I’m walking under the sun, just like every single day, walking without a fixed destination. My headphones are loud enough to prevent me from listening to what’s happening around me, there is nothing interesting to hear anyway.
Paul McCartney’s voice inLet it besounds as melodic as ever, and the song’s lyrics appear to fit perfectly with my current situation, though I just can’t listen to it.
Let it be.
No, I can’t. I won’t.
It won’t end like this.
In an act of fury, I remove my headphones in an attempt to regain my control, but as I do that, I see a big red bike near me. A big bike with a big man on it.
Rage.
He parks his bike right next to me.
I’m reflected in his black sunglasses. This time his hair is tied up in a ponytail that falls down out of the back of his helmet. His black T-shirt is so tight it looks like it’s wet. He’s displaying his colors, and his jeans are worn and torn, a stereotype of a bad boy.
I go to him cautiously, burying my hands inside my pants pockets for two reasons – first, I want to look like I don’t care, and second, it brings my hands closer to my knife, just in case I need it. I keep moving forward and try to figure out if he stopped by because of me or if it is merely a coincidence.
As I reach him, he shuts off the engine and hops off, leaning on the bike in a relaxed stance.
“Hey,” I greet him, and he gives me the slightest of nods. He’s looking at me from behind his glasses, but he doesn’t say a single word. His poker face is remarkable. “You were right,” I add.
He smirks. “About what?”
“I have a nanny,” I say in a low voice.
Rage removes his sunglasses and hangs them on his T-shirt collar. That move alone makes him sexier than before.
Stop it, Sarah!
“Let me guess, he showed the day you came to the MC?”
I nod.
He scoffs. “Did you get the information you wanted?”
“No. In fact, he asked me to stop looking.”
Rage regards me for a moment but only says, “I see.”
I don’t know what to say next – the silence is overwhelming. This situation is getting weirder by the minute until he speaks.
“What are you going to do now?”
I let out a breath. “I don’t know.” I don’t know what else to say. I look down to the ground where I am trying to remove an old piece of gum attached to the pavement with my right sneaker. “What are you doing around here, anyway?”
“I’ve got business to attend around the area,” he replies, though I know how the MCs operate. What they callbusinessis usually illegal shit, and I’d rather not to find out the details.
“What did your nanny say? Did he recommend not to go to the MC again?” he asks.
“He did, I think he used the words ‘death’and ‘rape’in the same sentence to try to convince me to never set foot in the MC again.”
He smiles briefly, trying to conceal it by relaxing the muscles of his face.
This is progress.
Rage stands up and climbs on his bike. “Need a ride?” He looks at the corner of the block.
