Chapter 1
The last rays of the sun hit the sleek motorcycles parked on the side of the road as the owners of the bikes were chilling after a long day of riding, smoking cigarettes, and chatting as if time didn’t exist and the world belonged to them. The sunset turned the former pristine blue sky into an ocean of yellow, orange, and red. Enzo Di Angelis was leaning against his beloved black Yamaha R1, a cigarette hanging lazily between his lips as his arctic blue eyes looked like one of the huskies in the sundown. His raven-black hair was wildly slicked back, a mess from wearing his helmet, but he couldn’t care less. He never once cared. A thin layer of sweat made his dark beige skin glow. California always had warm weather, and the small town where he resided with his fellow biker gang matched the climate of Nevada.
Cocky, confident, and a thrill-seeker — he basked in the last warm rays like a stray cat. He took a deep drag of his cigarette before he exhaled the smoke. His white T-shirt clung to his lean muscular torso like a second skin, and the silver dog tags hanging from his neck shone just like the chrome details on his bike, which was like a wife to him. His fingers played with the buckles of his black jeans. The worn white high Nikes he sported yelled for a deep clean, but the leader of the Ghost Riders never gave a thought to being presentable. He always used to say that the dirt and oil added to his rugged charm.
“Damn... I cannot stand these stuck-up pigs.” Enzo’s attention was tugged to his best friend and biker Mike, who glared daggers at the police department building across the street.
A smirk tugged at Enzo’s lips, his blue eyes focusing on the building that made a sour taste fill his mouth. “You got that right, Mike. These cops have got no chill. I swear, they’re just a bunch of control freaks. They’d probably arrest us for just chilling here.” The Italian commented with a shake of his head, finishing his cigarette and crushing the butt with the heel of his Nikes.
In the small town, the relationship between the authority figures and the demons on two wheels was always tense. The old vendetta had gone on for years, and there wasn’t a single day without some issues between a biker or a cop. The townsfolk got used to the flames that appeared between the two groups, and most citizens learned to avoid conflicts with them.
“It’s like they got nothing better to do with their lives than harass us, bikers,” Enzo added with a frown, recalling the encounters with some officers — how stuck-up and snobbish they acted, thinking they were better than him or his fellow brothers on two wheels.
Mike snorted, polishing the rods from the wheels of his bike. “You got that right, boss...” He cracked his knuckles, the disdain evident in his voice for the people in blue. “They think we are street dogs or something...” He added, wiping his hands clean.
Enzo chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest, a confident smirk gracing his lips. “Oh, they think we’re just a bunch of wild dogs, do they? Well, let me tell you something, Mike. We’re more than that. We’re riders. The true rebels. People with a fucking backbone who aren’t afraid to live life like mighty eagles.” he glanced at the police department, recalling all the times the pigs in blue had cuffed and arrested him for a night or two, before setting him free. They had nothing on him.
“They’re just afraid of our freedom,” The Italian biker added, narrowing his eyes as some longer strands of his hair fell in front of his sharp eyes. “They can’t handle the fact that we live life on our own terms.”
Mike brushed his ginger curls back from his sweaty forehead before he stood up and rested against his bike, the red pain-job shining just like Enzo’s black one. “I heard they got a rookie. Someone fresh from the police academy... a brand new face into town.”
Enzo raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the news about someone new into this small town, someone with a shiny, fresh badge. He forgot when the last time a new police officer arrived in these zones was. Most of the time, they retired earlier, or quit because of a certain gang of bikers who ruled these territories.
“A rookie, huh? Interesting.” He had that crooked smirk on his face that screamed trouble. Mischief danced in his eyes. “Well, they ain’t heard of us bikers yet, that’s for sure. We’ll have to give them a warm welcome, won’t we?” He chuckled, picturing the rookie’s reaction to their presence. “Just wait till they get aloud of us. We’ll show them what true rebellion looks like.”
Mike and the rest of the bikers snickered. “Yeahhhh... Cannot stand these cops in blue... And rookies are always fun to mess with. I bet the kid is gonna piss his blue pants.”
Enzo’s grin turned into a pearly-white grin, his pores streaming off danger. “That’s the spirit, Mike. Give the rookie a taste of our world. But let’s make sure he gets a little scared, okay? No real trouble. We don’t want the pigs breathing down our necks any more than they already are.”
After the conversation was over, and the darkness was settling over the town, the bikers put their helmets on and jumped onto their bikes, taking off down the road into the night. Day or night, it never mattered to them. Their engines rumbled loudly, echoing down the streets of the little town. Old people would complain about the noises, while some parents always said the bikes disturbed their babies’ sleep. But they all knew better than to tell them face-to-face, and writing down a complaint at the police was useless because it never scared the rowdy riders. The fight between cops and bikers was like trying to extinguish a huge fire with a water gun.
The gang decided to take a break outside of town at a gas station to fill their bike tanks and get a snack, maybe an energy drink. Mike pulled his helmet off, rolling his shoulders back as he dismounted his bike, when he noticed something white with blue shining under the neon lights of the old gas station. A parked motorcycle — a police motorcycle, to be precise. Mike whistled for the other bikers.
“Check this out, fellas! One of the pigs is at the gas station.” He told them.
Enzo rolled his eyes, but a smug smile crept onto his face. “Oh, great. Just what we needed. A pig in our territory. Let me deal with this.” He strides over to the police officer’s motorcycle, a confident swagger in his step as he gets to the brand-new bike. His critical eye looked over the new vehicle, untouched and unscarred.
“Well, look at that. A rookie with a brand new toy.” He snorted, on the tip of his tongue to spit onto the leather seat of the bike. “I bet they are here to make sure we don’t cause trouble. Don’t they know this gas station is one of our break places? We don’t need them breathing down our necks like some strict and annoying parents.”
Mike chuckled as he approached Enzo. “Looks like we got a two-wheeler.” He remarked with a smirk. “This bike wouldn’t be able to keep up with our beasts, boss.”
Enzo’s smirk widened, getting wicked as he brushed his gloved fingers over the snow-white paint job. “Well, well... Isn’t this adorable? A little police officer on a bike trying to play big bad cop.” Saccharine sarcasm dripped from the leader of the bikers.
“Gonna ruin the police’s new toy?” Mike asked his boss with his green eyes sparkling like a kid who was about to do something bad.
Temptation hit Enzo to write down some nasty doodles on the white paint job, but he composed himself, pulling away from the authorities’s motorcycle. “Not worth it, man. I did that kind of stuff in middle school.”
Mike continued to smirk and shook his head. “You go on and fill the tanks, boss. I will get some energy drinks and snacks. My treat.” Enzo gave a thumbs up to his best friend, who walked toward the front entrance of the gas station. Emerald eyes curtained by light eyelashes scanned the surroundings, not spotting a soul, save for the old guy behind the counter register who was reading from a magazine.
The ginger biker headed to the fridge, opening one and starting to fill his arms with the cool cans of energy drinks before closing the fridge with his hip. He glanced at the cans as he walked down the aisle, making sure he got all the right flavors. Out of nowhere, he bumped into someone, and all the cans dropped from his arms. A string of curses was ready to fly out of his mouth, along with telling the person to watch the eyes from their fucking skull, but this colorful speech died on Mike’s tongue when he saw the person he bumped into.
