Page 15 of Rebel
Carnie starts the engine of his bike, revving it so we can’t be heard. “What we gonna do about the dress?” he asks. He’s having the same thoughts I did as soon as I saw what she was wearing. The girl can’t get on the back of a motorcycle wearing something so big. It’ll get caught in the wheels or something. I turn to the girl, scanning her from head to foot. She’s started to cry low, exhausted, barely there sobs that shake her whole body.
“What are you wearing under there?” I ask her.
She looks up at me, and bam. It hits me at possibly the most inopportune of moments: she’s fucking beautiful. Even when she’s crying, face covered in running mascara, she’s breathtaking. I can’t afford to be standing around like an idiot in the desert, checking her out, though. “Did you hear me? What are you wearing under that ridiculous fucking dress?’
“Nothing,” she whispers. Her lip trembles, making her look really young. In fact, how oldisshe? She looks like a kid. A kid in a bullshit dress, wearing nothing underneath.
“Carnie, give me your knife,” I say.
Carnie hands it over, slapping the well-honed blade into my palm, handle first. It’s a serrated, mean-looking thing—great for scaring the ever-loving shit out of people when they’re not behaving themselves. The young woman standing in front of me turns a ghostly pale white when she sees it.
“Please. Please don’t hurt me. I—”
I grab the hem of the long dress she’s wearing and I begin to hack at it. The girl stops talking. I work quickly, cutting the skirt of the dress so that it rests about mid-thigh, throwing handfuls of tulle and other lacy shit onto the ground. When I’m done, I straighten up and the girl’s arms are locked around her body, her eyes clenched tightly closed. Her legs are on show now, and they are mighty fucking fine.
“Which bike you wanna ride on?” I ask her, pointing to them. She looks at me like she doesn’t understand what I’m asking her. “You pick which bike, which means you pick which one of us you’re trusting to carry you.”
“What if I don’t trust either of you?” she asks carefully.
“Then I pick you up and put you on the back of my bike anyway,” I tell her. She lets go of herself long enough to wipe the tears out of her eyes. “That one, then. The bigger one.” She points to my bike. I grin so hard it feels like my face is gonna split apart.
“Good choice.” I’m aware of the fact that Julio hasn’t closed the gates after us; he’s still watching us from the entrance of his villa, bulky form silhouetted against the light spilling out from inside. I start the engine of my Ducati Monster, snapping my wrist as I gun it, warming up the cylinders. I climb on, turning my attention back to the leggy girl at my side. “Get on,” I yell over the roar of the Ducati.
She just stands there, shivering.
“I mean it. Get on this bike, or I’ll have to come get you.”
The girl shrinks in on herself, her shoulders rounding, pulling up to her ears. For a moment, I think I’m actually gonna have to do it. I think I’m gonna have to get off my bike and forcefully put her on it. I’m seconds from doing exactly that when she cautiously steps forward and throws her leg over my ride. I can feel her looking for something to hold onto, a handrail at the back like the street fighters have. She’s not going to find anything, though. I reach back until I find one of her arms, and then I pull it around me. “Now’s not the time to be shy, sweetheart. Hold onto me and you’ll be fine.”
I’m not stupid; I know the last thing she wants to do is wrap her arms around me and get all up close and personal, but we don’t have time for me to explain why holding on is a good idea. We really need to get the fuck out of here.
“You been on a motorcycle before?” I ask over my shoulder.
“No.” She answers very quietly, but I can still hear her over the roar of the engines.
“Then the smartest thing you can do right now is hold onto me and not let go until I tell you. Unless you want to die, of course?” Slowly, very carefully, her other arm snakes around my waist. “There’s a good girl.” I gun the engine again, jerking my head to Carnie. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before they change their minds and kill us after all.”
“Copy that.” Carnie takes the lead. He burns off into the desert, and the only thing I can see as I charge after him, an unknown woman clinging onto me for dear life, arms growing tighter and tighter as we go faster, is the red flicker of his taillight.
SOPHIA
I’m going to die.
The cool desert air whips through my hair as we burn the night, ruining the intricate style Ramona created so that I’d be pretty when my new owner came to collect me. My heart is in my throat. I press my cheek into the back of this stranger’s back, and I stare out into the abyssal darkness¸ not seeing anything. Not caring. Practicing at stilling the screaming panic in my head.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
This ishappening.
Thisishappening, but it will be okay.
Everything will be okay.
Eventually, we come to a highway—god knows how these guys knew which direction to head in—though everything is still pitch black. No streetlights. No other cars. Nothing. I loosen my grip around the guy’s waist, not that I don’t feel like I might be tossed out of my seat any second. The seams in the blacktop make regular thrum, thrum, thrum noises as the motorcycle’s wheels travel over them. I think about jumping.
