Chapter 8

The roar of the engines was a physical thing, a vibrating hum that settled deep in my marrow and refused to leave. We had spent three days living in a haze of gasoline, sweat, and raw, unfiltered lust, surrounded by hundreds of other rebels on two wheels who understood the code of the road. But now, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in bruises of purple and orange, signaling the end of our little paradise. It was time to return to the world where clocks ticked and responsibilities waited like hungry dogs. I stood beside my bike, the leather of my jacket creaking as I shifted my weight, checking the latches on my saddlebags. My hands were trembling slightly, not from cold, but from the adrenaline crash that always hit when reality came knocking. Across the gravel lot, he was doing the same, his back to me, shoulders broad and solid under the worn leather. He looked like a king surveying his kingdom, even if the kingdom was just a dusty parking lot in the middle of nowhere. I watched him for a moment, memorizing the line of his neck, the way his hair was swept back by