Lyra walks inside, her long brunette ponytail swishing back and forth. She’s dressed in all white—white blouse, white leggings, white heels—which makes me think she didn’t know about Gage’s idea. But it doesn’t stop her from turning around and saying with a smile, “Bad.”
Gage walks past us and throws his leg over a yellow Suzuki that reads Hayabusa. Without missing a beat, Lyra gets on behind him and grabs onto his thighs. “Geezer won’t even know they’re missing,” Gage says. He pops his chin toward the other bikes, his gaze steady on me. “Two more bikes, two more players.”
My head pounds with excitement, because this is the old me. I’m the guy who’d borrow some anonymous person’s pride and joy without thinking twice. But I can’t be that person anymore. Because I’m with Charlie, and she believes I can be one of the good guys. Gripping the horn in my pocket, my mind flashes to where she is—
—and a bolt of anger fires through me. Because Charlie isn’t at home. And she’s not at school. But she is somewhere near her house, which means she’s probably spending her lunch break at Salem’s house.
My body floods with concern, but then I remember how she stuck up for him and his brother. I also remember that Max and Valery are both around, protecting her from doing anything unsafe.
So she’s just there…hanging out.
My mind snaps to attention when I hear the snarl of an engine kicking on. “If you’re coming, you better hurry the hell up,” Lyra sings.
Aspen straddles a storm cloud–colored bike with an exhaust pipe as wide as my biceps. She starts the engine like she’s done this a million times, though the rigidness in her frame tells me otherwise. She looks at me through the gap in her helmet, her riotous eyes flashing. “Sure you ain’t got nothing else to do?”
She’s quoting what I told her earlier. And I know what I need to do is get her off that bike, because crap like this earns seals for hell, not heaven. But that growl rolling off the twin bikes—oh, shit, that growl—it creeps in; it slinks through all the openings in my body and smothers my resolve. Without thinking, I touch a finger to the skull on my red belt. It’s cool and reassuring beneath my skin.
My eyes land on the third bike. It’s cherry freaking red. And it’s calling my name. I move forward and—gripping the chrome handlebars—I mount her. Then I start the engine, pull on a helmet, and close my eyes in ecstasy. When I open them, Gage is smiling at me—
And in his eyes is something I’ve only seen in hell.
The sight should scare me. It should tell me to get off the damn bike and get Aspen out of here. But for the first time since I left Charlie, my head isn’t back there with her, it’s here and in the now—a beast between my legs, an empty road begging to be plowed, and a dare in Gage’s eyes I’m not about to abandon.
Throwing my head back, I howl at the open sky like an animal.
Then I release the brake and thunder out into the afternoon sun.
The last thing I see before my eyes lock on the road is a flesh-colored tattoo peeking out from beneath Gage’s sleeve. And I swear on all that is unholy, I’ve seen it somewhere before.
12 
I Want Her
After racing on the bikes for several hours, we finally return them. The owner still doesn’t know they’re gone, so no harm done, I figure. We leave them in the garage and jump into The Regulator. Then we hit up Mickey D’s before swinging by Aspen’s house to get Lincoln.
Gage lays on the horn as he stuffs French fries into his mouth. “Come on, shithead.”
I almost laugh, but the sound dies in my throat, because I like Lincoln. And I can’t tell whether Gage does. For some reason, I doubt it. It feels like we’re all here for Aspen, like we all want a piece of her just like Lincoln said, and that makes us competitors. Still, I like to think Lincoln and I are on the same train. So yeah, I don’t laugh.
Lincoln comes strolling out of the house, surveying the battlefield like a soldier at war. Finding it free of enemy fire, he climbs into the backseat, squishing Aspen between us.
“My dad home?” Aspen asks, touching a finger to her empty necklace.
Lincoln glances at her, then up at Gage and Lyra. “Yeah, he’s here. With Sahara. He sends his well-wishes.”
Aspen laughs and tells Gage to get us out of here.
He does.
Ten minutes later, we roll up to another party. “You Denver peeps enjoy the frosty beverages, no?” I tell Aspen.
She gives a small shrug but smiles. “We do it up. Don’t be J.”
I get out of the car, and everyone follows suit. “I’m not jealous of your whack job city with your whacked-out drivers trying to run me off the road.”
“Say what?” Aspen says with genuine surprise, and maybe a little concern, stretched over her face.
“Never mind,” I mumble, because I’m busy watching Gage whisper to Lyra about what I said. Freak shows.
Lincoln shivers and shoves us both toward the house. “Can we get inside, please? My man ornaments are going to shatter out here.”
I wrap Lincoln’s head under my arm and lead us inside. In response, he elbows me in the crotch, and we both crumble to the ground right inside the entrance.
“Idiots,” Aspen says, but I can tell she’s happy we’re getting along. As she glides into the room, people stop what they’re doing. They offer her a drink, they remove her mink coat, they orgasm as they note her green Jimmy Choo heels. I’m familiar with the way she allows herself to be consumed by them. It feels good, I remember. Like it doesn’t matter that Mom doesn’t give a crap or that Dad’s always gone.
I grab a beer from the kitchen and drain it in one long take. Then I flop down on a sketchy-looking, pastel-colored couch, which is about the nicest thing up in this joint, and snatch my phone from my pocket. My back stiffens when I see I have a text.
Let it be from Charlie.
Since I arrived in Denver, I’ve only gotten the one text from her, and even that one sounded off. I need something to remind me she’s still my girl, that we’re still us, but when I check to see who the text is from, my heart clenches like a fist. It’s Annabelle, and it’s only a single line:
Check out ur hottie!
My fingers tingle when I see there’s a pic attached to the message. Tapping the icon, and thinking I’ll scream if my phone moves any slower, I wait for the image to download.
And then I see sweet Charlie.
Except she doesn’t look so sweet.
She looks sexy. She looks dangerous. And maybe she is, because I’m about to have massive coronary failure eyeing the skirt she’s wearing. “What the hell?” I mutter.
“Damn. That your girl?” Lincoln’s leaning over my shoulder, ogling Charlie’s physique.
I lower my phone and make sure Lincoln meets my glare. “You got two seconds to divert your eyes before I remove them from your skull.”
He laughs, runs a hand through his greasy hair. “My bad. Just window shopping.”
“Well, don’t.” I get up from the chair and head outside and into the cold. I don’t care that Gage and Lyra are once again feeding Aspen enough booze to drown a life jacket. I don’t care that it’s my job to seal her soul for heaven. All I do care about is getting a better look at the picture of Charlie.
Standing in the snow, wrapped in a cloak of darkness, I study Charlie: her laughing face, her wide blue eyes. And that damn skirt. It looks like something she wore to a party a few weeks ago when she was proving a point, a night that ended with my carrying her out of a barn. But this time, it looks like she’s embracing her new figure. Like she’s finally figured out she’s got one, and she’s damn well going to flaunt it. I don’t blame her. If I’d spent seventeen years with an average body, I’d be eager to flash my goods. But this is Charlie. She’s better than that. Right?