“You’ll see.”
“How’s the business doing?”
Silence.
If I asked that question three years ago, I’d never get a word in edgewise. He’d be telling me about the annual revenue, about the new online courses available. He’d be telling me about fucking everything.
All I can hear now is the wind howling in my ears as we enter open air.
I don’t push any further, not wanting to poke the bear too much—I still want my money.
“What are you doing these days?” he asks me.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because women who attend O’Neill auctions don’t do it for plane tickets to Bora Bora. They do it because they’re desperate.”
“Desperate like the men that attend? You’re even more distasteful than I thought.”
“It wasn’t my decision to attend tonight.”
“Free will,” I yell into the wind. “We all have it. Ever heard of the wordno?”
Carter responds to my question with another question. “What sort of trouble are you in?”
“I’m not in any kind of trouble.”
“Don’t lie. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Maybe we should talk more about why you’ve had a wardrobe change. Carter Trescott doesn’t ride dirty motorcycles out intothe middle of nowhere. He sits on his ergonomic chair with two computer monitors. On one is a record of his finances. On the other, he’s online shopping for a designer suit.”
“You seem to know a lot about my life.”
“Men like you are predictable.”
“If that’s what you think…”
I let him have the last word, because he’ll probably get butthurt if I outsmart him too much.
I roll back my head and let the wind take my hair. All things considered, it feels refreshing being away from the suburbs for a change.
“How far away are we? I’m getting a cramp in my leg.”
“We’re close now.”
I look out and see nothing but darkness. Are we seeing the same thing? “What are you talking about?”
“This is home.”
Carter kills the engine, silence ringing in my ear. Vex and Skipper park next to us and jump off their bikes. Only when I see them walk ahead do I realize there’s something here.
“Where are the lights?”
Carter chooses to ignore my question. He offers me his hand as I climb off, but I refuse to take it and hop off just fine on my own.
If we’re not counting the part where I almost trip and fall flat on my face.
“This is the Venom Vultures clubhouse.” Skipper says it like the building is a historical artifact, one preserved for museums.
