He should be grateful Declan stepped in when he did. I was ready to do far worse. I want him to hurt. I want to leave a mark he's never going to forget.
"I'm leaving with Gianna," I say. The room goes still for a beat. I can't stand to be in the same room with William without tearing into him again.
Declan pinches the bridge of his nose, then exhales, interlocking his fingers as he leans forward. "Why are you actinglike a hormonal teenager over a girl?" he says dryly. "We have things to discuss. Plans to make and you're what... leaving?"
Declan still doesn't get it. To me, Gianna is the only thing that matters right now. I don't care how I look or what anyone thinks.
"James can brief me about the meeting. But I have to leave, now," I say.
I turn my back, ready to walk out, but the weight of everything presses against my chest and won't let go. My jaw tightens, fist clenched. Before I can stop myself, I spin around. My eyes lock on William.
"If you so much as touch her again, or even look at Gianna the wrong way," I say, my voice low and cold, "your nose won't be the only broken thing." I mean every single word. I want the threat to bury itself under his skin.
I walk away from the booth and back to where I told Gianna to wait, but I don't find her there. I look around the bar, my eyes scanning every single person. Did she leave already? I remember telling her to wait for me, but then again, it's Gianna; she never listens. My gaze lands on the bartender. Gianna sat up there for quite some time. Maybe he saw where she went.
I ask him, and he points me in the direction of the restroom. I walk down the hallway and see as Gianna leaves the bathroom. Her eyes are down, and she looks deep in thought as she moves. She must be in shock at what happened. I clench my jaw, thinking about William grabbing her hair.
I close the distance between us and grab her hand. She flinches, startled, her eyes wide as they land on me, but eventually relaxes. "Let's go," I say, tugging her gently towards me.
Her brows furrow. "Where are we going?" she asks, her voice laced with hesitation.
"Somewhere quiet and less crowded."
I fix the helmet on her head, adjusting the strap beneath her chin. She watches me, her brows raised slightly in curiosity. A small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, one I didn't realize had formed until I see the way her eyes narrow slightly, playful suspicion in them.
"What?" she asks, looking up at me with those beautiful eyes.
My smile twists into a smirk. "Nothing, you just look cute," I say, stepping back and swinging my leg over my motorcycle. I settle in and glance over my shoulder at her, one brow raised.
"What are you waiting for?"
She narrows her eyes at me, crossing her arms across her chest. "Since when did you ride a motorcycle?"
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Gianna. Come on, let's go. I promise not to crash us," I tease with a smirk.
She rolls her eyes. "You better not," she mutters, climbing behind me.
"Hold on tight," I warn, flicking up the kickstand.
Her arms wrap around my waist, warm and steady. I glance down at her hands, swallowed up by the sleeves of my jacket, and my smile grows.
I twist the throttle and move the bike forward into the street, and I feel her tighten her hold just a little. The wind hits fast and clean, tugging at my loose collar, pushing against my chest like it's trying to test me. But I welcome it.
The city opens up ahead of us in all its chaotic glory—lights, horns, shadows, flashes of neon cutting through the night. I catch a glimpse of Gianna in the mirror. Her eyes are closed, head tilted back. Her lips part just enough to let the wind touch her like she's letting herself feel everything, and I can tell it in the way she holds me; she isn't scared. She trusts me.
We weave through traffic like we belong to the night. I know exactly where I'm headed, hoping it settles the tension that's been brewing between us.
"Oh my god," Gianna gasps, her lips curving into the widest smile I've seen on her in a long time. Her eyes light up as she takes it all in. "This is..." she trails off, words failing her. I reach for her helmet, unbuckling it before helping her move her hair out of her face and behind her ear. She doesn't waste time as she moves towards the building.
I smile, letting my eyes linger on the structure. The old building looks almost exactly the same. Peeling walls, rusted edges, cracks that have deepened over time. Still, it feels like stepping into a memory. I follow behind Gianna as she pushes open the weathered doors. The hinges groan in protest. The air inside is musty, heavy with dust and nostalgia.
I put on my phone flashlight, but Gianna doesn't need it; her feet know the way. She moves with certainty, climbing the old staircase, floor by floor, until we reach the rooftop.
The moment we push through the final door, the night air rushes past us. It catches Gianna's hair, lifting it like a wave. It's like nothing has changed. The cracked concrete is still scattered with old beer caps and sun-bleached flyers curled at the corner. Even the crooked chair is still there, leaning to one side. I walk towards the ledge, hands in my pockets, staring at the jagged skyline. The blinking tower in the distance still pulses like a heartbeat.
Gianna lets out a breath, almost laughing. "I can't believe it still looks the same." She looks around in awe. "Not one thing has changed." But she's wrong. One thing has. Us.
She joins me at the ledge, slowly taking her seat with her legs dangling over the rooftop. I sit beside her, wishing I had brought a drink to reenact old times.
