Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Marina
Dante leads me through the compound's back entrance, his hand warm around mine. The afternoon sun hits my face, and I squint against the brightness after hours in that dim study.
We walk past the garage, past the row of black SUVs that all look identical, past the security checkpoint where two guards nod at Dante without a word.
Then I see it.
A motorcycle. Massive. It's the biggest bike I've ever seen up close, all sharp angles and raw power.
Dante releases my hand and walks to the bike. He picks up a helmet from the seat and turns to face me, holding it out.
"No thanks." I take a step back, shaking my head. "I'm not riding that thing."
Dante's eyebrow rises. "No?"
"Absolutely not. Look at it." I gesture at the motorcycle like it might bite me. "That thing is huge. I've never been on a bike in my life."
"It's not that different from a car."
"It's completely different from a car. Cars have doors. And roofs. And seatbelts." I cross my arms over my chest. "Things that keep you from dying."
Dante's lips twitch. That almost-smile that drives me crazy. "You managed to ride my dick pretty well."
The laugh escapes before I can stop it. I close the distance between us and smack his chest with my palm. "You're terrible."
"I'm honest." He catches my wrist, his thumb brushing over my pulse point. "There's a difference."
"There really isn't."
He presses the helmet into my hands. The weight of it surprises me. Solid. Real. Like everything about this moment.
I stare down at the glossy black surface, my reflection warped in the curve of it. The woman looking back at me doesn't look like someone who rides motorcycles. She looks like someone who takes the bus and checks her locks twice and sleeps with the lights on.
But that woman also fell in love with a man who kills people for a living.
Maybe I don't know who I am anymore.
I let out a long breath. "The moment I say stop, you stop. Okay?"
"Always."
He takes the helmet from my hands and lifts it over my head. His fingers brush my jaw as he adjusts the strap, gentle despite the calluses on his palms. The same hands that held a gun yesterday. The same hands that held me in the shower while he cried.
"Too tight?" he asks.
I shake my head. The helmet feels strange. Enclosed. But not suffocating.
Dante picks up a second helmet and pulls it on. The visor is up, and I can still see his face. Those dark eyes watching me like I'm the only thing in the world worth looking at.
He swings his leg over the bike with an ease that comes from years of practice. The machine dips slightly under his weight, then settles. He reaches back and taps the seat behind him.
I don't move.
"Marina."
"I'm thinking."
"You're stalling."
"Same thing."
He taps the seat again. Patient. Waiting.
I take a breath and approach the bike. Getting on is awkward. I have to hike up my dress and swing my leg over, nearly losing my balance in the process. But then I'm seated behind him, my thighs pressed against his hips, my hands hovering uselessly at my sides.
"Hold on to me," Dante says over his shoulder.
I wrap my arms around his waist. Through his shirt, I can feel the warmth of his body. The steady rise and fall of his breathing. The hard muscle beneath my palms.
"I was thinking," he says, "we could go to a roller coaster."
I blink. "What?"
"There's a park about forty minutes from here. They have a wooden coaster. Old school. The kind that feels like it might fall apart at any second."
A roller coaster. After everything that's happened.
"I love roller coasters," I hear myself say.
Dante turns his head slightly. I can't see his expression behind the helmet, but I can hear the smile in his voice. "I know."
Of course he knows.
The engine roars to life beneath us. The vibration travels up through my legs, my spine, settling somewhere in my chest. Dante's hand covers mine where they rest against his stomach. A brief squeeze. Then he's gripping the handlebars and we're moving.
The compound gates open ahead of us. The guards wave us through without stopping us.
And then we're on the road.
Wind rushes past us, tugging at my clothes, pressing the helmet against my face. The world blurs at the edges. Trees and fences and other cars become streaks of color as Dante accelerates.
I tighten my arms around him and lean forward, pressing my chest against his back. My cheek rests against his shoulder blade. Through the leather of his jacket, I can feel his heartbeat. Steady. Strong.
The fear I expected doesn't come.
Instead, there's something else. Something that feels like freedom. Like flying. Like letting go of everything that's been weighing me down for two years and just existing in this moment.
The bike leans into a curve, and I lean with it. My body moves with Dante's like we've done this a thousand times. Like we were made to fit together.
I actually like this.
The thought surprises me. I've spent so long being afraid. Afraid of the dark. Afraid of loud noises. Afraid of the world that took so much from me.
But right now, with the wind in my face and Dante's warmth against my body and the road stretching out ahead of us, I'm not afraid of anything.
Dante
The park smells like fried food and sugar. Cotton candy. Popcorn. The kind of smells that belong to a different life. A normal life.
I don't know how the hell people enjoy this.
Marina walks ahead of me, her steps quick and eager. She hasn't stopped smiling since we got off the bike. Her whole body vibrates with an energy I've never seen in her before. Not in two years of watching from the shadows. Not in the weeks we've spent together.
She looks like a different person.
She looks happy.
The wooden roller coaster looms ahead of us. The thing is ancient. Paint peeling off the support beams. The tracks creak and groan as a train climbs the first hill. Screams echo across the park as it plunges down the other side.
My stomach tightens.
I've been shot. Stabbed. Beaten within an inch of my life. I've killed men with my bare hands and slept soundly afterward.
But this? This terrifies me.
Marina turns and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the entrance. "Come on. The line's not even that long."
"Great." I let her drag me forward. "Lucky us."
She doesn't catch the sarcasm. Or she ignores it. Either way, she's practically bouncing as we join the queue.
The line moves fast. Too fast. Before I can think of an excuse to leave, we're at the front.
"Front row," Marina says to the attendant. "We want the front."
Of course she does.
The attendant nods and waves us through. Marina climbs into the first car, settling into the left seat. She pats the space beside her.
I fold myself into the seat. My knees press against the metal bar in front of me. The restraint clicks down over my shoulders, locking me in place.
No escape now.
Marina fidgets beside me, adjusting her restraint, craning her neck to look at the track ahead. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes bright. She looks younger than twenty-three. She looks like the girl she might have been if the world hadn't broken her.
If I hadn't broken her.
"What?" she asks, catching me staring.
I don't look away. "You're beautiful."
She rolls her eyes. "You've said that before."
"I'll say it again." I reach over and take her hand. Her fingers lace through mine automatically. "Every day. For as long as you let me."
Her smile softens.
"Dante—"
The train lurches forward.
Marina's grip on my hand tightens. The car climbs the first hill with a mechanical clunk-clunk-clunk that sounds like a countdown. Each click brings us higher. The park shrinks below us. The people become dots. The world becomes small.
We reach the top.
For one suspended moment, everything stops. The wind. The noise. My heartbeat.
Then we drop.
Marina screams.
Not a scared scream. A joyful one. Pure and loud and completely unrestrained. Her voice tears through the air as we plummet down the track, the wind ripping at our clothes, the force pressing us back against our seats.
I open my mouth and yell with her.
The sound that comes out surprises me. Something I've kept locked inside for thirty-six years finally breaking free.
We hit the bottom of the hill and rocket up the next one. Marina's scream turns into laughter. Wild, breathless laughter that shakes her whole body.
I'm laughing too.
I don't know when it started. Don't know how. But the sound is coming from somewhere deep in my chest, mixing with hers as we twist through a corkscrew turn.
The track banks left. Right. We plunge through a tunnel and burst back into sunlight. Marina throws her free hand up, fingers spread wide, reaching for the sky.
I watch her instead of the track.
Her hair whips around her face. Her eyes are squeezed shut. Her mouth is open in a permanent smile-scream hybrid that shouldn't be attractive but somehow is.
This is what she looks like when she's free.
This is what I want to give her. Every day. For the rest of my life.
The train slows as we approach the final stretch. The brakes engage with a hiss. We coast back into the station, the attendant already moving to release our restraints.
Marina turns to me, breathless. Her cheeks are red. Her eyes are wet. She's still laughing.
"Again," she says. "We have to go again."
I should say no. My stomach is somewhere around my ankles. My hands are shaking in a way they never do when I'm holding a gun.
But she's looking at me like I hung the moon.
"Again," I agree.
She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me. Right there in the roller coaster car. In front of the attendant and the people waiting in line and anyone else who might be watching.
I kiss her back.
Because this is what matters. Not the blood on my hands. Not the secrets I've kept. Not the monster I've been.
This. Her. Us.
The attendant clears his throat. "Sir? Ma'am? You need to exit the ride."
Marina pulls back, grinning. "Sorry. We're going again."
The attendant sighs. "Back of the line."
She grabs my hand and pulls me out of the car, already heading for the entrance. Her laughter echoes across the platform.
I follow her.
I'd follow her anywhere.