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Adrik shouts something after me, his words whipped away by the wind and drowned in the howl of the engine.
With my weight shifted back, the front wheel rears up wild, trying to flip me off its back. I throw myself forward, laying down on it, hugging it with all my might. Determined that no matter what happens, I won’t be thrown off.
I’ve gotta get low, cover the whole thing. Not to be pervy, but it really is like fucking someone—someone trying to throw you off with all their might. This particular someone is a hell of a lot stronger than me.
I ambarelyholding it together coming toward the first curve of the mountain.
I take that turn on the widest possible line, and still I’m riding the edge of the cliff, a dizzying drop inches to the right of my wheel. I see the dark glint of the ocean far below me, my foot dangling over air, before I can wrench myself back onto the road.
My heart thunders so fast it’s one continuous clench. I’m drunk on terror and the power of this machine.
I’m on the razor’s edge, balanced over a thousand different ways to die.
The stars ignite one by one all around me. No streetlamps to drown them, only the single headlight of the bike, glaring ahead like an eye in the darkness.
Clear as a vision, I remember how Adrik handled this bike—like it was trained to his command. Like it was part of him.
He rode this bike with grace.
I’m not Adrik. Not yet.
The Ducati is on fire between my legs, the engine burning hotter and hotter like it’s about to explode. Each imperfection in the road sends a ripple of motion through us both. I’m a surfer just barely regaining balance as I rip across the wave.
I’m tamping this beast down through sheer force of will. Actually, that’s not true—there’s nothing mystical about it. I’m making a thousand calculations a second to maintain a modicum of control. My blood is pure adrenaline, thin and fine as soda pop bubbling through my veins.
This thing is a rocket, and the only way to ride it is to hold on.
Halfway down the mountain, I come to a straightaway long enough that I dare to touch the accelerator again, giving it a light burst of juice. The Ducati roars and surges forward like it was standing still before, throwing me back, my stomach in my throat.
I let out a shriek of pure glee, instantly whipped out of my mouth.
I’ve never hit G-force like this.
It’s addicting. Even as I slow for the next turn, I already want more.
I spare one second’s thought for poor Adrik Petrov, left standing in the courtyard of the restaurant.
I wonder if he’s found a ride yet?
* * *
4
ADRIK
Ineed to adjust my calculations with this woman.
I keep looking for boundaries … I don’t think she has any.
Which means the possibilities are limitless.
I grin to myself, glad to know this little excursion won’t be a waste. Sabrina is just what I hoped.
She’s clever and tricky, with balls of steel. There’s not a man in Moscow who would steal a pen from me, let alone my fucking bike.
But she’s no good to me dead.
Sabrina seems determined to ride the divide between wild and utterly insane. One push, and she could plummet into the abyss. I don’t know if I can hold her steady.
