Chapter 17 #2
Still holding the bike between my legs, I swing my backpack around. I pull out the LED purge mask. The bandana drops to my neck, hiding the tattoo, and I slide the mask on. I turn the LED light on, and I tug my hood up over my head.
I take the key out of the bike and move toward the house.
As soon as I get close, I can feel the beat and neon lights that wash over the crowd. Everyone wears masks, and at least ten people pass me wearing the same mask I am.
I roll my eyes beneath it.
So much for blending in.
Then I see her.
She is dancing with a brunette.
Fuck. Me.
It’s Ella.
What the hell?! Are they best friends now? Is this a conspiracy to hunt down Judas Harrington and chop my dick off? Feels like a hate club already.
I push further inside.
I slide between them, my back to Ella, and my eyes locked on Carmen.
“Piss off, weirdo,” Carmen shoves me.
I catch her wrist and pull her close.
“Leave me the fuck alone,” she snaps, slamming her palm into my chest. I stumble back and bump into Ella.
“Freak,” she says, shoving me away.
Definitely a hate club.
I step toward Carmen again. She backs up until the wall stops her. I hate how she looks standing there.
The red dress barely covers her ass. Her chest is exposed at the front. A black choker encircles her neck with a small cross resting at her throat. Her lips are painted red, and her hair falls in loose, messy curls over her shoulders.
I move closer. Her eyes lift to mine. I look down at her.
I’m at least two heads taller. She looks so small in her white sneakers, pinned between me and the wall.
“Get lost,” she says.
I move closer instead, plant my hands on the wall beside her, caging her in.
“No,” I say.
“Why are you so fucking obsessed with me?” Her eyes track the lines of my mask, searching for a face behind.
I lift a shoulder. I give her nothing.
In a blink, I grab her wrist and yank her into me.
“Fuck you,” she snaps, shoving at my chest.
I swing her up instead, toss her over my shoulder, and smack her ass twice.
“Carmen, you slut, why didn’t you say he’s your boyfriend?” Ella laughs, drink raised in the air. “Go, Carmen.”
I roll my eyes. She annoys the fuck out of me.
But the word boyfriend makes something in me twitch. Carmen already has the same surname as I do. I know it’s just a word, but it still makes me want what I can’t have.
“Put me down,” she yells, her fists pounding against my back.
I ignore her and push through the door, heading for the parking lot.
As we step outside into the cold air, she leans forward and bites into my shoulder. Pain flashes sharp enough to make my teeth grind.
I drop her to her feet.
She runs.
I catch her immediately against her wrist and haul her back into me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? And I know it’s you, you fucking stalker,” she mutters under her breath.
Then she signs at me, I will kill you.
I laugh.
Since when does she know ASL?
She shakes her hand, trying to break free, but I drag her with me toward the bikes. As soon as she notices we are getting closer, she stops.
“What if,” she clears her throat. I lift a brow.
“Is that your bike?” she asks.
I nod.
“What if we race?” She knocks my hand off her wrist. “If I win, you leave me alone. If you win, you take me anywhere you want.”
Her eyes lock on mine through the mask.
The game is on.
I cross my arms over my chest.
There is no way a little chipmunk like her can beat me. I ride every day. She got the bike yesterday.
“F-fine,” I manage, my tongue tripping over the word.
“Fine?” She lifts a brow.
We walk toward the bikes. She pulls a key from the small pocket of her dress and swings a leg over her pink Yamaha. I only notice now the pink helmet hanging from the handlebar.
I scratch at the top of my hood, watching how she barely reaches the ground. Her sneakers skim the road, her toes doing most of the work, touching the ground.
I move to my bike. I turn away, slip the mask off, and pull my helmet on. I shove the mask into my backpack and swing it back to the front as I sit.
We roll forward together. She looks at me and slides her visor down, all business now.
“Ten seconds,” I laugh.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
She twists the throttle and launches before I can even answer.
Fuck. This girl will be the end of me.
Her red dress snaps against her ass as she tears toward the road.
Fuck.
I twist my throttle and surge after her. I don’t even look at the arrow on the dash. I just chase her.
She is faster than I expected.
Fucking challenge.
My grin stretches under the helmet as I lean in and push harder, slipping past her. I glance over my shoulder. She is right there, hips lifting off the seat, moving her ass in the air, trying to throw me off.
The bike wobbles as I weave left, then right. I lose the balance just for a second. I grab it and accelerate as the distance narrows.
She points down the road.
The finish line.
We drive side by side, our bodies leaning low, our eyes locked on the end of the stretch. She inches ahead. I open the throttle and slip past her at the last second, cutting the air first.
I stop hard and turn, back tire skidding a little. She pulls up in front of me, facing me.
She says nothing.
I lift a finger and wag it in the air.
Don't even think about it.
She sighs and steers to the right, parking in the driveway of a nearby house.
I lean back and pat the seat behind me.
She takes one step toward the bike. Then she breaks, sprinting for the beach.
I blow out a breath, kick my stand down, and chase her.
Fuck.
Sand sprays under her shoes as I catch up. I grab her hand and pull her back, flipping her visor up.
“No,” I say.
I scoop her up before she can argue and carry her toward the bike.
“You can’t have me. I will never be yours,” she shouts.
I smack her ass twice, then nod.
My little sister doesn’t know she’s already mine.