Chapter 1

Strider leaned into his sport motorcycle as he raced along Lawrence Expressway with an expanse of blue sky above, dotted with white cloud puffs. The engine’s vibrations coursed through his body. His girlfriend clamped her arms tight around his waist from behind. Her hand fell onto his groin, squeezing his growing cock. He wondered if they’d have time for a bedroom romp after the ride. He also questioned why he was still with a woman when he certainly preferred men. The dash clock reported five P.M., time for the wedding. As long as he attended the reception, all would be well at work on Monday. He hated weddings and crowds.

The expressway had few cars on the sunny, Sunday afternoon. He twisted the throttle, passing eighty and then ninety miles per hour, grinning at the wind. At the next intersection, a police car’s spinning red and blue lights lit, and the vehicle pulled into the intersection, the officer waving at Strider to pull over.

Strider down-shifted a gear and twisted the throttle open. He tightened his grip to resist the engine’s thrust. They zoomed past the patrol vehicle, with the speedometer reading beyond one hundred miles per hour. The police car pursued, its siren already a distant hum. Adrenaline coursed through Strider, making his heart thud in his chest at the speed and excitement of running.

“Damn it, Strider, slow down!” Tina lifted her hand from his groin and slapped his shoulder. “Slow down.”

He lost sight of the police car in his mirror and slowed to the speed limit. At the next intersection, he turned left into a residential area and stopped and reversed his jacket from red to black. Driving like a law-abiding citizen to his apartment, he parked in his carport.

Tina jumped off, jerked the helmet from her head, and slammed it into his gut. “You fucking asshole. You could have killed us for your selfish thrills. You need to grow up! You’re twenty-four and not twelve.”

He swallowed at the comeuppance and reached to her shoulder. She pulled back. Strider moaned. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.” He winced. She was right.

“That’s what you said the last two times. Between your drinking, unwillingness to commit, and your death wish, we’re finished. Never call me again.” She stared with a flinty face, stomped to her car, and sped away.

Strider’s gut felt empty. He sighed, calling into the wind, “I’m sorry.”

Deflated, he padded into his sparse studio apartment, stripped, and hit the shower, Tina’s words echoing in his mind. Grow up. Did that include coming to terms with reality? He dressed for the wedding reception, ran a brush through his long locks that ran past his collar, and got into his hybrid gas-electric car as a police car patrolled the expansive lot. A male officer got out and walked around Strider’s motorcycle, patting his hand on the engine. Was he checking to see if it was warm? How’d they find him?

Strider checked out the cop’s ass in the snug uniform pants. The passenger door opened, and a beautiful female officer emerged, looking around. She seemed to be in her late thirties, in good shape, dark hair pinned up and noticeable breasts filling her uniform shirt. She headed to Strider.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you know who owns that red motorcycle?”

Sweat leaked from Strider’s armpits. His breaths hastened, and anxiety rose. He didn’t want to lie, which might lead to a criminal charge. He swallowed at the lump in his throat.

“Sir, did you hear me?”

“Yes, Officer. My mind wandered. Is there a problem with the bike?”

“Someone on a similar cycle fled from an officer. Do you know who the bike belongs to?”

“I have to go to a wedding. I’m late.”

The male officer moved their way, spoke into his portable radio, and smirked. “Lisa, this car and that motorcycle are registered to the same person, Strider Warton.”

The female officer tilted her head toward Strider. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Strider Warton.” His mouth went dry.

“Would you step out, and may I see your driver’s license?”

“Am I under arrest?”

“Oh, no.” Her face lit with a smile. “Just part of our investigation. You see, this is our beat, and when we heard the description of the motorcycle, we came here. We’ll pass the information on to the traffic detectives, and they can decide to seek a search warrant or arrest warrant.”

Strider’s fear ratcheted higher. Is she bluffing? Could the police search his vehicles and apartment? She mentioned an arrest warrant. Crap.His breath caught as he got out and offered his driver’s license.

She wrote his information on a card and handed his license back. “Sir, you’re only twenty-four, too young to die on the expressway going over one hundred miles an hour, and with a passenger. Why’d you run from our officer?”

Weakly, he said, “I want an attorney.” He expected one of them to take out handcuffs. His ass puckered.