Wind rushes past us, tugging at my clothes, pressing the helmet against my face. The world blurs at the edges. Trees and fences and other cars become streaks of color as Dante accelerates.
I tighten my arms around him and lean forward, pressing my chest against his back. My cheek rests against his shoulder blade. Through the leather of his jacket, I can feel his heartbeat. Steady. Strong.
The fear I expected doesn't come.
Instead, there's something else. Something that feels like freedom. Like flying. Like letting go of everything that's been weighing me down for two years and just existing in this moment.
The bike leans into a curve, and I lean with it. My body moves with Dante's like we've done this a thousand times. Like we were made to fit together.
I actually like this.
The thought surprises me. I've spent so long being afraid. Afraid of the dark. Afraid of loud noises. Afraid of the world that took so much from me.
But right now, with the wind in my face and Dante's warmth against my body and the road stretching out ahead of us, I'm not afraid of anything.
Dante
The park smells like fried food and sugar. Cotton candy. Popcorn. The kind of smells that belong to a different life. A normal life.
I don't know how the hell people enjoy this.
Marina walks ahead of me, her steps quick and eager. She hasn't stopped smiling since we got off the bike. Her whole body vibrates with an energy I've never seen in her before. Not in two years of watching from the shadows. Not in the weeks we've spent together.
She looks like a different person.
She looks happy.
The wooden roller coaster looms ahead of us. The thing is ancient. Paint peeling off the support beams. The tracks creak and groan as a train climbs the first hill. Screams echo across the park as it plunges down the other side.
My stomach tightens.
I've been shot. Stabbed. Beaten within an inch of my life. I've killed men with my bare hands and slept soundly afterward.
But this? This terrifies me.
Marina turns and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the entrance. "Come on. The line's not even that long."
"Great." I let her drag me forward. "Lucky us."
She doesn't catch the sarcasm. Or she ignores it. Either way, she's practically bouncing as we join the queue.
The line moves fast. Too fast. Before I can think of an excuse to leave, we're at the front.
"Front row," Marina says to the attendant. "We want the front."
Of course she does.
The attendant nods and waves us through. Marina climbs into the first car, settling into the left seat. She pats the space beside her.
I fold myself into the seat. My knees press against the metal bar in front of me. The restraint clicks down over my shoulders, locking me in place.
No escape now.
Marina fidgets beside me, adjusting her restraint, craning her neck to look at the track ahead. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes bright. She looks younger than twenty-three. She looks like the girl she might have been if the world hadn't broken her.
If I hadn't broken her.
"What?" she asks, catching me staring.
