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“What about the rest of this stuff?”

“I’ll come back tomorrow and sort it out. I’m too tired and my face hurts too much to deal with it tonight.”

“I’m off tomorrow. I can bring you back and we can take care of it together.” Why was he doing this shit again? Oh right, nice guy syndrome.

Scratching his chin, he looked at her attire and thought it wouldn’t do. Unfortunately, he was on the bike and not in the car. “Would you have a pair of sturdy boots?”

Charlie looked down at her well-worn converse, then back up at Hemlock. “No. Why?”

“I’m on my bike.” He saw the instant she changed her mind as she took two steps back. “I take it you’ve never ridden.”

“Nope, and I’m not gonna start tonight.”

He stepped around an overturned kitchen chair and dodged walking on her clothes, even if they were trashed. When he was toe to toe with her, Hemlock looked down, making sure she was paying attention to him. Giving her the most playful smile he could muster, he said two words, “Wanna bet.”

Easing back he waited for her to change her mind. He could see her wavering, but wasn’t sure which way she’d lean until she sighed. Not giving her a chance to decline, he said, “Let’s get going. We need to get some ice on that face of yours.”

Ten minutes later, he stood beside Charlie as she stared at his bike. “How do I get on it?” she asked as she stretched her neck to get a better look at it. “And where do I sit?”

Taking the backpack from her, he stuffed it into one of his saddlebags, then handed her his spare shell. When she just stood there holding it, he took it and slapped it on her head. Quickly he adjusted the straps and buckled it. Next, he slid a pair of clear riding glasses onto her face. “Now, you’re ready to ride.”

Walking around to the left side of his sled (motorcycle) like he always did, he threw a long leg over and settled into the saddle. Pointing a finger, he had Charlie do the same thing, except she didn’t know how to get on. He almost dropped the bike when she attempted to kneel on the saddlebag to crawl on. “Whoa ,whoa, whoa! Put your foot on this peg.” He drew her attention to the foot peg right behind his calf. “Your left foot, push up and throw your right leg over. Once your leg is over, sit down on the seat.”

“You mean this vinyl do-ma-hickie?” she asked, her words laced with concern.

Cutting her a look, he wondered if she was serious. “It’s called a seat.”

“It’s called ridiculous.” Charlie snapped, staring at him.

Frustrated, tired, and ready to be home already, he pointed to the seat. “Charlie. Please get on the bike.”

“Fine, but if my ass hurts when we get to your apartment, I’m gonna need ice for it as well as my face.”

And he would need ice for the massive headache he was getting. When she was finally settled behind him, Hemlock reached back for her hands, bringing them around his waist. “Hang on tight.”

Firing up the bike, he felt the engine roar to life, the deep thrum of the motor vibrating through the frame, easing the tension that always crept into his shoulders. The noise was a kind of comfort, familiar, steady. When he revved it once, the sound of the engine swallowed everything, but beneath it, he heard Charlie’s laugh.

Crazy bitches are great in the sack.

Shifting into gear, the power of the bike surge beneath him, and the world outside blurred into a rush of wind and speed. His mind cleared. The road ahead, open and endless, was all he needed. Just the hum of the engine and the endless stretch of asphalt lay ahead.

Hemlock could feel the warmth of Charlie’s hands wrapped around him, and despite the tension he’d felt earlier, a flicker of something, maybe concern, maybe a flicker of amusement, softened his grip on the handlebars. He twisted the throttle with a practiced ease, the rumble of the engine beneath them filling the air as they moved forward.

Charlie, for her part, was gripping him like a lifeline. Her fingers dug into his jacket, the leather creaking in protest. Hemlocksmirked to himself. If she wasn’t careful, she might rip the seams right out of it.

“Just hold on,” he muttered over his shoulder, more to himself than to her. But Charlie wasn’t listening; she was too busy trying to figure out how to balance on a bike she clearly had no experience with. “This thing is an accident waiting to happen,” she said, but her voice was tinged with sarcasm.

He snorted, twisting the throttle harder, the bike roaring to life beneath them as they shot forward down the street. The wind rushed past them, and the noise of the engine drowned out anything else she might’ve said.

Charlie’s grip tightened, and Hemlock could feel the sudden shift in her posture, her body pressing closer to his, as though she were trying to make herself smaller, more compact.

For a moment, it felt like everything around them—the rush of air, the roar of the engine, the blur of the streetlights—vanished. There was just the two of them. The ride, the raw energy between them, it felt almost... right.

Chapter Six

Surprised was the word of the moment. Surprised was an understatement. Once Charlie relaxed behind him, Hemlock barely noticed the girl was there. If her hands wouldn’t have been around his waist, he would’ve forgotten all about her being on the back. If he hadn’t seen the fear in her eyes when she’d gotten on, he’d swear she’d lied about never riding before.

He’d ridden with a lot of girls at his back and every one of them had been a pain in his ass, except for the club girls or a family member of one of his brothers. Not this chick, first time on one, and she was a natural. She instinctively knew how to lean when he took curves, how to brace for shifting, and how not to pull back on him.