Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
We split—truck one way, bike the other. Thrasher took my helmet and settled it on me himself, securing the strap with a slow tug. He didn’t overdo the tenderness, but he didn’t miss. When I climbed on behind him, I tucked in like I’d been born that way. My cheek found its place between his shoulders. He patted my hands where they met at his middle before he twisted the throttle.
The road home wasn’t straight. He chose turns on purpose. The first mile, my smile kept catching me off guard. It would rise without permission and sit there inside the helmet where no one could see it but me. The night air slipped under my shirt and cooled the sweat at the small of my back. I was hyperaware of his hand when he relaxed it briefly from the grip to tap the back of my fingers: you still with me? Yes. Always yes.
We swung through a stretch where the pines opened and the moon threw a soft sheet over everything. I tightened my arms—just a little—and felt him answer by shifting his weight to match mine exactly, like a partner who knew every step of a dance and still let me lead a beat when I needed to.
When we rolled into the hotel lot, it felt too soon and just right at the same time. He cut the engine, and the ordinary noises jumped back into existence—the rattle of a cart, the slam of a door, somebody laughing two buildings over. He took my helmet off and set it on the seat, then left his hand at the back of my head for a second longer than necessary. The heel of his palm warmed the spot he always warms.
“Good?” he asked.
“Really good,” I said, and the words were too small, but he caught the rest in my face. The hurt of not having him tell Tiny I was his had vanished but knowing he was going to leave me left those insecurities creeping in.
I wasn’t ready to go inside. The night felt like a page I wanted to reread. “Come up?” I asked, and felt the small leap in my chest when he didn’t hesitate.
“Not tonight, baby.”
I hid my disappointment, leaned in and gave him a soft kiss before walking away fighting back tears from falling.
Inside the building, I was holding it together until she came down the hall.
“Oh, you’re back. That’s why he text me.” Maria shared and I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Thrasher didn’t tell you. Tonight’s my night.”
Anger turned into rage. Instincts took over and I stepped into her space. “You can fuck right off, Maria. I don’t bother you and you need not step in my line, bitch.”
Her arm moved and I had my fist up connecting right with her nose before I even realized it. Blood went everywhere as my emotions consumed me.
I had never been violent before. I had never lashed out on someone, much less someone I barely knew. Without another word, I left her there with tears running down her face and muttering about a broken nose.
Once inside the safety of my room, I fired off a text to him.
This doesn’t work for me anymore. Thank you for giving me the freedom found in a ride. I’ll cherish the memories.
Then I fired off a text to Lyric telling her I had a headache and I was going to bed before turning off my phone.
Only after climbing in the shower to let the tears of my insecurities go down the drain did I let myself feel the emotions I had been pushing down.
I saw him at the party. The interaction with Maria was that of practiced lovers. While he made it clear he didn’t share, he never gave me some real commitment. At least not one I could understand. Tonight proved I was in over my head with Enzo.
I should have known better. No one can go from the world I grew up in to thriving in the chaos of an outlaws life.
Well, lesson learned.
15
MELODY
I fell asleep crying. That wasn’t unusual for me, not really. It had been a thing back home. Nights in this place had a way of digging under my skin sometimes too. And the way I was, once I started crying I couldn’t stop easily which only made me angry and continued the tears. But tonight felt different. My chest hurt like someone had planted a boot square in the middle of it. My eyes burned, swollen from too many tears and too many ugly thoughts I couldn’t shut off.
Maria.
Her name was a knife. I had never once cared what she did, how she laughed too loud at club parties, how she wrapped herself around any man who gave her a glance, or how she swayed her hips like every song was played just for her. But tonight, the second I pictured her with Thrasher, my stomach turned inside out.