Page 44 of Equilibrium
There was one strict rule both the Syndicate and the Outfit had to follow—avoid the West Coast and only go if you really fucking have to. It was well-known that the Syndicate and the Outfit controlled the East Coast, while motorcycle clubs controlled the West Coast. I never had to obviously, otherwise I would’ve been here years ago, getting lost on the beach, and enjoying the sunset.
As we rode toward the city, I tried soaking in the purple and red colors flickering on the sky. The remnants of the day painted above us. The sun wasn’t visible anymore, but the puffy clouds gathered around, throwing different shades all over the place. I was a sucker for sunsets and sunrises.
There was just something magical how the colors played on the pale blue canvas, and I don’t know… the sky always somehow represented freedom, and that was one of the things I never had. My mild obsession started way back in high school, when I would sit on the cliffs watching over the Croyford Bay, imagining I was somewhere else.
Now that I thought about it, I always had a feeling that I wanted to run away from there. But I couldn’t really complain. Up until that fateful night when my father shoved the knife in my hands, I didn’t have a bad childhood. My parents never hit me, but they never really cared either. I wasn’t sure what was worse anymore—the fact that they never cared or that I cared too much.
I used to dream of the family that had those little outings together, picnics on the beach, summer trips around the country. I used to wish for a mother that read me bedtime stories, the one that told me to stay away from people that didn’t feel right. But I got none of that.
And I know I never would because that wasn’t my destiny. It wasn’t like I could complain. I had more than most other people did. I had a roof above my head, food, and clothes. I had Ava and I had security, at least for a little while.
I wondered what Storm’s childhood was like. We didn’t have enough time to talk about anything, and I wanted to know. I wanted to know what made him tick, what made him angry and happy. Did he like guns more than knives, and what was the meaning of his tattoos?
And all these wants were something I shouldn’t wish for. I wasn’t here to fall in love. I wasn’t here to stay with Storm, as we rode happily into sunset. These silly thoughts of mine were a remnant of a little girl I used to be, and I tried to silence her down every opportunity I had.
This thing we had going on, this was passion and war, all wrapped in one. I couldn’t lie and say that I didn’t feel anything for him, but dreams were one thing and reality was another. The reality we lived in didn’t allow for dreams to manifest.
Ava used to do the whole manifestation thing, and while I believed it worked for her, I didn’t think it would work for me. When you’re the daughter of an evil incarnate, all good vibes cease to exist and you are nothing but a vessel wondering on the earth.
My face was getting numb from the wind hitting me, and even though it wasn’t as cold as the East Coast during this time of the year, I really wished I had worn something thicker. When we had rode to the beach, it was still sunny, warm, and I hadn’t felt like my skin was getting attacked by a thousand little bugs that kept hitting us.
My butt started hurting five minutes ago, and while the leather seats were comfy, they weren’t comfy enough for the same position for almost an hour. I didn’t know this part of the country and I had no idea where he was taking us, but when we descended the busier road, filled with cars on both sides and people walking, smiling and talking, I had a feeling we were going toward the Ferris Wheel I could see in the distance.
As we slowed down, I could hear other noises coming from around us, and I somehow felt at peace. It was quite funny but being surrounded with so many people gave me an opportunity to blend in and observe. It was something they engraved into my head, and no matter what, I still followed it.
You could never be careful enough and knowing where the danger was helped. At least I knew I could run away if I had to, or I could attack, depending on the situation. But as Storm parked on the side of the street, shutting off the engine of the bike, I knew we weren’t here to observe anybody, nor were we here to attack.
I slid off first, and if my shaky legs were any indication, I had to get back to the gym. The last couple of months were rough for me, and I had to admit—I wasn’t exactly taking good care of my body. Which was stupid because I needed it to survive.
It wasn’t like I could jump into another one, like they could inAltered Carbon. Look, I might have caught a couple of shows here and there—some in other people’s apartments after the targets were taken out and they had cable, or in my apartment, on the nights I went there.
Storm followed shortly after me, and when I started messing around with the straps underneath my chin, unable to unlock them, strong, tattooed hands grabbed mine, taking care of the situation. His shirt was rumpled from where I lifted it up, and I wondered how he didn’t feel cold during our ride.
Or maybe he did, but he wanted to feel your hands on him.
Yeah, yeah, whatever. My subconscious was a raging bitch today, appearing out of nowhere and apparently enjoying this whole torture session.
His lips were pressed into a thin line as he focused on the latch that wasn’t budging. His lower lip was plumper than the upper one, and underneath the streetlight, the little scar I hadn’t seen below was visible just above his lips. My hands itched to touch him, but that was a one-way street toward fucktown, and we didn’t need that right now.
The annoying bugger finally clasped open, and he removed the helmet from my head, taking it to the bike. I was about to ask him why he didn’t worry about anybody stealing it, since he just draped it over the handlebar, but when I saw the fearful looks people around us were throwing our way, I knew why.
They all knew who he was, or if they didn’t, they knew who Sons of Hades were, and that three-headed beast was proudly painted on the side of his bike. I had a feeling that nobody wanted to be on their list, which was good security, I guess.
Maybe I could try to do the same thing with my car, though, knowing my luck, somebody would fuck with it just because of that insignia.
I fluffed my hair that got plastered to my scalp, running my hands through the long strands that needed a haircut. I mean, it wasn’t like visits to the hairdresser were on top of my list, but it was easier in this line of work if my hair wasn’t as long as it was now.
Besides, having extremely long hair meant that somebody could easily wrap their hands in it and pull, which would be a huge disadvantage in a fight.
But instead of thinking about fighting, my mind took me back to Storm’s room and the bathroom where he washed my hair, wrapping his long fingers around wet strands. Fucker was worming his way under my skin, and it both excited and worried me.
“What are we doing here?” I asked once we started walking toward the pier. I mean, unless he planned to drop my body into the ocean, or I don’t know, throw me from the Ferris Wheel, I literally had no fucking clue what we were doing here.
Not that I wouldn’t appreciate it if he decided to feed me, since my stomach started growling five miles ago. The smell of hot dogs, burgers and that round candy shit—what was it called, cotton candy?—wafted through the air, and the second wave of complaints from my stomach came to the surface.
I glanced at Storm, who was staring at me, then at my stomach, then back to my face.
I shrugged. “I’m hungry.”
