Didn’t stop me from cranking on the gas and chasing the moving red dot. I would just follow her for a while, maybe steal a glimpse of her on the bike.
I caught up with her on Rogers Avenue, her red taillight a beacon against the black sky. It was after midnight, and the scarcity of traffic forced me to remain back. When she slowed on a quiet street, I pulled up to the curb beneath an overpass and used the night vision to zoom in.
Two blocks ahead, she stopped at a stoplight. Bent forward at the waist, the muscled curves of her ass wrapped in silver, her blonde braid following the line of her spine. My lips knew every bump of that spine. My palms tingled in memory of my handprints on her ass.
Her breathy sounds, her honeyed smell, and the way she touched her tongue to her teeth when she smiled, I’d memorized all of it. Every spellbinding delicacy.
All of it unavailable.
Unobtainable.
Married.
Ironic sentiment, considering I would do anything, especially murder, to seek revenge. Yet the thought of stealing another man's wife made me feel sick all over. I’d always believed the end justified the means. But I wasn’t supposed to feel this way about the means. My longing for her was a distraction I did not need.
A distraction I couldn’t give up.
The stoplight turned green, but instead of rolling forward, she made a U-turn and darted straight toward me.
Fuck, it was no surprise she’d seen me. Hard to miss the only other bike on the road. I shouldn’t have followed her. It would only take a recognizable mannerism or word, and she could connect my current identity to the man who’d spent hours inside her body.
My pulse sped up. I could take off and lose her in five or six blocks.
Tuck my tail. Protect my ass. Run away. Just like the night I met her.
My insides thrashed against the idea, a strange impulse heating my veins, seething to fight. Fight for her.
Deep down, I knew that would never work. But I couldn’t accept that. Couldn’t bear the way it hurt.
I removed my hands from the grips, relaxed them on my thighs, and clocked her approach with the rapid fire of my breaths.
She stopped her bike on the sidewalk beside me. Facing opposite directions, our legs inches apart, a mantle of patient acceptance settled over us. Our expressions safely concealed beneath the visors, we took each other in. No expectations. Simply watching.
I turned off the engine, and she followed suit. The crank of a car sounded in the distance, but this stretch of Rogers Avenue, beneath the concrete arches of the elevated train tracks, belonged to us.
Her helmet tipped down as she traced a gloved finger around the cap of her gas tank. “You’ve got a magic key to my condo, and now you’re tracking me?” She looked up. “Should I be worried?”
“I’m harmless.”
She laughed. “Hearing you say that in that damned voice…” She cleared her throat. “Nice try.”
Oh, if she could see my eyebrow now. No doubt it matched the twitch in my lips. “You weren’t at the race tonight.”
Her helmet cocked to the side. “Missing me now, are you?”
I’d told her to stop going, but yeah, I fucking missed her. So much I reached out my hand and placed it over her restless ones on the gas tank.
She jerked away, taking her entire body with it. Tension snapped through her back as she leaned forward and gripped the handlebars. Looking straight ahead, she reached for the ignition.
My hands clenched. Christ, I’d done that to her. All my bullshit had made her jumpy and distrustful, the usual heat that simmered between us gone. If she harbored any feelings for Evader, they were deeply buried beneath her hurt.
“Stay.” I crossed my arms over my chest, trapping my hands. “I’ll keep my hands here.”
Eternal seconds ticked by. Pressure built in my head, my body thrumming to tell her who I was and why I’d done the things I did.
I couldn’t risk it. Trent controlled her with threats, which meant he could extort any information I gave her.
None of that mattered, not in this moment. Right now, I was just a man, with the simple need to be near her.
“Tell me something.” She angled her visor to look at me, her forward lean still poised to jet. “Something personal.”
It was a quiet request, unassuming in its delivery. She wasn’t prying. More like trying to connect in a way we hadn’t done before.
My knees loosened around the bike, my fingers curling in the gloves. I wanted that connection. I wanted real.
So I gave her my most personal, most deeply-buried thought, something I had never admitted aloud. “I’m very angry with my mother.”
The words resonated in my head, lingering with the vibrations of the voice modifier.