Page 13 of Dance with the Devil

Besides, the taco place was only fifteen minutes away. Less if I speed, which I wouldn’t normally do with such precious cargo clinging to my waist. But as soon as I caught on to our tail, I floored it.

They matched our pace, even after I started weaving around other cars.

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have drawn a version of the pale pink butterfly onto the white helmet I bought for Genevieve. She was so pleased when she saw I personalized it, as though part of her had suspected that I treat every girl I’ve ever been with the same way I do her.

Not even close. I didn’t even know how to pick out a women’s hamlet since this is the first one I’ve ever bought, and I was luckythat Nic let me use her head as a guide to see if it would fit before I offered it to Genevieve.

Luckily, their heads are about the same shape and it worked. It fit Genevieve perfectly, both concealing her face when she didn’t want anyone to know she was sneaking out of the East End and adding protection to her in case something happened to my back.

I’ve never crashed before. I’m a good driver because, despite the shit I’ve gone through, it’s not like I want to die. I just wish my familyhadn’t. With Genevieve clinging to me tightly… I’m doubly as careful.

But the helmet that’ll cradle her head in case somethingdoeshappen has a downside: anyone who knows she’s the gorgeous face beneath the butterfly will be able to track us through Springfield.

My bike’s not so unique. It’s a basic Kawasaki cruiser, and my helmet is a dinged-up black, standard issue motorcycle helmet. There are more than anything bikers in the Sinners Syndicate that I could blend in with the traffic.

I could.

Genevieve can’t.

It would be pointless to try to tell her to lose the helmet. Whoever is following us is already on our ass, and turning the afternoon drive into something more dangerous than it might be is a stupid fucking idea.

I can’t grab my piece, either. To grab my concealed carry pistol from my ankle holster, I’d have to risk tipping over my bike or slowing down enough for them to catch up. I didn’t want Genevieve to know that I carry around her, either, but if the choice is between letting something happen to her or blowing up my ‘nice guy’ persona in front of her, I know what I’ll have to do.

I never get the chance.

So concerned with the black car following us, I never see the white van come barreling toward us from my left side. Ignoring the red light, it plows right through it the second I push my bike through the next intersection.

A split second before it makes contact, I have a moment of sudden clarity.

The black car wasn’t following us, I realize. It washerdingus.

Without meaning to, I went exactly where they want me to go: the run-down section of the West Side where it only comes to life at night. During the day, it’s a ghost town, and no one is there to witness it as the van sideswipes my books, I lose control, and my bike skids out from beneath me.

Genevieve screams. That’s all I hear before the motorcycle lands on its side, bouncing on the asphalt. I’m still clutching the handlebars. Genevieve is still clutching me. My leather jacket tears as we hit the ground. If my thick bomber is toast, the sweatshirt Genevieve pulled on over her sundress doesn’t have a chance.

And that’s if she survives the crash.

Considering the side of my helmet slams into the road, my head rattling around inside of it before my vision goes black, I don’t even know ifIwill.

FIVE

TRAPPED

GENEVIEVE

Iremember a crash.

I remember a scream.

I remember thinking I was dead, and hoping that Damien doesn’t blame himself for his wayward sister dying on the back of Sinner’s motorcycle—or that he doesn’t use that reality to put his hard-won truce in jeopardy, either.

I don’t know all of the details. Just that, for years, the Dragonflies and the Sinners Syndicate were at odds, close to coming to blows and heading toward all-out war, until my brother somehow managed to convince the Devil of Springfield to agree to a truce. The Dragonflies would continue running the drug trade and our counterfeiting ring, the Sinners would get their guns, their girls, and the gambling at their private casino, tucked away in the back room of the Playground. At the same time, both gangs would work together if necessary, the same way Damien and Devil met up to discuss how to take down Jimmy Winter before the white-haired freak got killed going up against my brother.

As much as I’m sure Dame prefers to think otherwise, I’m notthatnaive. I know that Jimmy Winter isn’t the only threat to the Family. When he died two weeks ago, Damien expected repercussions.

Heexpected them.

My mistake was in forgetting that, if someone really wanted to hurt Damien, I was the perfect target. Well, me or Savannah, but Savannah went ahead and changed up her style before dying her hair from a rich black color to a mahogany shade that suited her much better. Me? I thought that the helmet Cross gave me would be enough to hide my identity, and whether it did or didn’t, one thing’s for sure: my head is aching, my body feels like I’ve been hit by a fucking truck, my leg is on fire, but I’malive. Considering my last memories consist of that scream and a horrifying crash, the helmet probably is to thank for that.

---