48
Icy wind blew through the bullet holes in Shea’s jacket as she wound through the twisties on the south side of Sycamore Mountain. She was grateful her home was just a few miles from the shop. As battered as her body was, she wasn’t sure she could take much riding.
When they reached the house, Shea pulled into the garage and Labrys followed.
“You can’t sleep here.” Shea emptied the pockets of her jacket, now peppered with bullet holes, and tossed it into a black plastic garbage bin.
Labrys pulled off her helmet. “Why not? I thought we agreed. Safety in numbers?”
“If Jessica saw you here, she’d rip you a new one.”
“I think I could take her.” A smirk curled the corners of Labrys’ mouth.
“That’s not the least bit funny.”
“I’m kidding. Geez! Besides, I thought you two were broken up.
