet and shook her head. His stealth never ceased to amaze her.
“You sure you don’t need some more firepower?” she inquired innocently while watching Ghost stow three gun cases in Phantom’s saddlebags.
One of those cases contained his M-40 A5 sniper rifle, nicknamed Sierra. Sierra came with a detachable PBS 27 night optic and 10-round detachable magazine that fired 7.62 X 51 NATO rounds. At a thousand yards, that beast still had more kinetic energy than a .357 fired at point-blank range. Two words: stopping power.
She hoped someday Ghost would teach her how to shoot it, but he’d told her she had to learn to crawl before she could learn to walk, so he’d been practicing with her on a Remington Model Seven.
But someday. Someday he’d let her lay her hands on ol’ Sierra.
Ghost shot her an amused look before leaning in to hook a heavy arm around her neck and knuckle her head. That was her, everyone’s kid sister.
“We’ll be back by tomorrow night,” he told her. “Try not t’give Boss a heart attack between now ’n’ then.”
“Whatever,” she cuffed him on the arm. “And you try not to shoot anyone between now and then.”
They both glanced to the bulging saddlebags.
“How much you wanna bet I hold up my end of that bargain better than you hold up yours?”
“Smartass,” he growled with fondness, then swung one long leg over the bike.
“It’s now or never, sista,” Becky turned to Ali as Ghost started Phantom.
“Can I choose never?” Ali yelled above the motorcycle’s guttural roar.
Becky just smiled and plopped a helmet into Ali’s trembling hands. “Excuse me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you demand this assignment? Wasn’t it you who refused to give up the location of that zip drive unless you were allowed to go along?”