Page 5 of Ex-Military Biker’s Bride

“You’re drunk. You’ll want to parachute in or ride on the wing or some shit.” I hold out my hand for the keys. “Keys.”

He drops the keys in my palm and closes my fingers over them, serious for a second. “Bring your girl back.”

The truck smells like stale doughnuts and there's something loose rolling around under the passenger seat. A car freshener shaped like a crow dangles from the mirror. Some crazy Irish folk song with a dance beat starts playing at full volume when I start it up. As I try to turn it off, I accidentally knock the glove box open and a huge knife falls out. I drive it hard down the county road towards the strip outside town.

By the time I'm through the gate at the strip I've got a plan. I can’t use the helicopter, because it has a Rotmere tracker. The jet is at the Lodge, waiting for its next load of VIPs. My little Cessna is the best bet, and she might cope with a hard landing on that abandoned strip.

The light is starting to fade and I’ve got maybe an hour before it’s fully dark. I’ve got a first aid kit in the plane, along with some supplies.

“Maria. She still with you?”

“She's talking. Said she's cold.” She clears her throat. “Her name’s not Lily, by the way… it’s Olivia. Didn’t say why. She's scared, but she's trying to hide it, which worries me a little.”

The climb-out takes me over the meadow and I tip the wings once, to show my MC brothers I’m on my way.

The pass is ugly. Rain thuds against the windshield, the engine working hard as the jagged ridge line comes in and out of sight in the gloom. I fly it low and slow, keeping it steady.

She's on that mountain until morning if I don’t find her. Cold and injured, and far too fucking close to the Lodge for my liking. I was right about Lily not being her real name. She’s up to something and I intend to find out what it is.

Then I see it.

A tiny orange smudge in the twilight, off to the north end of the strip.

“Maria. Tell her to stay put. I can see the fire.”

“Roger that, Lucky.”

The strip is a wet gray line with grass down the middle of it. I fly the length of it once to look at what I'm attempting, come around, and put the Cessna down, cursing the whole way. She drags hard and I have to fight to keep her straight. I grab my pack and the first aid kit and head up to the rocks.

Thunder rolls down the mountain side and the rain is hard up here. She's wrapped in a space blanket, and she gets an arm up to shield her eyes from my flashlight.

“You came.”

Her voice is hoarse. Her hair is down, plastered to her face, and a smear of mud streaks along her cheekbone. I get my jacket around her before I say anything back to her.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

She blinks. “We've met once.”

“Twice, actually.”

“Okay, twice. And I don’t intend to. Thank you for coming, by the way.”

“You hurt?”

“My ankle. You might have to help me get back to the plane.”

“I’m going to take a look at you. I flew medevac in the army, I know what I’m doing.”

She nods. I get my hands on her, checking her over, but it takes everything I've got to keep it clinical. Her skin is freezing under my fingers and she shivers hard when I touch the back of her skull.

The ankle is bad, but it’s not broken, or she'd have screamed when I got the boot off.

“Can you put any weight on it?”

“Only if you're rude enough to me about it.”

I laugh. She giggles a little and I’m gone. I could just sit here and stare at her all night, if I didn’t need to get her inside.