Chapter 4
Arcane
Present day
The acrid stench of gasoline claws at my senses as I push the bike harder, faster, trying to outrun the memories. My heart pounds with thoughts of yesterday’s meeting with the Valentis, a relentless echo throbbing inside my skull.
“You’re going to work with Viper García.”
The very thought makes me shudder, and bile leaves a sickening taste that refuses to fade. Taking a deep breath of air, I realize it does nothing to help the persistent voice inside my head.
I owe them everything for saving me from the streets, but it doesn’t erase the dislike I feel toward Benjamin Valenti.
I feel like I’m losing my mind, driving forward with no goal in sight in a fruitless attempt to clear my head. The harder I try, the more oppressive the thoughts grow. Glancing down at the speedometer, I realize I’m barreling down these narrow asphalt roads with no control.
The tires betray me, losing traction as the bike careens out of control. A deafening screech fills my surroundings, drowning out all other sounds as I’m thrown forward, clinging to the handlebars for dear life. With a desperate twist of my wrists, I press down the brakes, the bike skidding to a halt with a final, earsplitting screech. Adrenaline paralyzes my body, my hands trembling as I pry them from the handlebars. Sweat beads on my forehead, mingled with the sheer fright that filled my veins only moments ago.
What the fuck just happened?
I’ve never lost control like that before.
I’m shaking from the shock as I decide it’s best to clear my thoughts now when I’m not riding with the wind. Turning off the engine on my black Kawasaki, I remove my helmet and sit down on the grassy patch beside the slight slope. Next to the road lies a field that stretches out before meeting a dense forest—a familiar sight, one I’ve passed by many times.
As the wind tousles the shorter strands of my platinum hair, I draw my knees up to my chest, leaning back on my hands. Before me, the horizon unfolds, stretching out endlessly.
When did my life become so messed up? Full of betrayal, deceit, lies.
I take the gun from my holster, its weight familiar and comforting in my hand. I’m supposed to meet up with that biker now to carry out Alec’s plan, although here I am. The main part is to steal shipments meant for delivery to the Grimaldi syndicate in three weeks. These people are heavily involved in loansharking, and intel from underground sources in the black market has let us know they’ve acquired a car shipment through their predatory deals. Unfortunately, the rat who betrayed us got hold of this important shipment and successfully sold it on the market. Now, it’s on its way to getting into even worse hands.
I’ve already promised myself that I’ll be doing this myself. It’s my revenge against the Grimaldis, who cast me out when they deemed me unworthy of being their child. Little does Mr. Valenti know that I’m too goddamn stubborn. I don’t ever do something I don’t want to. It’s not like I believe he’s going to figure it out, but I still haven’t grasped why he wants me to work with Viper García.
With a groan, I close my eyes, waiting for my head to stop spinning and my thoughts to clear.
Just the distraction I need—a sudden sound breaks my thoughts, and I swiftly look back, heart thrumming wildly.
No one is there.
I keep looking around, searching for anything amiss, but the only things noticeable are two deer farther off in the fields, with the sun gradually dipping below the horizon. Sweat coats my palms when I catch sight of something far away on the abandoned road—closer to the forest than I am, yet too close for my comfort.
A bike.
A biker.
My heart beats erratically when the low hum of the engine turns off. The organ in my chest resembles a frantic deer, skittering inside me as it runs in panic from the sound of the engine. The feeling of dread spreads through me like a relentless wave, not giving way for mercy as I stare at the biker.
Despite how far off he is, I notice his wider shoulders, taller frame, hinting that it’s a man standing there. I swallow harshly, holding as still as I can, never daring to move or even breathe.
Be still, and he won’t see you.
Of course he will fucking see me. We’re in the middle of nowhere.
The figure stands motionless, helmet covering his face, shoulders clad in a black leather jacket and hands in leather gloves. He’s protected from head to toe in leather, his frame never wavering from the seat of his bike. I don’t know what to do, panic clawing at me from the inside.
Think, think, fucking think!
The thought of calling Alec for backup crosses my mind, but then, I’m not in the mood to speak to him. Not after yesterday, or after realizing he knew I had to work with someone else without informing me or intervening. Especially not since I’m supposed to be at the dock right now.
There’s something in the way the stranger observes me that I can sense even from afar. Though I cannot see his eyes, I feel his gaze on me.
I don’t know what to do or how to react, sitting utterly still as he observes me. Soon, the sun will disappear entirely, leaving me alone with this stranger on the abandoned road. With a shaky breath, I grip the gun even tighter, never breaking my gaze from the masked stranger.
When he doesn’t move, I decide to take a chance and rise to my feet, slowly stepping over to my bike. I draw in a breath when I see his hand twitching, the low hum of his Yamaha R1 starting. It gleams under the remnants of daylight, curving with precision and painted in a mesmerizing combination of black and red.
I start mine, attempting to maintain my composure. He zeroes in on me, sending a churn of anxiety deep within me. I secure my helmet and start to drive away from the side of the road where I parked.
He does the same.
Think!
Could it be him? The notorious biker? I’ve never seen him in real life, but he’s all over news articles.
I swallow the lump of saliva that sticks like glue in my throat, a bitter taste filling me when I rev the engine.
Once more, he does the same. What the hell?
Without hesitation, I grab the gun and point it backward, firing with as much accuracy as I can muster without even looking. It doesn’t seem to deter him, and I fire another shot, praying it’ll hit my target. I don’t care if I end up killing him—I just need him off my tail.
The screech of wheels behind me lets me know I must have punctured his tire. Seizing the moment of distraction, I push the bike at an even faster speed, leaving the stranger behind on the abandoned road, with my pulse pounding like a drumbeat in my frantic need to escape.