Page 69 of Manhattan Secret

Kian takes each corner swift and cleanly like his body is an extension of the metal and engine and born to race through the streets of Manhattan at 3 am in the morning without any headlights on. On secluded roads we drift from side to side at high speed, causing white traction smoke to billow up from the tires and the kid is in his element handling the beast. If not for the thrill of stealing, I’m sure he’d be a shit hot Formula One driver.

We’ve been going for the last hour. Across to Brooklyn and back again. We rode the Lykan Hypersport through red lights not giving a shit that the royal red thing of beauty is worth over four million.

From the moment I climbed into the two-door coupé, I was in love.

We have the visors down to mask any CCTV—besides, not our car, so we don’t care, but I don’t want my face on the systems face recognition program.

The car won’t have a trace of either of us in about thirty minutes when Kian drops it off to his guy who will take off the plates and put it in a shipping container and take it far, far away from its original owner.

I’m still pissed off.

Livid actually, that’s why I’m in a stolen car joyriding through Manhattan’s quieter streets with a nutcase sitting beside me with his joker grin all over his face, while he avoids us being pulled over by the cops.

I swear, Kian gets boners every time he steals a car or swindles someone out of a bet. The kid is a certified lunatic. “You out of your lovers spat mood yet?”

“Fuck off.”

Kian guffaws, “So, no, then.” He hits a corner so even and strong; it almost feels like we’re flying. I grab a look at the speed gauge to see he took that corner at 73mph.

Yeah, I’m dying tonight, and with my foul mood, as the shithead put it, I don’t even care.

I bet Laney won’t even care either.

She won’t go to my funeral or throw herself on the casket wailing that I’m the love of her life.

“What did the little firecracker do anyway?” He asks, and we both hear the far-off sound of sirens and quick as a flash he pulls a three-point turn and parallel parks in a row of dignified SUV’s in downtown SoHo, engine switched off, we sit and wait for the sirens to disappear.

“So, what did she do? Fuck one of your brothers?”

I snort. “Theo is in South Carolina, and you remember my other gay brother, right?”

“So what. I’d travel for good pussy.”

My neck almost snaps all of my bones I turn my head so fast and scowl at him. “Don’t talk about Laney’s pussy.”

“I can if she’s free game now.”

I know he’s needling me. Little punk. It doesn’t stop me reacting. “I will put you in an early grave, son. Test me.”

Bastard cackles and unwraps a red sucker from his pocket and shoves it in his mouth. It doesn’t matter if I kill Kian or not, diabetes will get him first, he’s a grade A candy addict. He has one food group and it’s sugar.

“Chicks, man. Too much trouble.”

The right one is worth the trouble.

She will be when I’m not so pissed anymore.

Until then, she’s a pain in my fucking ass with how she holds me at a safe distance, so scared in her little mouse shoes to admit what she feels and what we have.

I pull out my phone and see there’s zero messages of apology or promises of make-up sex from her.

The audacity.

The little mouse should be on her knees damn well sucking forgiveness out of my cock.

Probably at home, tucked up sleepy warm.

While I’m being a little bitch up in my goddamn foul mood.

---