Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
“Clay, let’s go!” She looks up me like ‘what the hell are you doing?’
Callum sits in the driver’s seat, a small smile tilting his lips like he’s ready for anything I have planned.
“I got a ride,” I tell her.
I hear Iron groan, probably because there are witnesses now, and I wrap my arms around him, damn near laughing as my heart races.
“Clay!” Krisjen urges. “What the hell?”
But I just whisper to Liv’s brother, “Go.”
He shakes his head, his greasy brown hair kind of good-looking against his tan face. “My gut told me you were trouble,” he grumbles. “Hold on.”
He launches off, and a whimper escapes as my heart leaps into my throat. We fly forward, the moisture thickening the air as the clouds hang low, and I chance a look behind me to see the tires of Callum’s car spinning and burning rubber as he sets off after us.
I squeeze Iron, the wind picking up with the speed, and I peer over his shoulder, watching as he flies us down the road, through the warehouse district, and onto Frontress Lake Drive, speeding along the canal and toward the tracks.
The bass from Callum’s car booms on our tail, and I can tell he’s gaining by the how loud his Nine Inch Nails song is getting.
But not for long.
Iron grabs hold of my hands locked in front of him, holding me to him, as he kicks the bike up a gear, the front tire catches air, and we bolt ahead faster. I giggle—actually fucking giggle—in his ear, and I spot a little grin on his face, too.
Settling into the man’s back, I watch as St. Carmen falls away, the lush lawns, boutiques, centuries-old churches, and the opulent edifices of the mansions tucked deep among the bald cypresses and strangler figs.
Green, gorgeous land lies beyond, the sky growing dark with the stars covered by clouds. My skin buzzes with something I hardly ever feel anymore.
Anticipation.
Henry would love this. I don’t think he ever got to ride on a motorcycle.
“Iron, get her off your bike!” someone barks.
Iron pulls to an abrupt stop at the stop sign and I press into his back, looking over my shoulder to see Liv.
A pain hits my chest. I watch her cruise up next to us, her bike black, smaller, and older, but God…I rarely get to see her out of school clothes or lacrosse gear, and I can’t take my eyes off of her.
She puts her boots on the ground and scowls at her brother through her aviators. “This isn’t a joke!” she yells at him.
And she flashes a glance back at Callum’s car racing toward us.
My tongue feels like it’s swelling so much I’ll choke on it. Her legs in her tight black jeans. Her knees bare through the holes, her low-cut white top, and her faded leather jacket… Her hair wild and loose down her back, no helmet, and dog tags hanging around her neck. I notice the key she flashed on the lacrosse field last weekend hanging in between.
I loosen my hold on Iron, thinking about holding onto her instead. She’d fit perfectly.
“Aw, Jesus.” She looks at me. “You ever experience a Cuban temper? You’re about to.”
I look behind me once more, seeing a Toyota Tacoma racing side by side Callum, the cab filled with three, long-haired individuals. Women?
I look at Iron. “A girlfriend?”
“Ex,” he points out.
Oh, Jesus. I hop off his bike, climbing on behind Liv instead.
“Get off!” she yells, trying to shake me.
But I wrap my arms around her, feeling the switchblade hooked onto her jeans. “Scared of me?”
She breathes out a laugh. “I’m sick of you getting your way,” she mumbles, more like she’s arguing with herself than me. “What the fuck do I care if Aracely rips out all your hair?”
“My crew plays dirty.” I hug her close. “Yours plays bloody. Don’t worry, I know we won’t win tonight.”
“No, you won’t.”
“So, let’s go,” I say and then whisper into her ear. “Just you and me for the next five minutes.”
She turns her head away from my whisper, but I feel her chest cave and her stomach shake. I love feeling what I do to her.
“I hate you,” she growls. But she revs the bike and takes off, and I smile, tucking my chin onto her shoulder.
Ditto.
I close my eyes, squeezing her until I’m sure she can’t escape. The wind whips through my hair, and the scent of the palms hits my nose, and I wish it was day. I wish I could see the clouds.
Heat pools low in my belly, and I hug her with my thighs, aware of her everywhere.
Iron didn’t feel like this. She smells like—I tip my nose up under her ear. Like one of those artisanal perfume oils popular in the hippie shops where they suck up all the oxygen, burning incense, and then wonder why they don’t have any customers.