Outside, I strap on my helmet, watching Savannah struggle with hers. The clasp gives her trouble. I reach over, fingers brushing her throat as I snap it closed. Her pulse jumps under my touch.
"Tight enough?" I ask.
She nods, smiling at me as I get on, back up, and nod for her to get behind me. "Legs up, arms around me, lean when I lean. Don't fight the bike.” The instructions I should’ve given her last night, but didn’t, come out clipped and professional. But there's nothing professional about how my body reacts when she slides against me, thighs pressing into mine, chest against my back.
The engine growls to life beneath us, and I feel her startle, then settle. Her arms tighten around my waist, fingers locking together over my stomach. For a moment, I just sit there, letting the vibration run through both of us. Letting her get used to the way it feels to have something powerful between her legs.
Then I pick my feet up and we're moving.
Once out of the gate, the dirt road stretches out ahead, a ribbon of mottled browns and reds that cuts through the badlands landscape. Evening light bleeds across the sky, painting everything gold and crimson. When we hit the black top, I take the turns easy, feeling Savannah's body tense then relax as she follows my lead.
But once we hit the two-lane highway that will take us to Havoc’s, I open it up a little. Not too much—not with her on the back. But enough to feel the wind push against us, enough to hear her gasp behind me when we crest a hill and the whole valley opens up below.
The land out here tells the truth. Nothing can hide in these broken hills. Every scar, every edge is visible for miles. Wind and water carved this place over centuries, stripping away anything soft, leaving only what's strong enough to endure.
Kinda like prison did to me.
Kinda like what Elenore did to her.
I'm more like these badlands than I like to admit. Carved out by forces I couldn't control. Weathered. Broken in places. Full of sharp edges and unexpected drops. But still standing. Still here.
We pass by many forgotten places. Places that were abandoned years ago, windows staring out like empty eye sockets. That's how it is around here—everything’s temporary. When you’re up against nature, nature always wins.
Once we’re settled into the ride, my mind starts spinning with the words I was writing earlier. I left my notebook in the blind. I'll have to go back and get it, but like always, it doesn't say much in there.
It's just rambling. Me, doin' my best to make sense of nonsensical things. I've always been fightin' the demon. I've had that fuckin' sword in my hand since the day I was born.
But ever since Savannah came into my life when I was fourteen, the battle has breaks. Little pauses where I can—not let down my guard, that's never gonna happen—but just settle a bit.
I stop grinding and take a look around when Savannah is next to me.
I wonder what I feel like to her?
I wonder how she fights her demons?
I wonder if I'm her demon.
The turnoff to the Dun property appears, marked by nothing but a weathered red mailbox. I slow down, taking the dirt road at a crawl to keep the dust down.
The bike's suspension protests at every rut and hole, but I navigate them carefully. Savannah's grip has relaxed a little, her body moving with mine, learning the rhythm of the road.
As we crest the final rise, the Dun place comes into view. It's nothing like the Ashby compound—no pretension, no grandeur. Just a simple white farmhouse with green shutters, a wraparound porch, and a red barn off to the side. The kind of place that says people live here, not just exist for show.
The sun catches on the tin roof, making it shine like a beacon. Around the property, life is happening everywhere you look. A fenced arena to the left holds two tiny girls on ponies, circling under the watchful eye of Havoc's oldest girl and June.
To the right, a homemade dirt track winds through a stand of cottonwoods, twin boys racing dirt bikes around it, their excited shouts carrying across the evening air.
The smell of grillin’ meat hits me as I cut the engine. Havoc stands on a wooden deck off the back of the house, manning a massive grill, smoke risin’ around him like he's some kind of war god overseeing a sacrifice. He's shed his cut, wearing just jeans and a faded black t-shirt, lookin’ almost normal except for the gun I know is tucked into his waistband.
Savannah's arms slowly unwrap from my waist as she takes in the scene. I feel the absence immediately, like someone turned off a heater.
I swing my leg over the bike, offering her a hand to help her off.
"This is... not what I expected," she says quietly, removing her helmet, then the elastic holding her hair in the ponytail. It falls down around her shoulders, tangled from the wind.
"What were you expecting?"
"I don't know. Something more... outlawish?"
