AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Cara passes it to him.
My cousins file off toward the taxi stand, Anna lingering behind for one last warning glance.
I turn my back on her.
I fucking hate when they baby me.
When I’m Small – Phantogram
Spotify → geni.us/savage-spotify
Apple Music → geni.us/savage-apple
Alone with Adrik, the air feels thick as honey.
“What’s the plan?” I ask him.
His bright blue eyes flash across me, head to foot, taking in the uniform he probably remembers even better than I do. A ghost of a smile crosses his lips.
“You hungry?” he growls.
His voice is low and rough. I can smell the heat of his body, mixed with ocean salt and the bike’s exhaust. The tip of his tongue rests against the sharp point of his incisor as he waits for my response, eyes slitted against the dazzle of sun on water.
“Always.”
“I got us a table at Coco.”
He’s trying to impress me. Coco is the bougiest joint in southeast Europe—fancy enough that even the mafia brats have a tough time getting a table.
“Get on,” Adrik says, holding out his helmet to me.
God, I’d love to throw my leg over that seat.
But even rule breakers have lines they won’t cross.
“I don’t ride bitch on bikes.”
He scoffs. “Then have fun walking.”
I turn on the heel of my sneaker, marching off in the direction of the Artemis hotel. Adrik stares after me, clearly thinking he was calling my bluff.
I don’t bluff.
A line of mopeds and motorcycles park against the curb. I scan the rank, looking for the best option.
A candy-red Kawasaki stands out like a racehorse amongst ponies. It’s nowhere near as boss as Adrik’s bike, but it’s leaner and potentially faster in the narrow medieval streets of Old Town. As long as it has the right rider.
I grab my knife from my pocket, flicking out the blade. In seconds, I’ve popped the ignition cap and spliced the wires beneath. Clenching the clutch, I spark the wires until the engine roars to life.
Without glancing back at Adrik, I roar off down the street.
The wind whips my hair back. The throbbing engine between my legs sends vivid vibrations all the way through my body, up to my fingertips, and down to my toes.
I fucking love this feeling.
It’s been eight long months since I rode a bike—worse than celibacy.
The motorcycle brings me alive, sending blood rushing through my veins. It sparks every neuron until the cobblestones stand out in high definition, until I hear the shouts of fishmongers in the open-air market of Gunduliceva poljana, and smell the tantalizing scents of home-grown truffles and olive oil as I whip past the Gligora wine and cheese shop.
