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We hurtle down the dirt road away from the cottage, and she clings on for dear life. It’s not the first time we’ve stayed here. I know the roads well. There’s somewhere I’d like to take her. Somewhere we won’t be disturbed.
CHAPTER32
IVY
Callen bends forward. We’re not in a MotoGP race! I live on the edge, but hot damn! He’s driving fast to prove he’s a tough guy. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach, but I force myself to keep my eyes open. It’s terrifying but exhilarating. We hurtle along the bumpy terrain, swerving to avoid tree branches as the path narrows.
I cling to Callen, annoyed he’s reduced me to be a glorified spider monkey, but I have no choice because of his speed. Mud sprays up the sides of my new boots, something else Callen has destroyed.
Callen leans from left to right, making specific twisty turns and veering off the track. His long hair ripples from underneath the helmet. He knows the area well. Despite being daytime, the trees close in, shutting out the sunlight. Nature has encroached on the landscape, clawing it back and it’s run wild. It’s my first time on a motorbike, and I love it—not that I’ll tell him that.
We can’t talk over the engine’s roar, but we’re not riding for longer than fifteen minutes when we come to a halt at a clearing in the middle of the woods beside a crumbling structure with an old well next to it.
As soon as we stop, I jump off, stepping into a pool of mud with a squelch. Callen laughs as I rip the helmet off my head, making my hair frizz from the static.
“What’s wrong, princess?” he taunts, taking off his helmet to reveal a smirk. “Scared of getting dirty?”
“I’m used to clearing up blood and entrails,” I snap. “This is nothing.”
He laughs off my attempt at being menacing and runs a hand through his hair. I don't scare him yet, but I should.
“Why are we here?” I glare at the well suspiciously, deciding to keep my distance. “Are you going to throw me down there?”
“I didn’t plan on it, but that depends on how you behave,” he says. “I chose this place so that we wouldn’t be interrupted.”
“Just spit it out, Callen.” I cross my arms over my chest. He can save his theatrics for someone who gives a shit. “What do you want?”
He steers the bike out of the mud and rocks it onto the central stand. The bike is a monster, but his muscled arms move it effortlessly. Eurgh, why does he have to look sexy doing it? It’s unfair!
“I want to know more about you.” His voice is a deep rumble. “Why don’t you tell me about the Killers Club?”
I glare at him. A glare that’s often the last thing men see before they die.
“If I told you,” I say, “I’d have to kill you.”
“Loyal too,” he murmurs, scratching his chin. “Interesting. I want to see what you’re made of.”
I’m not stupid enough to come out here alone without a weapon. I’m carrying a knife, a sharp knitting needle, and a pair of nail scissors—whatever I could find in my quick sweep of the cottage. One is up my sleeve, another in my waistband, and the scissors are nestled in my bra. If he tries anything, I’ll skewer his balls with zero hesitation.
“You brought me here to fight?” I scoff. “Don’t you think that’ll draw the wrong kind of attention at the ball if Seb’s date turns up with bruises?”
His eyes burn with sadistic excitement. “If you’re as good as I think you are, it won’t be a problem.”
He’s playing games. He’s brought me here for more than a scuffle and heart-to-heart. There’s an eager buzz in the air. I recognise his excited anticipation because it’s similar to my own.
“Tell me what you want, Callen,” I demand. “Cut the bullshit.”
Crow’s wings flap above. They flee from their hiding spots, startling me, and Callen cackles. Leaves and branches snap under his weight as he approaches. I fight back the urge to wince. That noise. I know that noise… Daisy… the car wreckage… I blink to erase the scene from my mind.Pull it together, Ive.Anything can happen around a crazy fucker like Callen.
“There’s something I want you to do for me at the party,” Callen says.
“Why don’t you ask Seb?”
“Because your pretty boy would have other ideas,” he says. I refuse to look away from his unblinking stare. “Seb follows Freddie’s rules. This isn’t a task Freddie would approve of.”
“And you think I would?” I laugh. “Why should I help you?”
“You do this for me, and I won’t call Freddie right now to tell him who you really are,” he threatens, pulling a small box from his jacket pocket. “I need you to hand-deliver a present to a guest.”
