He scowled at Aiden before giving me an apologetic smile as he walked out, his bike still out front, and I wondered if the girl was in the crowd of them watching or if she was curled up on the couch waiting for Aiden to run back.
I hoped she’d be too freaked out to ever show up around here again. Who wants to hang out with a crazy girl?
Aiden locked the door behind the last of them and engaged the bay system, sealing us in. He didn’t speak, only crossed the garage with deliberate steps, checking everything once before zeroing in on me and his bike.
There was no anger on his face, and he gave no indication of what he was about to do. Part of me trembled, the unknown of Aiden being angry making me worry. He’d been annoyed with me plenty of times, but I’d never wrecked his bike before.
Damaging a bike in this house was the ultimate sin—a final nail in a coffin during an angry rampage.
Maybe in my case, a final fuck-you to Aiden for thinking he could do this to me.
He stepped up to the other side of the bike and I flinched as his hand reached toward me.
“What’s wrong, you little psycho? Worried I’m going to retaliate?”
“I already know you are.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because you were trying to fuck her.”
“And? What if I was? I don’t belong to you, Evie.”
“Until I’m done with you, you do. You also left me tied to a bed, which I don’t appreciate.”
He groaned, pulling me closer. “I do. Get on.”
“On what?”
“My bike.”
“Why?” I asked, keeping a close eye on every movement he made.
“Because if you’re going to cost me hundreds for a new tank, and days without my bike, I’m going to get my enjoyment out of this.”
“How?”
His hand snaked up my arm to my neck. “On the bike, little psycho. Take those shorts off first.”
“Why?” I asked, not moving.
His hand brushed up my arm until his fingers closed around my neck, squeezing once.
“Are you going to ask questions all night, or are you going to listen?”
Chills covered me, my body humming in anticipation. I leaned down, pulling the waistband of my shorts until they moved past my hips and slid to the ground.
“Now get on and ride it.”
“The bike?”
“The handle of the knife you shoved into my gas tank.”
“Aiden,” I breathed.
I swung a leg over the bike, the metal cool against the inside of my thighs. My palms slipped a little on the bars, slick with sweat. The handle of the knife jutted up from the tank like a dare.
I rose onto my toes and lowered myself slowly, the cool ridged grip brushing my skin before pressing inside. The shock of the cold metal stole my breath—it stretched me differently, rougher, and the vibration of the bike beneath me hummed up through my bones. Gasoline and musk filled my nose as my body trembled, adjusting to the intrusion.
