Page 87 of Gatsby's Starlet
Devil pulled up alongside the front, his bike angled just enough to take lead. His presence alone shifted the line, tightened it, pulled everything into place without a word.
One by one, headlights cut forward and the first bikes rolled out onto the road, gravel spitting under the tires, engines climbing just enough to sayit's time.
I fell in without hesitation. The line tightened as we hit pavement, the sound building, louder now, sharper, bouncing off the trees like it was carrying ahead of us.
Wind hit hard once we picked up speed. Tore past, dragged at my cut, bit at my skin. Didn't register past a point. The focus had locked in the second we moved and everything else had fallen away.
The throttle twisted a little further without me thinking about it. Bike pulled ahead just enough to close the gap, the line holding, the formation tight.
No one broke it. We rode like one thing. One purpose. One direction. One way this ended.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I DIDN’T WAITfor the fear to settle, becauseI knew if I did it would root me in place, and this wasn’t somewhere you stayed still and survived, not with the walls closing in the way they felt like they were, not with the air sitting heavy and damp in my lungs every time I breathed.
“Help me,” I said, already moving toward the far side where the wall looked rougher, uneven in a way the rest of it wasn’t, like whoever dug this hadn’t cared about smoothing it out, just about making it deep enough.
Ruby didn’t answer right away, but I heard her shift behind me, heard the scrape of her shoes against the dirt as she pushed herself up and followed, her breathing sharper now, less controlled.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tight.
“Getting us out,” I said, because I needed that to be true, even if I didn’t know how yet.
I pressed my hands against the wall, feeling along it slowly, searching for anything that gave even slightly under pressure, any weak point, any edge or break that didn’t belong, the dirt cool and packed hard beneath my palms except in small places where it crumbled just enough to catch my attention.
“Start checking,” I added, glancing back at her. “Don’t just stand there.”
That got her moving.
I could hear it in the way she started working the opposite side, faster than I was, more frantic, her hands scraping harder against the surface, pulling loose dirt that fell uselessly at her feet.
“There’s nothing,” she said after a few seconds, her voice rising. “It’s just dirt—”
“Then we make something,” I cut in, harsher, because she needed to stop panicking and think.
I kept moving, inch by inch, fingers dragging along every uneven patch, every shift in texture, until I found something that wasn’t right, not loose, not soft, but different.
Hard. Stone. Buried just under the packed dirt.
“Here,” I said, dropping lower, digging at it with my fingers, pushing past the sting as the dirt packed under my nails. “There’s something here—help me.”
Ruby was beside me a second later, her movements rough but focused now, both of us working at the same spot, pulling dirt away piece by piece until the edge of the stone showed clearer, flat on one side, angled slightly like it hadn’t settled all the way in.
“Think it moves?” she asked, her voice quieter now, hope creeping in whether she wanted it to or not.
“It has to,” I said, even though I didn’t know that.
We dug faster after that, clearing enough around it to get our fingers under the edge, the dirt shifting just enough to give us space.
“On three,” I said, adjusting my grip. “One—two—”
We pushed.
Nothing.
The stone didn’t budge.
“Again,” I said immediately, repositioning, forcing my fingers deeper under the edge, ignoring the way the pressure bit into my skin.
