Chapter 25
Felix
Torren races down a long stretch of road, zooming past buildings and eventually leaving the city center altogether.
The outskirts of Belmont are a massive forest that stretches for nearly fifty miles before the next town.
There’s not a streetlight in sight, making Torren’s single headlight the best chance we’ve got for visibility.
I look to the sky and see the moon. It looks bizarre, and I assume it’s the helmet’s visor.
When I lift the visor, momentarily blinded by the fierce winds crashing into us, I gasp at the sight above.
My mother always called these Harvest Moons, but I prefer Blood Moon. It’s red, like lava has erupted from its craters, enveloping the normally pale, white moon in a crimson glow.
Torren presses a hand to mine, which are still clasped about his frame, and I just barely hear him scream, “Hold tight.”
The bike veers left, leaving the road entirely, and takes us down a forest path.
We speed past brush, bumping along the narrow trail that snakes through the towering trees, standing like sentinels on either side of us. Torren’s headlight cuts through the darkness, revealing terrifying obstacles like boulders and trees, which he deftly avoids.
I squeeze Torren’s body, letting the force of my hug calm my fear. It’s clear Torren has driven down this makeshift path dozens of times, so I shouldn’t be scared.
His headlight illuminates animals that scurry off the path, their eyes glowing as they peek up and see this machine barreling straight for them.
We hit a bump in the road, sending us sailing upward, then landing with a thud.
My scream is humiliating, but it makes Torren laugh, and a warm feeling washes over me.
Eventually, a clearing emerges, revealing a ramshackle wooden building where dozens of motorcycles are parked in front.
Torren slows his bike and comes to a stop at the end of a long row of bikes.
I tear off my helmet and survey the scene.
There are half a dozen guys crowded onto the porch wearing leather jackets.
Each one has a cup or a can in one hand, and a cigarette or a blunt in the other.
It’s hard to tell in the dark, but the building looks like it was once a light color, like white or cream, but that’s long since faded into a dingy, peeling mess.
This doesn’t look like a bar; it looks like an abandoned house in the middle of the woods.
I can’t see anything through the windows, but the thumping music from within the building proves it’s definitely a party inside.
“Where are we?” I finally ask.
Torren hooks his helmet to the chain connected to his bike and motions for me to hand over mine. “We just call it Bush. Tobias and I found it while cruising through the woods one night and made it a spot for the Hellcats. It’s basically a bar now.”
The smell of burning wood draws me to the edge of the house. I peer around the corner to see a fire blazing in the back with people decked in leather or some form of goth gear standing around it, laughing and talking.
“You wanna head to the back yard first?” Torren asks.
“No, why don’t—” I’m rendered speechless when my eyes land on Torren.
The moon has cast a reddish glow over his rugged features, and the highlights of his jet-black hair have an orangish hue.
He’s standing closely, and I can smell his pine-scented cologne and cigarette smoke.
His jacket is unzipped, revealing a black tank cut so low it exposes his strong chest, which looks delicious under the moonlight, and he stares at me with a level of openness I rarely see from him.
It’s the look in his eyes that hits me hardest—like he genuinely cares about what I want to do. “No, let’s head inside first. I want to see everything,” I reply, trying not to convey how emotional I’m suddenly getting.
Get it together, Felix.
We ascend the porch stairs, and the guys drinking and smoking greet Torren with affection. Torren’s arm wraps around my shoulder as he greets them and introduces me. “This is Felix. He’s a good friend.”
We went from friends to good friends. Progress.
One of the guys approaches me and offers his hand, but Torren pulls me closer to him. The guy backs off for a moment, looking a little nervous. After a beat, I reach out to shake his hand because it would be rude not to.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Torren removes his arm, and I catch him rubbing the back of his neck.
His eyes meet mine, and he looks at me apologetically.
There’s no stopping the smile on my face.
Torren got possessive, realized he was being that way, backed off, and is silently apologizing for being possessive.
My heart might explode. He’s trying so hard not to make this romantic, and he keeps having the opposite effect.
I reach out my hand, and he instinctively takes it, his body visibly relaxing when we’re connected once more. He gives me a little smile, that sheepish demeanor still present, and it dawns on me that we had a whole fucking conversation without saying a single word.
“We’re gonna head inside,” he says to the guys, who have all been standing there observing this interaction.
Torren motions his head to the entrance, and, together, we enter the bar.
The music nearly knocks me over. This is not your average bar.
The place is packed. Scantily clad men and women gyrate on poles, a crowd hovers around the bar, and a band is setting up on stage.
People are doing lines of coke out in the open, and I’m pretty sure the guy and girl in the corner are doing more than just making out.
Torren moves closer to my ear and shouts, “Is this okay?”
This place is so Torren that I can’t help but love it. “Absolutely,” I shout back.
He leads me to the bar, and the sea of people parts as they notice us.
Everyone, and I mean everyone, knows Torren, and they all nod and greet him like he’s a movie star.
I’m not a stranger to this kind of adulation, being the son of a politician, but it hits a little differently when it’s an entire motorcycle gang that’s practically bowing for the man you’re with.
I won’t lie—it’s hot as fuck.
We make our way to the bar, and the bartender drops everything to take our orders.
“Just a soda with a splash of whiskey,” Torren calls out. “I’m driving tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I assure him.
“Yes, I do. One of us has to drive us back, and I doubt you can handle my bike.”
He’s right, but I’m still offended. “How do you know? Maybe I’m a natural!”
Torren laughs again, the sound making me giddy, and says, “Maybe you’re right, but it’s really okay. I want you to have fun tonight.”
I smile, trying to look nonchalant while I order a vodka soda, but that was such a sweet thing to say, and I’m swooning.
Torren leans in and whispers, “You’re blushing.”
“I am not!”
“You are.”
I touch my face and feel how hot it is. “Shut up.”
“Hey, this is karmic rebalancing. Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was when that lady gave you her number?”
“Gave you her number, you mean. I was just the middleman.” The bartender returns with our drinks, and I take a sip. “Did you ever call her?” I ask.
Torren chokes on his drink, droplets pouring down his chin. He sets the glass on the bar and snags a cocktail napkin to wipe his face. “No! Of course not!”
“I bet she’d be wild in the sack. After decades of bad sex with a Winston Churchill lookalike? She’d break you in half.”
Torren reels back and guffaws, causing everyone around us to look over. I beam with pride. I mean, I am hilarious, but he’s not exactly Mr. Sunshine, so I take it as a great compliment.
“He did look like Winston Churchill,” Torren says once his laughter has died down.
I take in my surroundings once more. “So, this is your place, huh?”
“It’s Tobias’s, really. I don’t do much with the Hellcats anymore.”
His past is shrouded in mystery, and I’m dying to know more about it. “Why’s that?” I ask.
Torren thinks for a moment and shrugs. “I guess I wanted something else.”
“What did you want?”
His gaze meets mine, and then a sad look washes over his face. “A normal life. But, I think that’s impossible.”
“Why? You’ve got the shop. You’re doing your thing. Why can’t you have the life you want?”
Torren cups his glass and examines the liquid inside. “Some people just can’t be normal.”
I know the feeling. “There’s no such thing as normal. Everyone is fucked up to a degree.”
Torren chuckles and says, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He takes a sip from his glass and asks, “You’re feeling better? You seem much better than a couple of weeks ago.”
“Much better. I kind of feel like my old self again now that I’ve stopped the pills.”
Torren narrows his eyes and asks, “Can I ask what kind of pills you were on?”
Torren
My brain’s on high alert as Felix waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, they put me on meds after my mom died. It’s nothing, really, but they make me feel awful. I stopped taking them shortly after you saw me at the press conference.”
Grilling him about these pills is definitely not the “fun time” I promised him, so I don’t want to press, but I can’t help but ask, “Does your dad know you stopped taking them?”
Felix takes a sip of his drink, eyeing me with suspicion. “No. Are you going to tell him?”
“Absolutely not,” I blurt out. “If they made you feel that bad, I’m glad you stopped. You didn’t look like yourself.”
Felix nods, his gaze fixed on the floor, and mutters, “I didn’t feel like myself, which was probably the point.”
His eyes widen, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, and he quickly changes the topic. “So, I see a band setting up. What kind of music will they play?”
My lips curl into a devious little grin. “How wild do you want to get tonight?”
Felix is visibly taken aback by that comment. “Jesus, are they the soundtrack to some kind of motorcycle gang orgy?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Nah, but they’re wild. They’re called the Fag Hounds, and they play mostly covers of punk songs, but they sprinkle in some mellow stuff here and there. Have you ever been in a mosh pit?”
He chokes on his drink and screams, “A what?”
“Ever crowd surfed?” I add.
“No!”
I make my voice go low, and I lean closer and ask, “Do you want to?”
His mouth falls open, his face a mask of shock. Then he smiles, and that devilish glint appears in his eyes. “Fuck, yeah, I do.”
I don’t know if I just let the playfulness of it all take over, or if it was spurred on by his enthusiasm, but I respond with, “Good boy,” and instantly want to melt away and seep into the floorboards.
I stutter, trying to think of some way to cover it, but Felix responds before I can. “Anything to make Daddy proud,” he coos with a bat of his lashes.
Fuck. Me.
Neither of us says a word as we stare at each other, the sexual tension radiating between us like a physical force, when the band walks on stage, and the crowd goes nuts.
It pulls both of us out of the horny cloud we were just living in, and I take the opportunity to steer things back to “friends.”
God, I hate that word.
“Come on.” I take his hand in mine and lead him to the crowd. “Let’s push our way to the front!” With our fingers threaded together, I guide Felix through the mob and directly in front of the lead singer, Xavier.
Xavier starts speaking the intro to Jesus Built My Hotrod, and I let loose a full-throated roar. It’s one of my favorite songs, and they freaking annihilate it every single time.
Felix laughs, and I pull him close. “When the guitar hits, this place is going to erupt. When they do, just start jumping. I’ll be sure to block you from the assholes behind us.”
He looks behind me, a slightly nervous expression on his face, then grins and nods. As predicted, the place goes insane once the guitar rips, and we all start jumping.
The song accelerates, and the people behind us start moshing. Felix looks at them wide-eyed, and I instinctively move my body between him and the pit. Someone collides into my back, tossing me forward a bit, but I maintain my balance.
I thank my lucky stars that he bumped into me and not Felix.
The very front of the crowd, right before the stage, is less wild than the middle, so the two of us jump and thrash about to the fast tempo.
Felix’s hesitancy evaporates, and, soon, he’s whipping his arms, spinning in circles, and screaming at the top of his lungs.
I cheer him on because I know how good it feels just to move your body and let it out.
When Tobias and I first freed ourselves from the Kays, we used to crank heavy metal music in the abandoned apartment building we squatted in and throw our bodies around.
When pain has lived inside you for so long, the only way to work it out sometimes is just to move your body and shake it out.
The band plays on, the next song just as heavy as the last, and Felix is in his element. You’d never know the kid was the son of Belmont’s Mayor. Between the fishnets, boots, and his attitude, he looks like a sexy, gay goth who has a thing for motorcycles.
And maybe that’s who Felix really is.
The audience behind us looks like the blob, a mass of people moving about in waves. They’re packed in like sardines, not a space between them.
Perfect.
Felix is still thrashing about like a maniac, so I tap him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Follow me!” I take his hand in mine and lead him onto the stage.
Xavier wraps his arm around me and yells, “Torren Kay is on the stage, fuckers.”
Everyone cheers, and I look at Felix and yell, “You ready?”
“For what?” He asks.
I waggle my brows and say, “Just do what I do.”
I leap off the stage and land in the arms of the crowd. They hold me up, and I move about them like I’m riding a wave. “JUMP, FELIX!”
He looks terrified, but then he takes a deep breath, screams at the top of his lungs, and leaps.
The crowd lifts him into the air, and I can hear him laugh from where I am.
“Get me closer to him,” I yell to the people below.
I move in Felix’s direction, and he reaches out to grab my hand. We connect and ride the current of hands that keep us hoisted in the air for the rest of the song.
I look at Felix and see tears falling down his face. I panic, then realize he’s laughing so hard that he’s made himself cry.
“Having fun?” I yell, our hands still connected.
“The most fun I’ve ever had,” he yells back.
Words can’t describe how proud I feel. All I wanted was for Felix to have fun tonight, and I succeeded.