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The wind in my hair.

My arms wrapped tightly around this man.

It’s better than anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s the same feeling of freedom I get when I take the top down on my Jeep, only multiplied by one hundred. Except, my Jeep always felt like an escape before but I’m not alone in this. I have Dalton and I’m trusting him to carry me through it. My mother used to rant all the time about how damn dangerous motorcycles were, how she’d better not ever catch me on one after my father wrecked his beloved Panhandle and died.

Her rants did their job for a long time.

But sitting behind Dalton now, I don’t feel afraid.

I feel completely safe with him.

Because of him.

We ride along the river as the last of the sun’s rays cast red, orange and yellow across the surface of the water, shimmering with the hazy summer heat. I find myself absently stroking Dalton’s stomach, peace settling over me as I just bask in the feeling of riding behind him.

There is something so easy about being with him, even when we’re talking about difficult subjects or he’s seeing the state of the apartment I lived in for so long. He doesn’t apply any kind of pressure and I’ve never trusted someone as quickly as I am starting to trust him. Maybe that should be concerning to me but it just is.

I trust him.

I don’t completely understand it yet but I do.

And I don’t feel like looking into that or dissecting it.

We pull up to a large open piece of land on the outskirts of town and as soon as Dalton turns off the bike, the sounds of cheering replace the rumble of the engine. Across the way, a fighting cage is set up but there are so many people around it that I can’t see what’s going on inside. Behind the ring, back by the forest, there are several trailers set up. One of them opens and a shirtless man walks out, his hands taped up for a fight.

“Go ahead and climb off, baby,” Dalton says and I follow his instructions mindlessly, my focus on the scene in front of me. Off to the right of the ring, a bar is set up and people are milling around it, ordering drinks and talking. Once Dalton climbs off the bike, he gently turns me towards him and unclips the straps for the helmet from underneath my chin.

“What do you think?”

I turn to look over at the ring again. “A fight?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking over at the scene. “It’s unsanctioned and totally illegal but I’m pretty sure they pay the cops to look the other way ‘cause it never moves.”

“And what does this have to do with you?” I ask, searching his face. He said he wanted to show me something about him and I’m more intrigued now than I was when we left the food truck. Meeting my eyes, he shrugs, looking more unsure than I’ve ever seen him.

“I fight from time to time.”

That doesn’t shock me. I had my hands all over his body every time I’ve been on his bike today and he feels like a solid wall of muscle.

Powerful.

In complete control.

It’s not hard for me to imagine him here, walking out of one of those trailers with his hands taped up, ready to take down whatever opponent is in front of him.

“Are you fighting tonight?” I ask and he shakes his head, one corner of his lips tugging up into a grin.

“No.” He leans in and steals a quick kiss. “Not tonight. We’re just here to watch.”

I nod and when he holds his hand out to me, I take it, threading my fingers through his. He sets my helmet down on the bike and then we start walking toward the ring. As we get closer, a few people turn to look at us and when their gaze lands on Dalton, their eyes widen.

“Hyde,” someone whispers with all the excitement of a kid of Christmas. My brows furrow and I watch them nudge their friends and then we have more eyes on us.

“Holy shit,” someone else murmurs. “I didn’t know he was fighting tonight.”

I turn to look at the man next to me. “You fight from time to time, huh?”

“Uh,” he says and he has the decency to look embarrassed. “Yeah. I may have earned a bit of a reputation for myself.”