Chapter - 281
The Harley Davidson was a black-and-chrome bullet tearing a hole through the morning. The city's polished skyscrapers and manicured suburbs bled away behind them, replaced by the monotonous grey ribbon of the highway, flanked by flat, uninspired countryside. For the first hour of the four-hour journey to Portstown, the only sound between them was the guttural roar of the engine, a constant, angry vibration that seemed to match the tension coiled in both their bodies.
Sharon was a statue of focused rage, her back rigid, her eyes hidden behind dark aviator sunglasses. Rick, seated behind her, was a mirror of calm, his body relaxed, moving with the sway of the bike as if he were a casual passenger on a Sunday ride. The contrast was infuriating, and Sharon was the first to break.
"So," she yelled over the wind and the engine noise, "are we going to talk about it, or are you just going to enjoy the ride?"
