I guessed that was why so many men rode these things, from middle-aged weekend warriors to the kind who rode twenty-four-seven. Rain or shine, or even in snow. Men like Cullen, who made riding on the edge a permanent part of their life. It was addictive, like any other drug that left me wildly spinning. Except this one was addictive because it gave some semblance of control. I could make the decisions, I could determine my speed. I was the creator of my own destiny. Most of us, we had no control before we could drive. Nothing we did was because we wanted to. It was because we had to. Because we were forced to. All our choices, from where we could afford to live, to where we could eat, it was limited. But when we were on the back of a bike, we were just the opposite. Free. I knew why Cullen and Sean chose this life, but I also knew it was going to be their death. Eventually.
