Page 81 of Raise Hell

“Slight change of plan. Everybody bailed because there isn’t anything good playing.”

I shove my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket, one hand clutching the rosary I always keep there. “Does that mean you want to call this off?”

“And let you off easy? I don’t think so.” He points to the scratches on the side of the Ducati that haven’t been buffed out yet. “You still owe me, remember?”

“So, just the two of us. Going out?”

“Sure.”

My fingers clench around a bead. I’m strong enough to withstand the cult of his personality. Just because every girl he ever met has fallen at his feet, does not mean I will. “And what did you have in mind?”

“Thought we might just go for a ride.”

“Maybe I should change clothes,” I say, as much to stall for time as anything else.

“If you want to brave it.” His gaze flicks to something over my head. “I think we have an audience.”

I follow his gaze to the third story of the building. Anya has her face pressed against the glass as she avidly stares down at us. When she catches us watching her, the curtains pull sharply closed.

Anya had spent the last hour following me around the apartment and peppering me with questions about my date with Drake Van Koch. No matter how many times I assured her that it was a group hangout, she kept insisting that this has to be something more.

“Drake Van Koch doesn’t date,” she kept repeating like a parrot with Tourette’s syndrome. “Drake never goes on dates.”

If I go back up there now, I won’t be leaving again anytime soon. Her torrent of comments and questions is worse than anything Drake might come up with to torture me.

“I assume you’re used to being the center of attention,” I snort, turning back to face him. “Let’s go.”

He holds a spare helmet out to me with a smirk. “You’re one to talk. Everything about you screams look at me.”

I can’t decide if I should be offended. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Neither, just an observation.” His neutral tone gives absolutely nothing away. “Hop on.”

“Tell me why you’re doing this first,” I insist. “You don’t want to just take me for a ride, unless it’s because you’re planning to strand me in the middle of nowhere. What gives?”

He eyes me with open curiosity. “I have never met a girl who fights me as hard as you do. Most of them would already be on the bike before I finished offering them a ride.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the humble bragging. “What’s your point?”

“My point is maybe that’s why.” His gaze passes over me, full of heat. “You don’t make anything easy.”

Instead of trying to think of a response, I take the helmet from him instead. “Fine, let’s go.”

It’s a trick. It’s a trick. It’s a trick.

If I keep telling myself that long enough, eventually I’ll convince the treacherous part of me that wants to lick the sweat off his abs.

His scent wafts around me as I’m forced to press myself against his back. Leather. Cyprus. A hint of something sweet, like vanilla. I resist the urge to deeply inhale, because I’ve never smelled anything like it. Drake Van Koch is probably the type to get his cologne custom made. The department store perfume counter is much too pedestrian for someone like him.

But no matter how much I might roll my eyes, he smells damn good.

He also feels good.

I force those thoughts away with a little shake of my head. The devil’s servants can be as beautiful as angels, if it serves their purpose. My attraction for him is just more reason to keep my guard up.

You can be sexually attracted to someone and still hate literally everything about them.

Nerves roil my gut as I climb onto the back of the Ducati. I should be working harder to figure out who attacked my sister or focusing on getting the police off their asses enough to do their jobs and investigate.

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