Page 59 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

I rush to the front door, grabbing my keys off the table on the way out. Instead of going out the main entrance, I make my way to the parking garage below our building, rush straight toward my motorcycle, and shove the key into the ignition. The voice of my sister floats through my head and I reluctantly slide my head into my helmet before shifting into gear and launching myself out of the parking spot.

I dart through traffic, not stopping at a single red light or stop sign. I go onto sidewalks, drive on the wrong side of the road, and cross one-ways in the wrong direction to get there as fast as my bike will take me. I accidentally clip a car's mirror, my arm taking the brunt of the hit, pain rippling through me. My back wheel comes off the ground as I skid to a stop to avoid hitting a woman pushing a stroller, and then once it returns to the pavement, the front wheel goes up as I speed away.

I push myself and the bike harder, faster, until my forearms ache from the force of the ride.

Except when I lock up my brakes in front of Rao's, I realize London's location has changed and she's now a block away from me. Revving the motor, I go back into action, zipping away from the chaos erupting outside of Rao's and following her trail.

I spot his stupid car up ahead and I blaze through the traffic between us to catch up to them. Making a fist, I bang on the back window and ride alongside the vehicle. I hit it harder and yell, "Open the fucking window."

The thing goes down a moment later, Drew sitting closest to me. "Can I help you?" he calls out to me.

"Pull over," I tell him.

He doesn't comply, he doesn't even entertain me—instead, he reaches for the button to roll the window up.

But I prepared for that, so I put my hand between the window and the frame as it starts to roll up, my hand getting smashed in the window but not before I start yanking it aggressively and buckling the entire window from its pane.

With one final tug, the window shatters, a shard of glass still in my fist. "I will ram this through your throat if you don't stop this car."

"Don't stop," London calls out. "Driver, keep going."

I accelerate and shoot ahead of the car, slamming on my brakes and stopping myself in front of the vehicle. If they want to keep going, they're going to have to kill me first.

Drew's car screeches to a halt and a moment later, both back doors open as horns blare from all around us.

London rushes over. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

I hop off my bike and yank my helmet over my head with my free hand, the other still holding on to the glass, the sharpness slicing through my palm. "Put this on and get on the bike, London." I shove my helmet toward her, but she crosses her arms.

"What's the problem here?" Drew says as he approaches, his sights finally landing on me and realizing who I am. His expression shifts immediately. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you, Archer."

I step toward him, sirens blaring in the distance, and nudge the piece of glass into his torso. "If you ever so much as look at her again, I will fucking end you. Do you understand?"

He nods briskly and sweat glistens on his upper lip. "I do."

"You're just going to let him intimidate you?" London mouths off to Drew. "You fucking coward."

I drop the glass, no longer having any use for it, and move closer to London. Without her consent, I slide the helmet over her head, not giving her a chance to protest, and buckle the chin strap tightly.

"What the fuck, Archer? I'm not getting on that thing with you." She motions to her dress.

"You get on the bike willingly or I'll put you on the bike myself." I ignore the commotion around us, not giving a fuck about anyone or what they might think.

"I'm not getting on there. You can't make me." London keeps her arms crossed, her head bobbling with the oversized helmet.

"Fair enough." I scoop her into my arms with ease, turning to walk toward my bike.

"Archer!" she gasps and pounds at my chest.

A second later, I hoist the two of us onto the seat. "Put your arms around my neck, little tornado." I position her small body in my lap, using my left hand to secure her legs over my leg. Her cast is awkward and bulky but I make it work because I have to.

"This is fucking insane," London yells through the helmet.

"Shh," I tell her and start the engine. Leaning forward, my torso presses against hers as I shift into gear and take off from this random street corner.

London remains quiet for the entirety of the ride back to our apartment complex, her grip around my neck tight and lasting. I make sure to stop at every red light and stop sign and obey the speed limit. I don't care about breaking the law, butthe way she's riding with me leaves too many opportunities for something to go wrong.

It isn't until I pull us into the parking garage and shut off the engine that London seems to come back to life.

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