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I hesitated, eyeing the motorcycle warily. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”
Spectre pressed a hand down his face in frustration. “Trust me, our death sentence has already been written. If we stay we won’t survive the night. Getting on this bike is our only ticket out of here."
His words lingered in the alley's darkness, and the distant siren of fire trucks approaching were the only semblance of life around us. The urgency in his voice pushed me forward, and taking one last reluctant look at him, I swung a leg over the motorcycle. He slid into the seat in front of me, and I wrapped my arms around his waist just as the engine roared to life, its powerful vibrations between my legs sent a shiver down my spine.
As we sped away from the alley, the city's chaos blurred into streaks of neon lights. I clung to Spectre, the rush of wind drowning out the questions swirling in my mind. A sense of freedom lingered here.
"Where are we going?" I shouted over the roar of the engine.
"Somewhere safe," he replied, his eyes focused on the road ahead.
As the motorcycle turned onto an old abandoned highway, my grip on Spectre tightened, a silent acknowledgment that, for better or worse, our fates were now entwined. The dusty road stretched ahead, winding through a desolate landscape as Spectre steered the motorcycle down an unending curve.
As dawn approached, he gestured at the road. “The Royal Bastard's have a safehouse on the Nevada border. We’ll stop, rest, and then I’ll tell you everything!” He shouted back to me over the roar of the wind.
The safehouse, an old wooden structure, loomed in the distance. It was a dark mass against the backdrop of the dusk sky. Spectre brought the motorcycle to a halt and silently, he waited until I dismounted, the night air cool against my skin. Spectre led the way, his footsteps almost ghostly on the wooden porch, and I quickened my pace to keep up, reaching out to grab onto the back of his jacket. He didn't say a word to me until we were inside.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door revealed the interior of the safehouse. It was warmer than I expected, the glow of a few strategically placed lamps revealed a room that seemed frozen in time. Worn, leather furniture adorned the space, and the air was cool, carrying the scent of aged wood. The place seemed forgotten.
A stone fireplace took over the center of the room, and a thick coating of dust aligned the mantle. A faded rug covered a portion of the creaky wooden floor, and a trunk lay beside the leather couch.
Spectre moved through the room with the ease of someone familiar with every nook and cranny. A wooden table in the center held an old, tattered map, worn from the touch of countless hands navigating unknown territories.
As he led us deeper down into the safehouse, we passed a bedroom, a small bathroom and finally reached a back room. This bedroom was much larger than the other. He threw his helmet in a chair and turned to look at me as he shrugged off his jacket.
Spectre finally spoke, his voice breaking the silence. "We'll be safe here, at least for now." His eyes met mine briefly, a shared acknowledgment that we had a lot to talk about.
“There’s a bathroom in here as well. You can use the shower, I’ll use the other bathroom.”
I looked at my clothes and he quickly strode over to the armoire in the corner. “There’s some clothes here that might fit you. I’m sorry, I didn’t think that through.”
He was scrounging around the drawer when I came up beside and placed my hand on his. “It’s okay. I’ll find something.”
His tired eyes met mine, and he gave me a quick nod before heading out into the hallway. His shoulders were hunched over, burdened with the weight of the world. I sifted through the clothes in the armoire, selecting a t-shirt and some sweat pants that matched my size. I then made my way into the bathroom, flipping on the light switch, I groaned as I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I looked as tired as he did, dark circles under my eyes, my hair wild and unkempt from the wind, my dress torn.
Turning away, I kicked my heels off and turned on the shower as I let the dress pool at my feet. I slid my panties off, setting them aside to wash, and then I stepped into the tub. The water, warm and comforting, cascaded over me, washing away the residue of the night's events. As the steam began to rise, I let out a deep breath, allowing the tension to melt away.
I had so many questions, the first one being what Spectre’s intentions were with me. I wasn’t one to trust easily, that was true, and I wanted to trust him but at the same time I wasn’t stupid. People…men, didn’t save women without wanting something in return. And as I let the water pour on my shoulders, I wondered what that could possibly be.
18
SPECTRE
Daylight streamed in through the windows as I walked barefoot back to the kitchen. This place was a mess and I had a few choice words for my brothers when I got home. Keeping the safehouses clean and up to date was part of our responsibilities. Apparently, everyone forgot this one existed.
I ripped open the cabinets hoping to find some type of canned food we could eat. I was in luck, there were a few cans of soup and raviolis. The hot shower had revived me, and I was too anxious to sleep. I could hear her shuffling in the bedroom, probably as restless as I was. Who could sleep when the devil was after them, right?
As I busied myself with the makeshift dinner preparations, the creaking of the bedroom door let me know she’d decided to join me. Clad in a white t-shirt three sizes too big, and only wearing that, she emerged. "I can't sleep," she admitted.
I offered her a small, understanding smile, and quickly looked away. Even in a mere t-shirt she looked sexy as fuck. "Yeah, me neither." Motioning towards the table, I added, "Hungry?"
Her stomach rumbled in that instant, and surprised, she wrapped her arms around herself. The t-shirt slid slightly up her thighs, clinging to her tits, and I ignored the hot sensation in my groin, willing it to control itself.
“I guess so,” she smiled and settled into a chair at the small table.
I placed a generous bowl of ravioli in front of her, sliding into the chair next to her. The clinking of our spoons filled the air.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, breaking the awkward silence between us.
