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To counter him, someone whistles nearby, and I cross my arms, suddenly self-conscious. Dressed like this, standing on a street corner could unintentionally ask for a whole world of trouble.
Much like the man already wreaking chaos in my life. Hebreathestrouble.
And yet, I can’t stop inhaling whatever poison he chooses to exhale.
“You ever ride before?” he wonders from over his shoulder.
I shudder with apprehension—and not entirely because of the prospect of riding on the back of a dangerous vehicle. In the waning daylight, the cut on his head looks even worse. He didn’t bother to change from his ratty clothes, and together we make quite the picture. He found a pair of heels in his mystery box of women’s clothing to go along with my dress and wig. Balancing on stilettos was never my forte, sober or otherwise. I can’t even imagine what Nanna might think to see me now.
She’d go to Covenant and pray.
“Earth, to the princess.” Daze snaps his fingers before my nose.
“Of course not,” I say, sensing that he already knew as much.
Rather than issue a taunt, he tosses me a helmet that had been previously dangling from one of the bike’s handles. “Here.”
He comes up behind me as I wrestle it on over my wig. “You wanna do this in the front or the back?” he murmurs, his breath hot on my neck. “Though, something tells me you don’t enjoy doinganythingfrom behind.”
My cheeks flame at the memory of the stunt he pulled in the bathroom. I’m unsure what extent he would have gone to if I didn’t stop him. “Enough joking,” I snap. Ducking out of his reach, I straddle the edge of the seat unassisted. “Just drive, or whatever you do with this thing.”
“As you wish.” Laughing, he mounts the bike from the front. Then he reaches for my hand, coaxing my fingers to palm his stomach, alarmingly close to his pelvis. “Just make sure you hold on tight.”
I’m blushing, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.Vrrrom!The next second, the bike roars to life beneath us, and there’s no choice but to wrap my arms around his waist or fall off.
“Hold on,” I hear him warn above the grinding growl of the engine.
Gritting my teeth, I reposition my hands, squeezing him even harder. An unsettling realization creeps in as my body seems to relax into him against my will. Fire sizzles beneath my skin, but it doesn’t feel painful—the way I suspect hellfire should. My life has been one sermon after the other on the perils of sin, but the truth is… I can’t deny the feeling his nearness alone gives me.Hegives me.
A wild, thrilling, electric feeling.
Maybe he’s my punishment, created solely to tempt me to sin…
And to make me relish every act of corruption on my way down to Hell.
Our current surroundings reinforce that comparison—this part of Westpoint City is a perfect allegory for Hell. Father always warned me against venturing to the “bad side of town.” Even as a child, the irony wasn’t lost on me. He praised the downtrodden parts of the city and touted his work with the less fortunate. Hale and I volunteered for his charity, meeting people from all walks of life.
But in private, he referred to those same areas as slums filled with criminals and deadbeats who might corrupt my poor, innocent soul.
They call it the wrong side of the tracks for a reason, Frances. Once you’re there, there’s only one way to get back—but it’s not so easy if a train is coming.
He was right—only Hale’s death was that train, and contrary to Father’s belief, I’m not looking back.
I’d probably fall off the bike if I did.
Reckless speed makes for a heart-stopping trip through the city at the height of rush-hour traffic. Without care for safety, or something mundane like laws, Daze weaves in and out of lanes like Hale would when playing one of his stupid video games.
Without fear of death.
“Think you can slow down?” I practically scream into his neck as a bus careens dangerously close to our path.
If he hears me, he doesn’t react. Instead, he cuts across four lanes to make a right turn.Thunk!The engine cuts off a second later, throwing me against him.
“Easy, baby,” I hear him grunt as he stabilizes the bike near a rack containing at least five other motorcycles. “Don’t wreck the merchandise.”
The flat of his palm lands over my thigh, and I just stare at it. I’ll never get over how lethal a collection of muscle and bone can seem when shaped into hands like his—and yet how gentle they can feel on me. In me…
“Earth to Frey,” Daze warns.
