Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Behind us, as our honor guard, ride Hero and Wild Child. Hero looks his name, his rich hazels bright with the opportunity to stick it to the establishment, his gorgeous beard fluttering in the wind, while Wild Child's grinning like we're on a Sunday outing. They're both in character, in other words. I wish I had their confidence.
Mom's right that she can probably get past the guards with me, but will anyone listen? Or will Dad shut us down? With so many reporters there and other witnesses, he can't possibly silence us all, right?
Fanning out behind our little lead pack, taking up the full width of the street, is the rest of the club. The roar of a many throated monster has people coming out of their homes and stores to watch us go by. A couple of the guys put up American flags on their bikes, making us look like a parade.
The Screaming Eagles are coming, and everyone knows it.
We're close enough to the city hall to see it when we reach the first police stop. We're not doing anything illegal, but what if these guys were part of the raid? Are they carrying grudges? Or have they drunk all of Dad's Kool-Aid? One of them's got his hand on his gun, ready to pull it from its holster. A sergeant approaches, looking nervous. “I can't let you through.”
“Why not?” Mom steps off the bike, fluffs her hair and puts her hands on her hips. “I am merely on my way to meet my husband.”
“Mrs. Hawthorne!” The cop looks confused, looking from her to us and back and again. I wave from behind King and smile. Wild Child leans forward onto his handlebars and makes a grimace, but the sergeant is too nervous to notice. “I'm sorry, but I can't—”
“Of course you can. I need to see my husband—your mayor—and it's important. It's related to his press conference, and it can't wait. Now I expect you to let us through, unless you want to make him angry. Trust me when I say you don't want that.” She raises a challenging eyebrow.
He shakes his head. “No, of course not, Mrs. Mayor—Hawthorne. But all of them?”
“Every single one. It's of the utmost of importance.”
He doesn't want to let any of us through. It's pretty obvious, but no one wants to be on Dad's bad side. Everyone knows how powerful he's become. A young officer can make or break his career by making the wrong decision here.
Another nervous look in our direction, but in the end he comes to the right decision. “I will radio for the teams to let you through.”
Mom pats him on the cheek, which doesn't make him any calmer. “Good boy. Thank you.” She might be passive around Dad, but she's well familiar with the privileges of being the Mayor's wife.
He pulls back, and when we roll by, he's calling ahead.
So far, so good.
By the time we get close, we're slowing to a crawl. We're watched from both sides of the street, by cops, people out and about town, people working in the offices and shops along the way. Many people look scared, like we're there to hurt them, or curious what's going on. Some kids are running along as we ride, yelling things and looking excitedly at all the bikes.
I have to swallow a big nervous lump in my throat, but when we pull up in front of the front steps, I'm determined. This is the only solution I see that won't involve violence and lots of hurt people. And while I don't want anyone hurt, there are three men in particular that I'm eager to protect, like they protect me.
Coming up on the front doors, I have King on my right, Wild Child on my left and Hero bringing up the back like a massive human shield. Mom and Eagle-eye walk next to us, and then the rest of the club follows us in. For once, they're all quiet and their expressions stony, like we're a military unit marching into the city hall, our steps echoing off the fancy marble floors and the high ceilings in the multi-story lobby.
Hundreds of people work here, and they've all come out to gawk. From the offices, on the open bridge corridors above us and coming down the stairs, they're whispering to each other and pointing. I doubt a group like this has ever come through here, and this is a lot of big bikers for a group of bureaucrats to take in.
Mom and I know the way to the briefing room. Dad loves to show us off when he's doing a talk on family values and bullshit like that. He wouldn't know family values if they kicked him in the junk.
A man in a suit tries to stop us. “I'm sorry, but I can't let you go in there. There's a press conference—”