Return To Me (3/8)
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.
~*~
When Max awoke, she was immediately on guard. Her surroundings were
unfamiliar and potentially threatening. The product of years of training, her
soldier side kicked in, and her eyes darted quickly from side to side as she
surveyed her present location. Her gaze fell upon her motorcycle propped up in
the corner of an ancient cargo truck, and she remembered.
Logan - she was going to see Logan.
A smile crossed her face.
After a few minutes, Max stood up to stretch her arm and leg muscles, sore
from being forced into one cramped position after another for so long. No
sooner had she raised herself up onto her knees than the back doors of the
truck flew open and she came face-to-face with the owner of her
illegally-hitched ride. He was a big guy. Not chubby, but tall and slender with
broad shoulders and muscles that rivaled Bling's. His arms, exposed in the tight
black T-shirt that he wore, were covered with tattoos; skulls and crossbones,
roses, animals...you named it, this guy had it painted on him. He also sported
rings in his nose, tongue, lip, eyebrow, ears, and probably a few other places
that Max really didn't want to know about. He'd actually be quite
good-looking despite having enough metal in his face to drive an airport
scanner nuts if he wasn't currently acting as yet another barrier between
herself and her goal.
"What are you doing back here?" he demanded in a deep, booming voice. It
was a voice whose tone spoke of power and authority that he did not possess.
Nothing but a lowly truck driver, he reveled in this opportunity to boss around a
young girl maybe half his size and age.
But twice his strength. Normally, Max didn't strike civilians. But she was in no
mood to argue with this decorated, piercing-adorned oaf of a man. Before he
could get another word out, she slammed the heel of her hand into his head.
He dropped silently to the ground, and Max stepped over his motionless body
to exit the truck. He wasn't dead by any stretch, but he was going to have a
nasty headache when he awoke in a few hours.
Outside, the world was bright and beautiful. Max drew in a breath of fresh,
clean air and turned her face, eyes closed in pleasure, toward the sun.
She stretched her muscles as she had been trying to do before she was so
rudely interrupted. Then she realized that she had no clue where the hell she
was.
She was at a gas station; she could discern that much by sight alone. Luckily,
no one had spotted her attack on the truck driver. Yet another visual scan
made her realize that that was probably because the back of the truck was
facing away from the station's entrance. Out of sight from prying eyes, she
pushed and pulled and heaved and shoved until she had the trucker's
still-unconscious body lying in the back of his vehicle, next to her motorcycle.
There was no one in the gas station save for its centuries-old owner, who
informed her that she was in Nebraska. According to her watch, it was only
three o'clock in the afternoon. The way Max figured, if she rode nonstop all day,
she could reach Seattle before the sun rose. If she was both fast and lucky, she
might even be cradled in Logan's warm embrace before that time came. The
thought sent shivers of anticipation down her spine, but she forced her mind to
focus on the task at hand.
She thanked the ancient old man and exited the tiny, cramped building. It
took mere seconds to unload her bike from the truck. In one smooth, fluid
motion, she mounted it, straddling the seat between her thighs, revved up the
engine, and she was gone.
It wouldn't be long now.
She rode steadily, never stopping or slowing down for anyone or anything.
And with each passing mile, her heart beat faster.
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.
~*~
When Max awoke, she was immediately on guard. Her surroundings were
unfamiliar and potentially threatening. The product of years of training, her
soldier side kicked in, and her eyes darted quickly from side to side as she
surveyed her present location. Her gaze fell upon her motorcycle propped up in
the corner of an ancient cargo truck, and she remembered.
Logan - she was going to see Logan.
A smile crossed her face.
After a few minutes, Max stood up to stretch her arm and leg muscles, sore
from being forced into one cramped position after another for so long. No
sooner had she raised herself up onto her knees than the back doors of the
truck flew open and she came face-to-face with the owner of her
illegally-hitched ride. He was a big guy. Not chubby, but tall and slender with
broad shoulders and muscles that rivaled Bling's. His arms, exposed in the tight
black T-shirt that he wore, were covered with tattoos; skulls and crossbones,
roses, animals...you named it, this guy had it painted on him. He also sported
rings in his nose, tongue, lip, eyebrow, ears, and probably a few other places
that Max really didn't want to know about. He'd actually be quite
good-looking despite having enough metal in his face to drive an airport
scanner nuts if he wasn't currently acting as yet another barrier between
herself and her goal.
"What are you doing back here?" he demanded in a deep, booming voice. It
was a voice whose tone spoke of power and authority that he did not possess.
Nothing but a lowly truck driver, he reveled in this opportunity to boss around a
young girl maybe half his size and age.
But twice his strength. Normally, Max didn't strike civilians. But she was in no
mood to argue with this decorated, piercing-adorned oaf of a man. Before he
could get another word out, she slammed the heel of her hand into his head.
He dropped silently to the ground, and Max stepped over his motionless body
to exit the truck. He wasn't dead by any stretch, but he was going to have a
nasty headache when he awoke in a few hours.
Outside, the world was bright and beautiful. Max drew in a breath of fresh,
clean air and turned her face, eyes closed in pleasure, toward the sun.
She stretched her muscles as she had been trying to do before she was so
rudely interrupted. Then she realized that she had no clue where the hell she
was.
She was at a gas station; she could discern that much by sight alone. Luckily,
no one had spotted her attack on the truck driver. Yet another visual scan
made her realize that that was probably because the back of the truck was
facing away from the station's entrance. Out of sight from prying eyes, she
pushed and pulled and heaved and shoved until she had the trucker's
still-unconscious body lying in the back of his vehicle, next to her motorcycle.
There was no one in the gas station save for its centuries-old owner, who
informed her that she was in Nebraska. According to her watch, it was only
three o'clock in the afternoon. The way Max figured, if she rode nonstop all day,
she could reach Seattle before the sun rose. If she was both fast and lucky, she
might even be cradled in Logan's warm embrace before that time came. The
thought sent shivers of anticipation down her spine, but she forced her mind to
focus on the task at hand.
She thanked the ancient old man and exited the tiny, cramped building. It
took mere seconds to unload her bike from the truck. In one smooth, fluid
motion, she mounted it, straddling the seat between her thighs, revved up the
engine, and she was gone.
It wouldn't be long now.
She rode steadily, never stopping or slowing down for anyone or anything.
And with each passing mile, her heart beat faster.