Just Keep Running (Bulldogs MC #2) [Featured]

The thud of my boots against the pavement echoed in the oppressive silence of the unlit street. My breath hitched in my throat, a ragged gasp that did little to quiet the pounding of my heart. Behind me, the rhythmic slap of trainers against asphalt drew closer, a relentless drumbeat marking my impending doom.

“Seriously, where are the damn streetlights?!” I muttered, each word a desperate puff of air. My knee-high, lace-up boots, usually a source of defiant confidence, were now an impractical torture, binding me to this frantic flight.

Another turn, another dark alley, lined with houses that stubbornly refused to show a single sign of life. Eleven at night, and this town was dead. The thought was almost humorous, a dark chuckle caught in my throat.

Then, the rumble. Not the approaching footsteps, but a deeper, more resonant growl. A motorbike. It sped past, a dark blur, before executing a sharp U-turn, stopping just ahead. My pursuers slowed, their heavy breathing now audible, their eyes darting between me and the silent, hooded figure on the bike.

My decision was made in a heartbeat. The scowl on the face of the man I'd punched, highlighted by the faint light, sealed it. Before I knew it, I was swinging my leg over the seat, wrapping an arm around the biker's waist, and, with a satisfying surge of rebellion, flipping a defiant middle finger to the psychos as we roared away.