Rebel punk, Oscar Bradley, discovers that his party friend, Max, is the prince of Kingsport's Irish Mob; fierce rivals of the biker gang that's served as Oscar's surrogate family. With Max quickly pulling him deeper into his luxurious but deadly wor...
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The flicker of ultra blue tinted high beams lit up Oscar's side mirrors, signaling that his two young competitors weren't far behind him. Oscar sped up, weaving between a few cars to lengthen his lead, but Zer0 and Bolt weren't shaken and kept gaining.
That was good, but now it was time to start throwing them off. And to do that, he'd have to take more risks. Navigating narrow gaps started to look all the more appealing or just splitting down the dividing line if there was no room, anything to avoid slowing down—giving the other two an easy chance to catch up.
Soon, all three of the bikers were going so fast that the cars sharing the road with them looked like they were practically standing still.
Oscar had never considered himself an artist, but he'd heard of them finding a flow while working...like a state of zen. Like that bald bro on his skateboard drinking juice and vibing to Fleetwood Mac. A different state. A zone.
And when he was going this fast, and he stopped feeling like he was on a vehicle and instead felt like he was flying—swimming through a river of stars instead of head and taillights—that was his flow. His perfect state.
Better than any high, in moments like this, Oscar's mind could sort of just shut off and let his body and raw instincts react so much faster than his conscious mind ever could...Nothing could stop him...
...Aaaaaand it didn't take the highway patrol long to take notice.
For the most part, the cops usually weren't a big problem for bikers.
The officers still had rules they had to follow, and protocols, and all that did was make it impossible for them to keep up—at least until they turned on their lights. The bright, strobing flashes of red, white, and blue, alerted the motorists around them, who started parting like the fucking red sea—one coming incredibly close to clipping Bolt, given he'd been right in their blind spot when they'd decided to try to get over.
"Still not a problem," Oscar assured himself—even as the number of police cruisers behind them slowly climbed—because even if their cars could keep pace and they didn't have civilian motorists to worry about, they were still too big to go where bikes could.
They had only rode a few more blocks before the distance between them and the cops had really stretched. But just as Oscar was inwardly appreciating how quickly the KPD had given up, it was as if the police had read his mind and, out of sheer spite, a bright light dropped down out of the sky over him, Zer0, and Bolt—like a blazing abduction beam from a UFO.
"Are you serious?" Oscar exclaimed, but he told himself the helicopter wasn't a problem either. He knew he could lose it and the cops, it was just going to take a little detour through a familiar neighborhood...
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