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Sequel to Riding South
Trapped inside Tenney House and at the mercy of his father, Camilla and South are forced to face their greatest fears in order to bring down the Gentleman's Network--an organizat...
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We sped out of the parking lot and away from the Newport Yacht Club, following behind the little red Mazda.
This town was supposed to be my refuge. My place of healing. My job at the Club was supposed to be the next big career step. But instead, my fantasy had been stripped bare of its finery and glittering gems until all that was left was the ugly truth.
The fake girl I'd been, the one who'd ignored her pain and hurt to put on a brave face, was gone. Now, my truth was shining through. The real me. The one who was sick of putting up with other people's bullshit and wanted answers.
I leaned into the turns, holding South tight around the middle, watching as downtown city lights blurred into quaint ice cream shops and trendy bars, then tree-lined streets as we neared the iconic Newport Bridge.
The blur scenery and the whip of the wind provided a strange sense of calm. After all this time spent doing things to feel bold—running and moving and competing in a roller derby—I was being bold.
Each inch of pavement brought us that much closer to my sister. The thought was like a fire inside my chest, driving me forward.
Up ahead, Bellamy made a sharp right turn at the intersection, leading us away from the on-ramp. Confused, I looked around. Was this some detour? Were we being followed?
South chased after the red sports car, urging the bike faster as we turned down a side street and flew over smooth asphalt.
My white party dress rose up my thighs when I leaned forward, and my heavy helmet knocked against South's.
"I thought we were going to the airport!" I half-shouted over the roar of the engine.
"We are!" South replied, pointing towards a sign that had just peaked out from behind the dense treeline.
Newport Flyers was printed in big block letters.
"I told the owner I wanted to take the plane out to Martha's Vineyard for the weekend," South said, banking left into the long stretch of road that led to the small private airport. Gravel kicking up around us. "Luckily, he's a vet and fucking loves me."
Memories of jumping out of the plane flooded my mind. Everything from the smelly jumpsuit to the nerves I'd fought through to step onto the plane.
But still, I couldn't understand why we were here.
"Why Martha's Vineyard?" I asked.
"Lianna was complaining to Rico that the McGilvary's vacation home on Martha's Vineyard has been shuttered for the last two months and that she hasn't been able to host her annual summer oyster roast. When I heard that, I realized I recognized where Tom Fredericksen's picture was taken. From the country club just outside their house. I've been there before as a kid."
Holy shit. South had put the pieces together. He'd figured it out. Elated wasn't the right word. I was electric. Our motorcycle had become Apollo's Chariot, and we were racing towards the sun together.
