Page 44 of Tortured Eyes

“Mine's a fucking death trap in the rain.”

After a moment or two, she answers. “You ride?”

“Used to. Garage full of them out there.”

She cocks her head towards me inquisitively, softness returning to her face. She pulls the blanket tighter around her and stands, gingerly edging her way over to me. “Can I see?”

“No.”

A smile breaks across her features, her hip cocking arrogantly. It’s fucking hilarious given the state of her all bruised up and marred from my fun. Makes me smile, though. Part of me admires her for the sass she keeps bringing regardless of her circumstances.

“Well, aren't you a tease?” she says. A chuckle comes out of me. I don’t know why. I need my fucking head examined. I look her over, wondering if I’ve got any clothes she could get into, and watch her scoop up one of my father's dice from the floor. She twirls it around her palm, eyes fixed on mine. “You can’t talk to a girl about a fuckload of bikes in a garage and then not let me see them. That’s just plain fucking rude.”

“And the rest here hasn’t been?”

She shrugs and takes a few steps closer. “You're hurting. I get it. But you know, this doesn’t have to be so antagonistic," she says, licking her lips. "Like you said, I am enjoying it after all. Why not show me the bikes? You must want to. Wouldn’t have mentioned it if not.”

My eyes narrow at her, watching as she keeps getting closer and tries to get inside my head.

“Red, you haven’t got a fucking hope of playing me. Stop trying.”

“I’m not. I’m being genuine. I didn’t kill your uncle, Logan. Stop treating me like the enemy.” Her hand reaches out to me and lands on my shoulder as if she’s trying to comfort me. “I am sorry he’s dead. Really, I am. I know the feeling well.” She drops the contact and wanders back across the room to look out of the window. “Sometimes a good ride clears the head. Lets you get things into perspective. Weather looks nice out there. Clear skies. It shouldn't be a problem for a good rider. Assuming you can ride as well as you fuck.”

My gaze skims over her waiting there, some part of me wondering what this would be if it wasn’t so antagonistic. Good fucking word for it. I might even be interested in exploring what the hell just happened to my head if she wasn’t who she is. Still, she’s a devious bitch, I’m sure. Probably thinks she can run if I let her out of the house. More cat and mouse.

"We could always roll for it," she says, fingering that ivory cube in her hand. "Odds we go, evens we stay?"

Not going to happen. I'm not my father.