Where Souls Spoil by JC Emery

mischievous smile. I walk awkwardly to the bike, trying to calm my nerves. Having watched these men ride for the past few days, I’ve been both curious and nervous about the prospect of getting on a bike. Up until now, only in my fantasies have I been able to passenger with Ryan.
    Don’t be a baby.
    Smiling at him, I place my right hand on his leather-bound right shoulder, using it for support as I awkwardly swing my left leg over the bike. I find myself on wobbly footing, but Ryan’s right hand grips mine as I dig my nails into his leather vest, and his left arm snakes behind him, pulling me closer to him. With his guidance, I land properly on the back of his leather seat.
    “Not used to having something this big between your legs?”
    “I bet you’d like the answer to that, wouldn’t you?” I say before I can catch myself. Ryan turns just enough so that I can see the lascivious smile that’s spread across his face. His tongue darts out and licks his lips, sending a shiver up my spine. My father would have had a holy fit had he caught me being mouthy in front of his men. Carlo Mancuso likes his women compliant. But the way Ryan’s looking at me, with his eyes practically glazed over, I’m guessing he likes his women mouthy.
    “How long till Nevada, Cap?” A deep voice asks from somewhere behind me. I fumble with getting my feet situated on the small foot rests that stick out from the rest of the bike.
    Surprising me, Ryan clears his throat and says, “A few hours.” The surrounding bikers mount their Harleys and start up their engines. Ryan follows suit and the bike come to life with a deafening roar. The bike’s intimidating rumble vibrates every inch of my person. I take advantage of my position and wrap my arms around Ryan’s midsection, pulling myself as close to him as possible. He leans back minutely. I let my cheek rest on his shoulder blade.
    Slowly, the bikers spread out along the side of the highway, facing the road. Ryan steers the bike through the crowd and, like a shot, we’re the first on the highway. We kick into another gear and speed up, the rush of the wind and the sudden speed jostling. I let my fingers dig into his taut abdomen as we sail down the concrete stretch, surrounded by nothing at all discernible beyond the neatly laid rows of green that stretch for as far as my eyes can see.
    A little too late, I realize I’ve left my bag in the van. My Aunt Gloria gave me that bag, and it has the few worldly possessions I now own. Fear claws at my heart. If I lose that bag, that money, then I have nothing.
    “Ryan?” I ask, but he doesn’t react. I say it a little louder this time, and still nothing. I give myself a moment before screaming his name as close to his ear as I can. He jumps in place, but somehow keeps the bike steady.
    “What?” He asks loudly, though not nearly as loud as I was.
    Leaning toward his ear I say, “My bag! I left it in the van.” I think he’s not going to answer me, given how long it takes him. But when he does, there’s a noticeable smile in his voice.
    “It’s safe,” he says. I know better than to ask how. Men of power, who have power because they’ve taken it, not because it’s been granted, they aren’t to be questioned. So I let myself trust him, even though I don’t know him yet.
    The highway stretches out before us, but nothing changes. No matter how many miles we clock or how long we ride, it all just stays the same.
    “How do you like it?” Ryan shouts over the cacophony of engines. I snuggle into him, not knowing if I’ll ever get another opportunity to be this close with him.
    “It’s incredible,” I say. A smile breaks out on my face and I laugh. The rush of the wind and the power of the bike overtake me and, for just a moment, everything feels right.
    “You’re smiling,” he says.
    “You can feel that?” I ask, surprised by the attention he’s paying to my movements.
    “Oh, I can feel a lot more than that.” He revs the