Page 87 of Ricochet
It was also something I hated seeing, despised it from the bottom of my heart.
My pulse skyrocketed as the rumble from before sounded again. The three bikers were back again, and he blatantly stared at me.Again.
“Ophelia,” Ava’s voice trembled. “Who are they?”
“I’ve no idea, but I’m about to find out.”
“Ophelia.” Her voice carried after me, but I was already crossing the street, heading straight toward them. Well, toward him.
This could be one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had, but I loved this imaginary line I walked every day, where I never knew if I would see the light of the next day. The adrenaline, the excitement, it didn’t take me long to realize why I felt attracted to him. He might as well be a member of one of the MCs that wanted us dead, but I didn’t care. Crossing that street felt crucial, and for whatever reason, my body listened to my gut.
He followed my every step as I dodged incoming cars and flipped a couple of drivers honking after me. The closer I got, the more I could see his face —high cheekbones, and those inquisitive eyes. My breath has been knocked out of me several times throughout the last couple of years, through my training and my assignments, but it never felt like this. As if someone was sitting on my chest, only it wasn’t completely unpleasant. I knew danger when I saw it, and this guy… This guy should wear a neon sign on his chest, or better yet, his forehead. He leaned over the gas tank, patiently waiting for me. His hair was disheveled, slightly darker than mine, but not as dark as I initially thought.
It definitely wasn’t black, thank you, Satan.
I was never the type of girl who gets tongue tied in front of a guy, but as I finally stood in front of him, two of his friends observing me, my mouth refused to connect with my brain.
“Hello, Persephone.”
My heart thundered at the sound of his gravelly voice. It felt like a caress over my skin, over my soul, and I wanted to drown in it. His eyes raked over my body, and the flush creeped onto my face, no doubt making me look like a bloody tomato. What in the ever-loving hell?
Clearing my throat, I straightened my shoulders, and smiled coyly.
“Does that make you Hades?” The other two started laughing at my question, the sound muffled by the helmets covering their faces. Damn, and I really wanted to see their faces up close.
“Maybe.” He got off the bike, towering over me. “But only if you’re going to be my Queen of Hell.”
Holy shit, the bluntness of this guy. I took a step back, and craned my neck to look at him. I knew this kind of a man. I was surrounded by them on a daily basis, but the ones I knew were never this straightforward. Never this imposing.
“I am already The Princess of Hell, so this offer isn’t exactly appealing.”
“Ah, Persephone.” He pulled the strand of my hair and started playing with it. “Let me rephrase that sentence.” He leaned down, inches away from my face. “Youaregoing to be my Queen of Hell.”
I gulped at our sudden nearness, intoxicated by his scent, by the sheer power emanating from him in spades. I loved Kieran, I still did, even after everything he did to me, but this… This familiarity I felt toward this man, toward this Devil, this was something else. It felt raw, animalistic, and I had the urge to throw myself into his arms, let him take me away.
“That’s lovely, big boy.” He laughed at my nickname. “But I think I’ll pass. Besides,” I took a hold of his hand, and removed it from my hair, “I don’t need a king to become a queen. Twenty-first century and all that bullshit.”
His hand grasped mine, and he pulled me closer to him, our upper bodies almost touching.
“That’s fine, but what if I needed a queen to become a king?” His eyes were shattering walls I erected around my soul, inquisitive, curious. I felt both comfortable and uncomfortable with his nearness. I could feel the darkness in him. I could see it behind his green eyes. It was like a siren's song calling to me.
Kieran’s light used to pull at me, or well, what I at least thought was light. But this here, this magnetism, it was as if we were in our own bubble, where everything else ceased to exist.
“Then you’re looking for her in the wrong place, because I am not her.” I extracted myself from his hold and came closer to the bike.
“I actually think you really are,” he mumbled after me.
I ignored his remark and started gliding my hand over the leather seat, the insignia stamped on the side of the gas tank —the three-headed dog with its jaws open, and the name.
Sons of Hades MC.
Motherfucker. If my father caught sight of this, I’d be in the coffin and below the ground in a matter of minutes. Syndicate was bad, Outfit as well, but them… They made what we did look like a day in a kindergarten. Of course, I heard of them, who hadn’t? How many times did our families warn us not to go to the West Coast, because that belonged to them? Me standing here with them was forbidden. A pure blasphemy, and I fucking loved every single second of it. Maybe it was my way of saying “fuck you” to all of the rules they were trying to impose on me.
“You like it?” His voice pulled me back to reality.
“I actually want to buy one, but I literally know nothing about bikes.”
“You wanna try him on?” I whipped my head toward him at the double meaning in that sentence. “I mean the bike, hellfire.” He chuckled. “Though, I wouldn’t be opposed to other things.”
