“The transmission made a metallic clunk, and the big Indian rumbled and shook as Lymon eased the clutch out and accelerated. He rolled the throttle, letting all sixteen hundred and thirty-eight ccs bellow. The Indian wasn’t loud–Lymon hated loud pipes—but it had an authoritarian rumble that sent a tingle up his spine. The lights on Santa Monica Boulevard seemed to pulse with brighter than usual color. Or was that just part of the high that came out of a nice night and being tuned to the bike and... his passenger? He waved at people sitting in a sidewalk pizza place just because it was fun, and they were watching him ride past. Sheela must have liked it, too; she tightened her hold on his waist. He fought the urge to reach down with his left hand and pat her leg where it rested against his hip. “We should do this every night,” Sheela called over his shoulder. “You’ve got a schedule. Rex would go into apoplectic seizures. You’re worth millions. You’ve got to take care of all vour minions.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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