“Hop on, tar daddy. Let’s go raise some hell.”
“The shit that comes out of your mouth…” He gets on the bike, shaking his head.
I rev the throttle, and he leans in, his chest pressing flush against my back. One hand comes to rest on my thigh, and the other hand grips the handlebar next to mine. He shifts, and I feel it. The hard, thick length of him presses firmly against my ass. He holds it there for a beat, then leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, “Try to keep up, Lola.”
I think about going slow but Lola has other plans. I twist the throttle and take off like the city’s chasing us, because in some ways, it always is. The wind is cold but Jax’s body is a personal heater. We blow through red lights and take cornersfast, past people staring on the sidewalk. Mostly, Jax is driving. His hips tell me when to lean, how deep to take the corner. I’m just the throttle, the engine. He’s the one steering this missile. I don’t trust myself—not yet, not with this much horsepower and my head still spinning from the hospital. But as we hit a long, straight stretch, he taps my thigh twice. A signal. He’s letting me take it.
I grip the handlebars tighter and feel the subtle shift as he relaxes his control. For a few heart-pounding blocks, it’s just me, the machine, and the open road. Then, as a sharp turn approaches, his hands close over mine on the grips, his body tensing as he takes back over, guiding us into the lean with an easy confidence that makes my own fear feel foolish.
“Turn here,” I say loudly through the roar.
We peel onto a narrower street. “Where the hell are you delivering this thing?” he shouts.
“Just enjoy the ride,” I call back.
He curses under his breath and Tar City opens up in front of us like a dare,and I’m in the mood to win.
We weave through the city’s arteries, although my entire focus is on the solid weight of him behind me and the steady, possessive pressure of his hand, his thumb stroking circles on my jeans that make me want to forget the delivery entirely.
“Slow down, we’re close,” I yell.
“You’re enjoying this way too much, Lola. Almost as much as you’re going to enjoy paying up when I win our little bet.”
“Who says you’re going to win?” I shoot back, tilting my head.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you enjoy losing.”
“Stop here,” I say quickly.
We glide into a loading zone. I stare at the place, without a sign, I’m not certain we are in the right place.
“How the fuck do you know this place?” he blurts.
I glance back over my shoulder. “Oh… Lola’s got a few secrets. And I bet you want to know every single one.”
“Say one more thing like that,” he growls, pulling my hair slightly. “And I’ll bend you over the damn bike. Don’t care who’s watching.”
I swing my leg off the bike and turn to close the distance between us. I place my hands against his chest and say, “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I whisper, my voice a silken threat. “I’m the one in charge here.” I push him back slightly. “So take your dirty hands off me… and follow my lead.”
He lifts both hands but his eyes are promising retribution.
“That’s better,” I say.
He huffs and his eyes drag down my frame like he’s calculating exactly how much trouble I’m about to be. I turn toward the black steel door and I look down at my feet.I can’t believe the brace is off.I had high hopes they would take it off, even brought my shoes with me, but still, looking at myself move like I’m brand new.It’s crazy.Tears almost come back and I have to pretend to be adjusting the shoes to shake it off my feelings. No fucking way I’m losing this bet. I bend slow, let Jax think it’s just play for him.
Behind me, he lets out a low, pained groan. I turn it up a notch. I straighten up, and as I do, I hook a thumb into the strings of my underwear, bringing them up, so they ride high above the denim.
He moves closer immediately. “Watch it, Lola. I don’t like my property on display.”
“Be careful, Riot. You don’t want to break character before the game begins.”
We reach the steel door with only a rusted slit at eye level and no handles. I knock once, then twice again, and the slit scrapes open to reveal a pair of unimpressed eyes glaring through. “Code,” the voice demands.
I smile sweetly. “Since when do I need a code?”
The guy hesitates.
“Open the door before they take your tongue for keeping me waiting,” I demand.
