I should stay exactly where I am and let him choke on it.
Instead, I unbuckle my seatbelt.
Mateo blinks at me. “Wait, what?”
I step out of the car.
The night air feels electric against my skin.
Disco’s claws tighten lightly through the fabric of my dress, like he’s bracing. He leans toward Diablo and huffs out a little whistle that sounds like judgment.
Diablo doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t gloat.
He simply holds out a helmet.
“Get on.”
Mateo’s phone is still pointed at us.
“This isn’t content,” I mutter under my breath.
Diablo’s jaw tightens. “Exactly.”
I swing my leg over the Harley.
The moment my hands wrap around his waist, heat rushes through my body like I touched a live wire. His back is solid beneath my palms, warm even through the fabric. The vibration of the motorcycle hums up through my thighs and makes my breath hitch like my body remembers more than my mind wants to admit.
Disco clings to my shoulder, harness snug, and says into the wind, “¡Vámonos!” like he’s been waiting his whole life for this.
I pull him down and tuck him under my arm.
The engine roars to life.
Then we are gone.
Ocean Drive dissolves into streaks of neon and taillights. Wind tears at my dress and whips my hair into chaos as I hold on to Disco like his little bird life depends on it. Instinct takes over and I press closer, chest to his back, thighs tightening around the bike.
For one brief moment Diablo’s hand slides back and grips my knee.
Not possessive.
Not rough.
Just a quick, grounding squeeze.
Like he needs to confirm I’m real.
Like he needs to know I didn’t disappear again.
We don’t slow down until the noise of the city fades behind us and the air changes. Less perfume. More salt. More ocean. South Pointe stretches ahead in quiet darkness. The Harley rolls to a stop near the edge of the beach where sandmeets pavement and the Atlantic spreads out endless and black beneath the moon.
The engine dies.
Silence settles around us except for the steady crash of waves.
I climb off slowly and take off my heels.
