Blood on the Asphalt biker
He didn't want the drive; he wanted the girl dead so the drive would be lost to the abyss.
I looked at the tablet. 42%. Still too slow.
I approached the "Widowmaker," the sharpest turn on the Backbone. Usually, I’d take it wide to carry speed, but tonight I needed to be a ghost. I saw the silhouette of a fallen pine tree ahead, its branches partially obstructing the road. I didn't brake. I accelerated, aiming for the narrow gap between the trunk and the drop-off.
The SUV behind me didn't have the clearance. I heard the sickening crunch of metal on wood as the lead vehicle slammed into the tree, its airbags deploying in a white cloud. One down. Two to go.