“Get on my bike,” he said.
“I have my car.”
“Get. On. My. Bike.”
Everything in me wanted to argue because he told me not to. Instead, I swung a leg over and settled behind him, hands hovering because touching him felt like stepping into rush hour traffic.
“Hold on,” he said.
I held on to the bars on the bike rather than wrapping my arms around him. He revved, and the world shivered as we pulled out of Kingsley’s. Riot fell in behind us, a dark echo. We didn’t go far, barely a mile or two down to an empty lot behind the old feed store where no one bothered to look unless they’re up to no good. The second the engine died, my mouth opened.
“Don’t,” he said. It wasn’t a threat but a plea.
He reached into the inside pocket of his kutte and pulled out a folded paper gone soft at the edges. He turned it in his fingers like it weighed more than it should.
“This isn’t all of it,” he said, “but it’s the part I can give you without painting a neon target across your chest.”
“What is it?”
“A start.” He pressed it into my hand and held on for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “You want answers? From here on out, you don’t move without me. Not because I own you, butbecause if you fall, I won’t crawl into another motel room with another dead body and pretend we didn’t see it coming.”
The paper burned in my palm. “You’re still not telling me everything.”
“No,” he said, “I’m telling you enough to keep you alive long enough to hear the rest.”
I thought about Kingsley’s hands. About Scar Brow’s grin. About the way the room held its breath when the Dead Knights rolled in, and how my pulse only calmed when I heard those engines.
“I’m not a pet,” I said.
“I know.”
“I’m not a recruit.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then stop treating me like either.” He nodded once.
“Hold on.”
This time, I did, my arms slipping around his waist, with him tensing beneath my hands, as he took me back to Kingsley’s street. He pulled up next to my car, and I swung my leg over his bike, heading away.
“Luce?” I paused in my tracks. “Be at the clubhouse tomorrow. Twelve.” He paused, then added, “Caleb left something for you. I’ll make sure you get it.” For a second, the world tilted again, but differently, more like a door opening than a floor giving out.
“Why now?” I asked.
“Because you went looking alone,” he said.
I carried on walking, the paper folded tight in my fist. He watched me like he was waiting for me to run or explode or both.
“I’m not going to stop,” I told him.
“I know,” he replied, with something almost like pride in his tone. “That’s why I’m not either.”
Riot’s engine roared as he swung into the lot, visor up, eyes amused. “You two done measuring tempers?” he asked.
“Never,” I replied.
“Good,” he said, “because we’ve got work to do.”
