18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Henny
I 'd forgotten Marco could ride. God, could the man ride. I'd insisted we take my bike to the meet-up. It was a lot easier to get away when the cops inevitably showed up if I had my bike, but naturally, Marco insisted he drive. Honestly, it was for the best. Marco in a leather jacket and helmet I stole from Jericho’s bedroom was fucking hot. Marco handling a bike while I rode bitch was even hotter. It was especially sexy considering I was still riding the high of the feral way he’d ravaged my throat just minutes earlier, coming with a strained shout of my name as I jerked myself off on my knees with my nose buried in the nest of hair at the base of his dick. Fucking delicious.
Riding was good for him. I wondered how often he let himself enjoy the freedom of the open road. His perpetually tense muscles relaxed more and more with each car he dipped around. Once we made it out of the city, he let loose even more until we were flying over the asphalt with the wind whipping around us. I clocked the speedometer reading at least ninety at one point, laughing like a madman before squeezing myself tighter around his bulky frame. We moved together like a well-oiled machine, leaning into every turn and dipping low on every straightaway. I was absolutely living.
Jer’s meet-ups typically took place in tiny towns scattered around outside the suburban stretches surrounding the city. This one was no exception. People came from miles around when they got the call—parking lots became meeting grounds for enthusiasts who came to gawk at modded cars or show off their modded cars. There was always a race of some sort, with rules of engagement that changed depending on who was participating and where. Nos or no Nos, drag or drift, melee or one-to-one. Not knowing was half the excitement. I loved attending these gatherings. The energy, the atmosphere, the anticipation. It didn't hurt that Jericho was the unrivaled winner of damn near every race and I usually made a pretty penny on the betting.
The excitement over the evening and the adrenaline of the ride there helped keep my thoughts in check, but the nagging, gnawing, ugly feeling was still there. Having my suspicions confirmed about Marco and his time behind bars left an oily mess in the pit of my stomach—I hadn't been lying when I told him I would murder every last one of the scumbags who ever dared lay a hand on him. I'd killed for him before and I wouldn't hesitate to do it again. I might not have pulled the trigger when Luca and I offed the cop who got Marc put away, but I was more than complicit in the homicide and had no problem whatsoever adding a few more heads to my tally.
I forced my thoughts back to more pleasant places as I shifted my hands over Marco’s stomach and focused on the planes of his chiseled body. Vengeance could wait for another day. I had him right here, right now, in my arms, and that in and of itself was a gift I had never thought possible. Hearing him call me ‘his’ was like a straight shot of pure cocaine. The road ahead of us was likely mired in obstacles, but I didn't give a fuck. I'd walk through hell with him as long as we were doing it together. The thought warmed my chest and settled my pulse, bringing a strange serenity that I hadn't felt in a long ass time. Maybe it was some sort of fucked up attachment disorder after a childhood spent in foster care and group homes, but whatever. I had my person now. Not just a surrogate family courtesy of my friendship with Gianluca, but an honest to God person of my own. Marco would need to kill my ass if he ever wanted to get rid of me, because I sure as shit wouldn't be letting him go any time soon.
We rounded the last bend in the road and the bike slowed. Fuck, it was busy tonight. The floodlights of the strip mall parking lot illuminated a pulsing crowd of people, the rays of light visible in the clouds of smoke billowing from the center of the mass. Burnouts. I never did understand why the rookies and wannabes destroyed their tires with burnouts and donuts before the main event, but that shit was still pretty fun to watch. Marco eased the bike around the fringes of the crowd, dodging drunk girls and rowdy scuffles between hotheaded men before finally skirting around the side of the strip mall. He found a shadowy spot and killed the engine, popping the kickstand out with a deft movement as I climbed off the back.
“This shit is insane. You do this for fun?” Marco tugged his helmet off and buckled it over the handlebars before reaching for mine. I chuckled at his scowling face.
“Yup. It's a good time. And Jer fucking lives for this shit.” I tugged my phone out of my pocket and sent him a text so we could meet up. The reply came mere seconds later, but I was distracted by the adorable way the helmet had mussed up Marco’s hair. Between that and his pissy pout face, he resembled a petulant child and I wanted nothing more than to kiss the look right off him while messing his hair up even more. I snapped out of my swooning when another text came through.
“Uh oh, Jericho’s feeling impatient.” I skimmed the messages and jerked my chin. “Come on, everyone is over at the starting line.”
Marco grumbled something under his breath and hurried to catch up as I strode back toward the bedlam. Our position at the side of the building had dulled the noise, but as soon as we rounded the corner, the shouts and cheers and chaos amplified tenfold. Throngs of people made it difficult to move. Marco’s hand balled into a fist around the collar of my jacket and that was when I started second-guessing this decision. I'd thought getting out of the house would be good for him. I hadn't taken into account that the crowds wouldn't be so great for him. The first time an idiot stumbled and bumped into me, he growled. The second time, he shoved back. When another swell of people pressed in too close as we tried to get to the starting line, I swear I heard his molars crack seconds before he started dragging me behind him as he bulldozed through the crowds. Honestly, the cave man thing was sexy as fuck.
We made it to the edge of the road without anyone dying, which was a feat in and of itself. Jericho's smile grew in wattage once he caught a glimpse of us, jogging forward before grabbing me in a hug. Marco, once again, growled.
“Easy, big guy.” Jer smirked and spread his arms. “Hug?”
“Fuck all the way off,” Marco ground out, his eyes narrowing.
“Yo, where’s King?” I scanned the pulsating waves of onlookers in search of Jer’s beloved dog.
“Nico and Luca have him. They're taking a bunch of thirst-trap pictures with the cars.” Jer made a vague waving gesture toward the parking lot.
“Figures,” Marco grumped, squinting as he tugged me closer.
“Look, I gotta go, but I needed to tell you something.” Jer pressed in even closer, trying to be heard over the cacophony while lowering his voice. “Tonight's fucking wild, and one of my guys told me Moretti's men are lurking. I haven't seen them yet, but I told Luca. Keep your eyes peeled, Hen.”
A chill raced down my spine with his words. The last thing I wanted to deal with were those fuckers. Judging by the murderous glint in Marco’s eyes, he was no more pleased to hear the news than I was.
“Yeah, I hear you.” I grabbed Jer’s hand and pulled him into a quick bro-hug. “Worry about your race. We’ll keep watch.”
And by we, I definitely meant Marco. The guy was at risk of having a Goddamn stroke for how tightly-wound he was. His eyes darted everywhere. His grip on my jacket tightened, but even that wasn't enough. Eventually, he had my wrist wrapped in his hand to the point of discomfort, but I didn't have the heart to say anything. Not with how paranoid he’d become. I don't think he even realized the drag race had started, and it was over in seconds. Jericho won and my hooting cry startled Marco from his vigilance.
“Jesus. Pipe the fuck down.” He glared at me for the briefest second before returning to his obsessive scanning of the crowd.
“Earth to Marco; are you there?” I gestured to the end of the straight-away. “Jer fucking killed it.”
Marco grunted and tugged my arm. “Good. We can leave now?”
“Hold up, Sad Panda.” I dug my heels in and scowled. “There’s more matches. We just got here.”
There was a soft grumble of dissent despite his reluctant concession. To his credit, he really did try to watch the next few drags. The air was ripe with the odor of nitrous and exhaust. The roar of the engines was thrilling. The energy of the crowd was invigorating. I couldn't enjoy any of it, though. Not with how much discomfort I could feel sloughing off Marco’s body.
“Alright, alright. Lemme text Jer and give him—”
“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”
I spun in a circle toward the familiar voice. Before the movement was complete, I was pulled around like a rag doll and in the blink of an eye, the immovable mass of Marco’s body was in front of me, blocking me from the assholes who’d managed to creep up behind us. Moretti’s goons—just like Jericho had warned.
“What do you want?” Marco’s voice was all ice and murderous. I shivered and it wasn't even directed at me.
“Just saying a friendly hello to our favorite allies.”
I shifted, peering around Marco’s bulk at the sleaze balls. Way, way too many of them had appeared from the mass of people around us. This was getting too real, too fast. I slipped my phone from my pocket, using Marco’s body to hide the movement and thanking all my lucky stars for how dark it was as I opened the device and began texting with one hand. Jericho. Luca. Nico. They all got the same message: gtfo now. With any luck at all, the short and sweet warning would do the trick.
“Cut the bullshit. Allies? I think you lost that title with the shit you pulled. Fuck off.” Marco’s body overflowed with tension. The pervasive tremors were damn near a vibration as I watched his hands clench at his sides. Plastered to his back, I could feel every single sensation as if it were my own body trembling. I pressed my palm to his lower back and froze—my thumb brushed against the hard steel of a handgun tucked into his waistband. I hadn't seen him tuck it there after we got off the bike, but I sang silent praises over it.
“Be ready,” I whispered, my position at his back making it possible for me to be heard as I breathed against the nape of his neck.
This could be a terrible idea or a brilliant one. I wasn't the smartest, definitely not a genius, but I was a resilient fucker and I was placing all my bets on the element of surprise. The jeering taunts and catty comments kept our visitors busy as they goaded us and laughed at one another. With one hand, I dialed 911, with the other, I snuck the gun from Marco’s back. I connected the call, dropped the phone, and pointed the gun toward the sky in one seamless motion before pulling the trigger three times. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Everyone reacted. Literally everyone. As the shots rang out, people screamed and ducked, including those surrounding us. I grabbed the back of Marco’s shirt and ran. We had seconds, precious seconds, to flee as the panic overwhelmed the massive throngs of people. With little time to think, I dragged Marco with me until the chaos swallowed us, cutting us off from Moretti’s men. But I didn't stop. I didn't stop until we were through the bedlam and behind the strip mall.
“What the actual fuck?!” Marco, despite his bitching, grabbed the helmets from the handlebars of my bike, handing me one as he grabbed the gun from my hand.
“Hey, it worked.” I strapped the buckle under my chin and swung my leg over the seat. “Hurry, the cops are on the way now.”
“You're absolutely fucked in the head.”
“Pot, meet kettle.” I stood the bike upright and kicked the stand back in place. Reluctantly, Marco climbed onto the back and with a heavy heel, I kickstarted the bike and got us the fuck out of Dodge.
I pushed the bike to the redline, gunning it on straightaways and tucking low on corners until we were as far as possible from the storm I'd started. My adrenaline was pumping. Marco’s grip on my body was punishing, and the wind whipping over us was exhilarating. I lived for this kind of shit. I never wanted the thrill to end, but when Marco squeezed my thighs between his and pointed toward a closed gas station in the distance, I begrudgingly downshifted and pulled off the road. The high could only last so long. It was time to face the music.