8.
T here’s a cruel chill in the air tonight – one that keeps biting into the exposed skin of my hands, and my face the faster I drive my Harley through the nearly-deserted streets.
The palm trees hiss when the wind gushes over them, and behind me, Cignette presses her knees further against my thighs.
She’s wearing my dark-grey suit jacket over her dress, and keeps fidgeting with it every other minute like she’s trying to wrap it tighter around her frame.
“You okay back there?” I ask, loud enough so that she can hear me.
“I can’t feel my legs!” she hollers close to the side of my helmet. “But other than that, I’m golden, thank you.”
I chuckle as I let go of the right handlebar, then bring my hand over to the back of her thigh before running it up and down the length of it.
Her skin is soft, cold, and marred with goosebumps, and the urge to drive us back home so that I can get her warmed up is strong, but we’ve got a job to do, and time is quite literally of the essence for us.
Upon my request, Alex and Varsha have made it to the Lutkus estate before Cigs and I. I’ve asked them to scout the property and keep tabs on the guests until I get there, just so we’re fully aware of what, and who we’ll be dealing with at the gala tonight.
“We’re almost there,” I tell Cigs, then pat her calf once before bringing my hand back to the handlebar.
Her arms come around my waist a second later, and she pushes herself flush against me before placing her chin on my left shoulder. “This feels nice, though – us driving through suburban streets wearing obnoxiously formal clothes,” she says.
“Yeah? Maybe we should do it more often, then.”
“What, the driving or the clothes?”
“Both,” I provide, taking a sharp left on E Silverspur Trail . The road here is clear; the street muted due to limited lightning. I hear crickets chirping among the shrubs, and the smell of incense permeates the air.
“Over my dead body, Ledger!” Cignette yells. “Fuck this dress, because I’m fucking freezing right now.”
“It’ll all be over soon, I promise,” I quip.
“Yes, when I strangle you on this very motorcycle for forcing me to wear this contraption.”
“My God , woman. Go touch some grass, will you?” I call out. “You’re giving Jeffrey Dahmer a run for his money right now.”
“Just keep driving before I commit homicide, Dorran,” she threatens.
I give her a mock salute, to which she punches me in the side, making me laugh out loud, just as the massive Lutkus estate comes into view before us.
Man, it’s finally show time.