Page 35 of Brutal Reign
My gleeful expression falls. “But you’re a girl,” I deadpan.
“So?” she huffs.
“So, your mom rides with your dad.”
“Only because she likes to,” River counters, folding her arms across her chest. “My grandma had her own bike, drove it all the time.”
“But why would you want your own when you can just ride with me?” I press, growing increasingly frustrated by the dismantling of my fantasy. Why can’t she ever just fucking agree with me for once?
River licks her plush lips, eyes sparking with mischief. “Because then we can race,” she replies, waggling her brows.
Alright, that’s a solid point.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I mutter, planting my feet on the ground before swinging a leg over the seat to climb off. “I’ll probably have a hot ass girlfriend to ride on the back by then, anyways.”
“So now I’m just kicked off?” she scoffs, raising a brow.
“Hey, can’t say I didn’t offer it to you first.”
“Fine,” she concedes, her posture stiffening as I approach her. “Maybe I’ll get a boyfriend to ride on the back of mine, then.”
“Good luck with that,” I snicker.
Her lips twist in a scowl. “What, you don’t think I can get a boyfriend?”
“I don’t think any guy’s gonna wanna ride bitch on your bike,” I reply, reaching out to flick her on the forehead.
She swats my hand away with a scowl. “But it’s okay for ME to ride bitch?”
“You know what I mean,” I grumble.
“No, I don’t,” she huffs, glaring up at me defiantly. “Tell you what, Seb. When we both get our own bikes someday, we’ll race. And then the winner can decide who has to ride bitch.” She arches a brow as she extends a hand toward me to shake on the deal.
“Fine,” I agree, slapping my palm into hers without hesitation. I’ve got this in the bag– both of us are thrill-seekers, but River tends to get nervous in the face of danger.
Me? I laugh in it.
NOW
The thin whiterolling paper crackles as it catches fire, a wispy plume of smoke curling in front of Ace’s face as he snaps his Zippo closed. He takes a long drag before passing the joint my way, and I lean back against the wall of the squad complex as I take it from his fingers and lift it to my lips, staring vacantly across the quiet parking lot.
We need to talk about River. I know it, he knows it, and both of us are avoiding actually doing it. Instead, neither of us are saying a fucking thing, and I can’t remember a time when silence between us ever felt so damn uncomfortable.
Ace won’t be the one to break it. He likes the quiet; says he didn’t get enough of it growing up because his dad couldn’t stand the sound of silence. He’s waiting for me, knowing I’ll eventually cave, but when I open my mouth to speak, I can’t force the words past my lips.
“Wonder whose bike that is,” I murmur absently as I puff on the end of the joint, eyeing the unfamiliar motorcycle parked up in the spot beside my own.
Ace shrugs a shoulder noncommittally. “Looks like it’s seen better days.”
“It’s in good shape for being ancient,” I muse as I exhale the smoke, my gaze sliding over the curves of the machine. I’ve never seen a vintage Indian motorcycle in person, but judgingby the build, it’s a decades-old Chief. I had my eye on a similar, although newer, model before I sold out and bought myself a crotch rocket.
Ace clears his throat beside me in warning as the scuff of shoes against the pavement registers. I snap my head in the direction of the sound to see the very person we’ve been avoiding talking about striding around the building in our direction, dressed in ripped jeans and a beat-up leather jacket. River’s long dark hair is slicked back in a high ponytail, accentuating the harsh angles of her features, and those disarming hazel eyes meet mine for a fleeting second before dropping to the joint dangling between my fingers.
Wonder if she’ll run and tattle. I wouldn’t put it past her, considering how we left things last night. She seems determined to piss me off at every opportunity. Not like anyone would give a shit if she did tell, though– a little weed is the least of anyone’s worries around here.
My upper lip curls back from my teeth in a snarl as River draws closer, but unlike most others, it doesn’t scare her off. She meets my stare defiantly as I go to pass the joint over to Ace, intercepting it by snapping out a hand, taking it between her own fingers, and raising it to her lips.
“Since when do you smoke?” I growl, eyes dropping to track the way her full lips curve around the trunk.