There was a dip, my stomach vaulted up and down, and we shot up a steep hill, and I gasped, holding him tighter.
We raced over the top of the hill, leaving the ground and picking up air as we flew over the hump and to the ground again. My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt like I was on a ride I couldn’t control and didn’t have time to think, and even if I could, I couldn’t stop what was happening. My body rushed with heat and energy, terror swelled in my throat, and I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to laugh, puke, or scream.
He sped around a bend, we leaned, and I could almost feel the ground an inch under my leg. I couldn’t stop myself. “I’m gonna fall!” I cried out. “Stop, please!”
And he did. He slowed and halted, and as if by magic, everything was quiet again.
I didn’t let him go.
“This is black,” he said. “Fear, falling, release. Excitement, risk, danger.”
I sat there, hugging him and trying to figure out if I liked it or not. It scared me just like he did when he broke into the house last week. I hated that, but… I didn’t really hate it anymore. Probably because I wasn’t as scared of him anymore. It was fear in a controlled environment. The motorcycle wasn’t.
Or maybe I just needed to try it again.
“I won’t let you go ag—” He stopped and evened out his voice. “I won’t let you go,” he said. “Hold on.”
I inhaled a shaky breath and readied myself for another go. And when the bike shot off again, I lifted my head, making myself not hide from it.
He won’t let me go. He won’t let me go.
The wind cut my face, and I closed my eyes to keep them from watering. After a moment, I found my body molded to his and moved with it as he turned and leaned, sped and broke, and it was like we were one rider.
When he leaned, and I thought we were going to fall, I squeezed my eyes shut and stopped breathing, letting him handle the bike and me and carrying us around in one piece.
When it happened again, I eased my muscles a little more, trusting him and letting him do it. I tipped my head back, feeling the wind and my body move with his, no longer needing to squeeze him so tightly.
I wanted to go all night now, because for the first time in forever, I was seeing things again. And just because I’d lost my sight didn’t mean that I needed to fear getting lost.
Just maybe, it was exactly what I’d been dying for.
The rumble of the motor shook my tummy, and I smiled, hoping for a thousand more nights like this.
He slowed to a stop and put his feet down on the ground. “Fear, falling, release,” he said again. “Excitement, risk, danger.”
“And at any moment, death,” I mused, still with my smile toward the sky.
“Freedom,” he added.
I laid my head on his back again, and he put the stand down and took out the key.
“We’re done,” he told me, sounding a little amused when I wouldn’t let him go.
“I’m cold.” I nuzzled closer.
He chuckled under his breath, and the smell of Sticks pizza wafted through my nostrils again. “Can you show me red?” I asked.
I didn’t want the night to end.
He paused for a moment and then whispered over his shoulder. “Someday.”
“Are you still going to hurt me?” I joked.
But he paused again, his whisper barely audible. “Someday,” he said.
Damon
Present
I was glad Michael and Rika weren’t having their engagement party at St. Killian’s. I refused to step foot in the nightmare they no doubt made of one of our favorite high school haunts.
St. Killian’s was an old, abandoned cathedral we all explored as kids, precious hours spent away from parents and left to our own devices, and when we became teenagers, the catacombs underneath were our obsession. I could still smell the earth and stone and hear the water trickling down the walls. It was decadent and indulgent, and my domain.
We ran and hid, scared each other, drank, and had all kinds of hot fun down there growing up. It was our pathetic little empire, but it was freedom.
And they just had to douche it up by buying it and renovating it into their new, lovely home, probably taking away everything that was wild and primitive about it.
God, please, someone fuck me in the ass. Where the hell did the kids at Thunder Bay Prep go now on Devil’s Night? Did anyone keep up the tradition after we’d left? Was everything we did pointless and dead now, lost in vague memories that wouldn’t outlive anyone who knew us?
I tipped my head to the side, hearing my neck crack, and took a drink of the Stoli in my glass. I said I would stay at this party for three minutes. It had been eight.
They got engaged two years ago, and they were finally celebrating it? Maybe Rika had wanted to finish school first or Michael’s schedule had been too busy. Whatever.
Pods of people loitered around the art museum, dressed in their best and here to wish Michael and his little monster a happy little life. But really, it was just a precaution. Michael and Rika were American royalty and would inherit a lot of power, eventually. Best to pay your respects in hopes of earning a seat at their table one day.
Glasses clinked, chatter melted together, sounding like a flock of birds, and everyone was smiling, except me. They all avoided me. Even though two of my friends went to prison with me, I was the only real criminal here. I was the rapist. The sexual deviant. The sick one. Lock up your daughters, wives, sisters, and moms. Hell, lock up Grandma, too.
I caught their sideways looks at me, and then they’d freak out when I looked back, and they hurriedly turned their heads. I laughed to myself and emptied my glass. Jesus Christ.
Crane, my head of security, approached my side, and I set the empty glass on a passing tray, picking up a new one.
“Where did she disappear to the other night?” I asked him.
“Coldfield,” he reported low for only me to hear. “The new haunted house. With her friends. No men with them.”
I scanned the room slowly, looking for Winter but not finding her. “Did she like it?”
I didn’t know why I cared. Maybe it would tell me if I needed to up my game when the time came.
“I think so,” he said. “I lost track of her for several minutes. Her friends did, as well.”
I spotted Arion and her mother talking to a group of older ladies. Vicious cunts like the rest of the matriarchs in this town.
“Was she meeting someone?” I suggested. She was blind. She would’ve been careful not to get lost by accident. Was it on purpose then?
“I don’t think so,” he answered. “When she reappeared, she looked shaken. Flushed. I think she just got lost.”
I laughed under my breath. She always did scare easily.
“And the attorney?” I asked about the rest of his list of duties I’d given him.
“Yes, the appointment’s set up.”
I locked eyes on Rika on the dance floor with some guy I didn’t know. His hand sat too low on her hip, his fingers brushing the top of her ass, and I narrowed my eyes on them, taking another sip. “And the council?”
Crane chuckled. “Yeah, it’s done,” he said. “If your father finds out how much of his money you’ve thrown around town…”
“Oh, he will,” I mused. “When it’s too late, of course. But I need all my ducks in a row first.”
And then I spotted Michael Crist, my old-friend-now-enemy, heading straight for me. Oh, great.
“Quack, quack,” Crane mumbled, probably seeing him approach, too.
I grinned at his joke as he walked away and squared my shoulders as Michael approached.
“Do you think I won’t kick you out?” he sneered. “The women don’t protect you.”
“Maybe not my women.”
He thought I thought I could be here, because the Ashbys were invited, but my insinuation was clear. Both his fiancée and Kai’s wife held less of a grudge. They may not hate me being here.
“Speaking of which…” I gestured to Erika on the dance floor. “Have you noticed the paws someone’s putting all over yours?”
“She is none of your concern.”