Page 72 of Hostile Rival
I feel lightheaded and my legs are a bit wobbly, but I refuse to show it. Not even when he swipes a matching helmet and prowls closer, holding it out for me.
Once I’ve fitted it, his voice comes through the wireless speaker inside. “Put on a pair of those hi-top motorcycle sneakers. Should be socks in there too.” He points to neatly stacked boxes on the bottom shelf. “They’re all new. Sinéad isn’t allowed to ride on a motorcycle for a while yet. But Dré buys her bike stuff all the time. She won’t miss them.”
While I sit on the floor and unbox a pair, he prowls through the garage and stops at a sleek midnight black motorcycle built for two riders.
Glad to have on proper footwear for kicking ass if needed, I rise a little slower than I usually would. My stitches twinge, the pull causing me to suck through gritted teeth.
“You need more pain meds, little firecracker?” His voice is in my head. “I have some in my pocket for you.”
“I’ll take a few later,” I shrug, notably still medicated.
At the far wall, daylight pours in from a retractable garage door as it rolls upwards. I find myself walking straight for it, drawn to the sunshine.
“Why do you insist on calling me that?”
“Because it suits you,” he declares, and I get the feeling he’s smiling. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
By the time I stop next to the motorcycle, he’s already on board and his long muscular arms are stretched out, a hand on the throttle. Carefully, I climb on behind him, trying to keep my hands to myself, and failing when I grab onto his shoulder for balance.
As soon as I’m seated, I hesitate, feeling about for something else to hold on to besides him. Something that isn’t his muscular broad back, even when I know I’ll have to relent.
Suddenly there’s a surge of power between my legs and the motorbike jerks forward, then abruptly stops. The brisk movement forces my chest to bump into his back and my arms automatically wrap around his waist to secure myself.
“Your hands belong right here, on me and only me. Hold tight. Do not let go.”
My heart bucks. The engine purrs and music surrounds me. A violin intro starts playing as we burst out into a hot Sicilian afternoon, quickly joined by a female singer.
The way she sings the wordsRay of Solarmakes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. As we speed past the front of the mansion, the beat picks up and so does my heart rate.
Following the gravel driveway, I gaze over at the sparkly ocean in the distance, smiling to myself. The sun warms my skin and Matheus’ choice of song had brought out a strange emotional response in me. I feel connected to it—alive––free––and somewhere in my monstrous, lonely heart, I’m happy.
But it won’t last long.
After a few minutes have passed, our speed slows and Matheus plants his feet at either side of the motorcycle, anchoring us outside of our temporary base. The music cuts out and only the thump of my heart beats in my head now.
I don’t know why, but rather than dismount, I stay seated, keeping my arms locked around his middle.
He doesn’t say a word. Neither of us do and as if he senses my struggle, we take off again, even faster this time, leaving the Souza grounds behind.
For miles I sat behind him, comfortably attached like a backpack. We followed the scenic coastal roads, leaning into the turns, and opening up on the straight.
I can’t remember the last time I’d felt content, as if the thrill of being with Matheus replaced the hatred in my bones.
We finally return to the villa after nearly draining the gas tank. Seeing the imposing Sicilian mansion lording over the coastline is bittersweet.
When Matheus parked, he handed me a bunch of pills and casually told me it was important I rested fully to appreciate my present when the time came to enjoy it.
He’s so frustrating. Although I have to give him credit, he has me thinking about fun stuff rather than ingenious ways to murder someone.
No matter how many times I’ve asked, he won’t give me any clues. If I could get inside his head, I’d change his mind because this littlethingof ours is doomed.
Silly gifts won’t mend the divide.
I belong to Carlos Blanco.
And that's all there is to it.
The villa is quiet when I walk inside. Matheus takes the lead and disappears into the kitchen. Rather than follow him, I head straight for the bedroom and check my go bag under the bed.
