ISLA~
I shouldn't be riding this fast, at least not with a broken wrist and a head that felt heavy as hell.
What was I thinking, she said she cares about me, literally. So of course she'd walk into my room to 'check up' on me, or use that as a convenient excuse to go through my things.
I'd spent fifteen years making sure I was a ghost, and in one night of weakness, I'd left the only evidence of my soul sitting on a guest room desk.
And fuck me for leaving the one thing that made me, me.
Ten minutes ago, my phone buzzed against my thigh a notification sound set specifically, one I'd hoped I wouldn't hear. Alert!! Zone 1. Motion Detected.
I didn't need to check the screen to know what it was. I'd set the perimeter the moment I shut my door close last night.
I don't trust luxury locks, and I certainly don't trust a girl whose life is falling apart to stay on her side of the line. Curiosity is a luxury Elara Jones can't afford, yet she was spending it like she had plenty to spare.
The wind was still howling in my ears as I took the final turn toward the penthouse. I got off the bike which I had rented earlier this morning just to feel something other than the crushing weight of this case, and rushed in.
Of course she was seated in the living room, she had a book in her hand, staring at it with intense focus. The only problem? It was upside down.
I didn't call her out.I didn't have the energy.
I could tell she had been in my room, but I didn't know what she had done in there. I picked up my sketch book from the table and stepped out.
"Can I ride?" She asked the moment I stepped out.
I looked at the bike, then back at her. Maybe if she was gone for a while, I could finally think. I checked my watch.
"Sure, be back in fourty minutes, don't scratch the paint." I went back inside and settled in on the sofa.
I had just closed my eyes when her voice came through, small and hesistant.
"I can't... uhhh, ride"
I kept my eyes closed for a beat, letting out a breath that was half-sigh, half-growl. If she couldn't ride, then why ask? The answer was already hovering in the back of my mind, but I forced myself to ask anyway.
"You want me to ride you?"
"If you do not mind, yes" she seemed hopeful and happy.
l opened my eyes and looked at her. Nahhhh, something definently was wrong. I was rude to her last night and now she was just going to pretend I wasn't?.
Or had she seen my drawings?, her drawing? Seven minutes was enough time to do so.
No. I was going to believe she hadn't and I practically had my fingers crossed behind my back.
"I'm battered, Ms. Jones," I said gesturing to the plaster on my forehead and my bandaged wrist. "I'm in a bad mood, and I'm currently the most hated woman in the country because of you. Why the hell would you want to be strapped to my back right now?"
"You could just say no," she snapped, turning to head back inside. "Is it really that hard?"
"Get a cap, whatever you need to keep from being identified," I called out, my voice betraying me. "And be out in three."
I got up, walking past her and out to the bike before I could change my mind. I couldn't say no. Not to that face. Shit.
She was out faster than I expected. She'd swapped the hoodie she was wearing for a body hugging shirt and shorts, topped with a face cap and a mask.
My breath caught in my throat. Her legs seemed to go on forever. I took a hard gulp, suddenly realizing that 'strapped to my back' was going to be a lot more dangerous for my sanity than for her reputation.
"Let's go" I said putting on my helmet. Calm the fuck down Isla, you've seen prettier, hotter girls. You've seen them clothed, half clothed and naked. Get a grip.
I powered the bike on. I wasn't meant to be taking her out like this to begin with, especially not without security. But even her security was shit. They seemed less bothered than I was.
She climbed on behind me. "Is there a reason you have this?" she asked. I clicked the bike into gear and nudged it forward. She jerked, her arms flying around my waist.
Shit, this was bad.
"Tell me before you move!" she hissed.
"Keep shut and grab on"
"You're a real piece of..." I gunned it forward again, and her grip tightened instantly. "I'm literally trusting you with my life, don't you fucking kill me!"
"I told you before..." I glanced down at her hands locked around my stomach. "If I wanted to kill you, or sell you, or whatever, it wouldn't be this dramatic."
I pulled out of the driveway and into the road. I felt her rest her head against my back, her hands clenching tighter as the wind began to roar around us.
Big mistake agreeing to this. Was it weird that I was totally turned on by this?. Yes. It was twisted and I couldn't for the first time in my life control this emotion rising in my chest.
Usually, I can compartmentalize anything, fear, rage, even grief. But the feeling of Elara's chest pressed against my back, the way her fingers dug into my waist... it was a sensory ambush.
I switched to a higher gear, the engine giving out that sweet ever loving mechanical scream. I needed the noise. I needed it to drown out the sound of my own pulse thundering in my ears.
It wasn't even just her beauty that got my attention, no. I'd seen beauty before. It was that voice of hers, they sounded so angelic, so lovely. It was also her vulnerability. The way she looked when she was literally begging for air.
That shouldn't be cute. It shouldn't be attractive. But I never did like "normal." Normal didn't fit a ghost. This, the danger, the jagged edges of her panic, this was perfect for someone as broken as me.
Control it, Isla. She's a client. She's the daughter of...
The name of her father burned in my mind, a cold reminder of why I was really here. I wasn't here to be her escape, I was here to be her reckoning. My grip on the throttle tightened.
I could end it right here. One wrong tilt, one sudden jerk at this speed, and a member of the Jones legacy would end on this stretch of highway. No more scandal. No more revenge. Just silence.
The dark thought curled in my gut, heavy and tempting, my speed climbing with every passing second.
"Isla!" she yelled.