Themis hawked and spat at the ground where Garcia’s car used to be once she got away. The spit sizzled on the hot asphalt for a moment, before disappearing without a trace. Lupe always had a way of getting under her skin. It hadn’t been that long since Garcia was spyed out in her bed, sweat dripping from her naked body as she begged for Themis’ cock. As Themis nailed her down so hard the creaking of her bed woke her parents up. Her dad had busted through the door with a baseball bat, ready to clobber whoever was taking advantage of his little girl.

  Themis didn’t even have the time to grab her clothes, practically having to jump from the second floor in the nude to escape a slow and painful death at the hands of the berserk man. She had booked it away with her cock still wet, balls hanging in the quite literal wind. But those days were gone.

  The growl of an engine brought her back. Artie, her kutte folded and pced on the saddle, brought the bike around and shoved a helmet in Themis’ hands. Her sister, the bike rider. She had grown up so fast while they were away. Tears welled in Themis’ eyes as she threw a leg over the saddle and sat behind her sister. God, had she missed her.

  ***

  They rode through the desert, the fnnel continued to feel stuffy even after Themis unbuttoned the absolute maximum amount of buttons that she could before her tits popped out. By the time they saw San Raul ahead, Themis was dripping with sweat and felt miserable. At least her cell had been cool, back at the prison. She still couldn’t believe her baby sister had made it, she’d have to ask everything about it ter. First she had to check in with the club, though. And she was not ready to do that.

  Throughout her sentence, Artie was the only one that had ever visited her. She understood why, half the club patches were convicted felons. But with Artie being a prospect for most of it, vis a vis forbidden from talking club business, she had no idea where she stood. Especially given the rocky parting.

  It should have been a routine run, a year and a half ago. That was why Odin had sent just her, still a prospect and a fresh one at that, with the Road Captain of the club, Carmen. She was on driving duty and Carmen was riding, or rather sleeping, shotgun. They went to the usual spot, a pull-off a couple miles up the mountain highway overseeing a steep wooded hillside northwest of the town and waited for Carmen’s contact. The Captain was not too happy to have her beauty sleep interrupted when her contact showed, but those were the rules. Club members handled business while prospects stayed in the car. And that would be fine with Themis, if the contact and his friend hadn’t started throwing fists. Themis trusted that Carmen was able to take care of herself, but two on one was just not fair.

  She jumped to Carmen’s assistance, and together they made quick work of the assholes.

  “You are alright, prospect,” Carmen had said between pants as she leaned on the railing, catching her breath. And then things went wrong.

  Themis did not remember much after that. Sirens bring, blue and red lights blinding her, and then she was on her knees with cuffs around her wrists. Carmen was nowhere to be found. Later she found out she had pushed the older member overboard, the historic tumble that ensued resulting in a broken leg and ribs bruised so badly she had to give up smoking. And Carmen loved her cigarettes. But she was already a repeat offender and a felon. The men were pretty beaten up, and the district attorney had it out for the club. An arrest there would be bad for Carmen. She would be looking at serious time. Themis had practically saved her life by taking the fall. And she paid the price for it.

  Odin was furious after Themis’ bail was denied and they had to consult with their wyer in the holding cell. A year. A whole year. Provided she pled guilty to a misdemeanor, of course, but she was caught dead to rights, committing a violent felony, and passing up the chance to walk away doing a fraction of the sentence and no permanent mark on her record would be insanity.

  “You are just a fucking kid!” she remembered Odin's shouts. “Carmen knew what she signed up for. It was her fuckup, her! Not yours. You could have killed her by pushing her over like that. What the fuck were you thinking?”

  She was right, of course. But a year in Hunter County Correctional Facility, low security and mere hours from home, was nothing compared to how deep Carmen would get buried. The DA’s office would push for one step short of Gitmo, and the judge would meet them halfway, sending her across the state to break rocks side by side with serial killers and child molesters. Themis wasn’t thinking when she did what she did. But she’d do it again, in a heartbeat.

  Within the hour they reached the city, finally the familiar streets calmed Themis down. Everything was exactly how she left it, from the cracks to the ancient roads to the bystanders wincing at the growl of Artie’s engine. They headed to the north side, passing by ndmarks and storefronts, images alternating like an old movie. She recognized her old friends’ and fellow San Raul High alumni names on some of the fronts. Flora Reyes’ Military Surplus, Imane Farouq’s Hal Meat Market, and Donnie Rossi’s Car Dealership. The names assaulted her mind with memories of the simpler times, what felt like a lifetime ago. She had missed them all so much, the people as much as the town itself. She couldn’t wait to catch up with everyone.

  It felt good to be back.