Outside, the night air feels sharper than it did earlier, cold enough to strip the heaviness of Sin’s office from my lungs. Gravel crunches under our boots as we move toward the parking area, the line of bikes catching the security lights in long chrome flashes.
I slow down when I realize where he’s heading.
Not toward the truck.
Toward his Harley.
I stop walking.
He keeps going for two more steps before he notices and turns back, his brows drawing together slightly. “What?”
“You’re not serious.”
He follows my gaze to the bike and then back to me, expression carefully neutral. “I’m always serious.”
“Youneverlet me on that thing.”
“That’s not true.”
“You let me sit on it once while it was parked and turned off,” I correct. “That does not count as letting me on it.”
He exhales through his nose, the ghost of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Millie.”
“Will.”
There’s a beat where we look at each other, the kind that feels like it has an audience even though the yard is mostly calm.
Somewhere behind us, Deek whistles. “About damn time.”
I turn slightly. “I didn’t ask for commentary.”
“You don’t have to,” Deek calls back. “We’re invested.”
Will drags a hand over his jaw. “This was a mistake.”
“You’re the one who’s suggesting the bike,” I point out.
“I suggested the bike because it’s faster.”
“And dramatically more impressive.”
“That wasnotthe goal.”
“It’s never the goal, but it’salwaysthe outcome.”
He studies me for a second longer, something softer slipping into his expression when he thinks I’m not looking for it. “You comin’ or not?” he asks.
“I feel like this is a trick.”
“It’s not a trick, Mills.”
“You’re going to change your mind halfway down the road and make me get off.”
“That would require me to stop.”
“That feels like a technicality.”
Another pause.
