I’m instantly sucked into the vortex of his eyes – ethereal, turquoise-blue gems that swallow me whole along with everything else in sight.
My stomach flips and suddenly the thickness in the air is something I can no longer breathe. I’d recognise Ryker Edwards’ eyes anywhere.
‘You,’ I squeak, barely recognising my own voice.
He removes his helmet, and a heavy feeling drops in my gut, rivalled by the electricity that crackles under my skin.
His black hair is longer than I remember, and artfully finger-raked. Frown lines that were once faint have set in deeper. He still has the same strong features, sharp jawlineand the scar that slashes through his left eyebrow. A lopsided grin displays perfect teeth, and full lips that are far too inviting. It’s been years since I saw him last, and time seems to have stolen something from him, because the familiar smile that he flashes doesn’t reach his eyes.
When my lungs remember to work, his scent slaps me back to that night so long ago. Leather, wood and bergamot. It’s been four years since I last saw Ryker, but even back then, he made it hard to breathe.
A fat tear rolls down my cheek. He reaches up and grips my jaw with strong fingers. I’m frozen as he leans in, the warmth of his breath ghosting across my cheek before his tongue darts out to trail the tear.
This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.
‘Hey, Little Suspect.’ The low timbre of his voice fills the charged air between us. ‘Missed me?’
Chapter 2
Gianna
FOUR YEARS AGO
‘Jace.’ I knock on the side of Pa’s old Mustang.
My brother’s legs are hanging out from underneath it, his jeans ruined by smears of grease and oil. I lean against the hood of the car, admiring the navy-blue rally stripes against the gunmetal grey. Jace has upgraded lots of things since the car became his, but I’m glad he kept Pa’s paint job.
Beside him are tools and dirty cloths left over from last night, when I watched him lift a new motor into the engine bay using a crane.
‘Ma made pancakes,’ I say.
He rolls out on a garage creeper, spilling a container of thick black liquid in the process.
‘Shit.’ He scrambles to set the plastic bottle upright, but it’s already added another oil stain to the driveway. He wipes his hands on his jeans before looking up at me with a sigh.
‘Again?’ he asks, golden-brown eyes wide. ‘That’s the second time this week.’
In the shed, on Jace’s worktable, is a picture of Pa when he was about the same age. Right now, I could swear I’m looking at that grainy black and white photo. Jace is the perfect clone of Pa. Like, seriously, the Brooks gene came through strong.
‘I’m not eating her food on my own,’ I say sternly.
Jace scrunches his face before sliding back under the vehicle. ‘Give me two minutes.’
I roll my eyes and crouch down, tilting my head sideways. The glint of his necklace catches my eye, a chain carrying a solid silver bar with the wordBullittengraved on the front. Pa gave it to him for his twelfth birthday when he started go-kart racing. It hasn’t left his neck since.
‘I mean it,’ I say. ‘If you don’t come and help me, I’ll tell Ma about The Prank.’
He grumbles a response which I assume is agreement, but it’s drowned out by the clanging of metal.
The air is cold this morning, but I take my time heading back into the house. The screen door squeaks when I enter, my eyes immediately stinging from the smoke. Ma is decorating the kitchen counter with plates full of pancakes, fruit and what I think is meant to be pandesal.
She stands by the stove in a white dress – obviously the perfect colour to wear in the kitchen – that’s barely covered by a cornflower-blue apron. Her jet-black bob is held back by the Prada reading glasses perched on top of her head, and she smiles proudly. She doesn’t cook often, thank god, because she really sucks at it, but she’s been trying more lately.
‘Is your kuya on his way, honey?’
‘Yep,’ I answer, popping the p.
‘I tried a new recipe. The pancakes are protein-filled.’ She points her spatula toward the mahogany wood table in the open-plan dining room. ‘I already stacked a plate for you.’ She hums melodically, completely oblivious to the choking hazard she has created.
