The Peer and the Puppet (When Rivals Play #1) - B.B. Reid Page 0,1

through town, lazily eyeing the people spilling in and out of our few shops. Cherry was a frictionless place. The small Virginian town offered little, so anyone in residence was either a native or running away from something. Rosalyn rarely spoke of her past, but I learned a long time ago which party we fell in.

I reached the edge of town and noticed the local soap maker vigorously scrubbing her shop window. She whipped her plump frame around as I parked at the curb in front of her shop. Her distress was palpable as she clutched the soaked sponge to her ample chest.

Her fear didn’t wane until I lifted my helmet to take a closer look at what had upset the sweet woman. Spray painted on the glass was three-quarters of a red X with writing underneath.

I am not led.

My mind raced as I read it a second and third time. “Who did this?”

The vandalism couldn’t have been personal. Patty was a kind, middle-aged widower, who made the best scented soaps and spoke only in soft tones, even when angry. We met in the frozen food section of the town’s only grocer when she scolded me for speeding through the parking lot. She quickly departed before I could apologize, so when I saw her watering the plants in her shop window, I paid a visit. She’d graciously accepted my apology by offering me one of her soaps: coconut water mixed with açaí berry, melon, jasmine petals, and vanilla. Now it’s the only soap I’ll use.

“Some out-of-towners rode through here last night causing trouble. The sheriff’s had his hands full tracking them down.”

This was the part where I would say something consoling, but I was pretty creeped out myself. I am not led? It sounded like some cult bullshit. “I’m sure they’re gone by now,” I assured her, though it sounded more like a question.

“I hope so.” She pointed her soapy sponge at me. “You be careful, hear?”

“I will.” I brought the Ducati back to life, shoved my helmet on, and headed for the open road. Late that night, I was scrubbing my dinner dishes clean after another night of ‘grilled cheese for one’ when my phone chimed. Anticipation didn’t allow me to dry my hands before I hurriedly flipped open my phone.

It’s a go. Curtis Pond Rd. Usual time.

The crowd parted, and I coasted through on the back of the orange, black, and white Ducati. No one ever asked questions, so I never had to explain why I showed up on a different bike every race. Borrowing bikes I helped to fix in Gruff’s shop without his knowledge was risky business, but so far, my luck held.

Spotting Mickey’s brown tattooed skin and shoulder-length dreads as he talked to another rider on the sideline, I stopped at the marked line and lifted my helmet. The smell of decay from the swamp on the other side of the trees hit me instantly. A tense Mickey swaggered over as fast as his sagging jeans would allow.

“I should have given your spot away. You know,” he said with sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “to someone who actually bids to race and can show up on time.”

I just barely kept from rolling my eyes. Mickey had a violent track record, but he didn’t scare me. I was too valuable. I pretended not to notice him checking me out as I laughed and leaned forward. Worn black and yellow leather creaked as I rested my forearms on the handlebars. “I had algebra homework, and we both know you’d lose way more than you’d make if you cut me out.” I could always count on Mickey’s bet in my favor because he could always count on me to win.

Fourteen races and I was still undefeated.

Riders spend thousands of dollars on an advantage only to be showed up by a sixteen-year-old girl who proved more than once that it’s the rider who wins races.

Mickey didn’t crack a smile like he usually did when I sassed him. Instead, he glanced to my left, averting my attention. My competition waited astride a silver Ninja ZX-10R. It was faster, so I’d have to be clever.

As I admired the bike, I peeped at the bold black X painted on the side. Unlike the one vandalizing Patty’s window, this one had a fox and crow’s head inside the top and bottom angle, a nineteen and eighty-seven inside the left and right, and a ribbon that read, I am not led across the middle.