Page 69 of Cruel Lies

Fuck, I was so bad at getting ready at the drop of a hat.

Angel was waiting for me at the door, a smug look on his face as he eyed the clock. "You cut things close, don’t you?"

"Oh, fuck off, I rushed as fast as I could," I muttered, scoffing at the way he gestured out the open door like I was a princess or something. "After you, milady."

Smartass.

He turned and mumbled to Rowan, then closed the door behind him. A look of distaste curdled his gorgeous features as he eyed me warily.

"At least you wore pants, I suppose," he said to himself, then strode past me without a single glance to see if I’d followed behind. I suspected to him it didn’t matter whether I followed or not.

After all, despite his care last night for his brother’s emotions, he had no love lost for me.

Attraction, maybe. It was hard to deny there wassomethingthere. Attraction, hatred, something. But I couldn’t define it, and he wasn’t about to spell it out for me.

All I had to go on was my gut feeling. And I could trust it about as much as I could trust these boys lately.

Which was not at all.

Fantastic.

"You’re kidding me, right?"

Angel stood next to what looked like a high-speed, very dangerous street bike, the fucking thing painted Vanta Black like the damn Torino, andfuck me, why did it have to be a stupid motorcycle?—

"You ever ride one before?" He held out a helmet that looked brand new, a sticker still stretched across the back. "Hello, earth to Harper?"

"Uh, sure," I said, because, technically, it was true. I’d been on the back of exactly one in my life.

So what if I’d fallen off the back when my asshole boyfriend at the time took off?

Angel didn’t need to knowallof my secrets.

"So you know how to ride, then?"

I nodded wordlessly, sticking my tongue out at him like a petulant child. "Shut up and give me the damn helmet, Angel."

He handed it over with a look of apprehension, and I staunchly ignored him, waiting for him to get on so I could clamber up behind him and not look terribly ungraceful doing it.

I thought I managed okay. I was so worried about not looking stupid, I think I even overdid it with the high kick as I swung my leg over the fucking seat and wrapped my arms loosely around his ribcage.

His hand tapped mine as he started up the bike, but whatever he was trying to tell me was drowned out by the revving engine and his helmet. At the last minute, he tugged my arms down around his waist, and I hung on for dear life as he spun tires and peeled out of the garage, hitting the pavement with a squeal going faster than felt safe for a fucking driveway.

He didn’t even stop at the fucking end of it, just melting effortlessly into traffic as I tightened my grip on his waist and leaned into his back, hoping I didn’t fall the fuck off the second he took a turn too hard.

I didn’t miss the rumble in his chest as he laughed, though.

I’d never been so glad to be off the road in my life as when he finally pulled that fucking bike over. Unfortunately, it was painfully evident that I wasn’t used to riding a bike, especially long distances, because when he cut the engine, I moved too fast to get off the back and fell on my ass.

And, of course, he laughed.

Him and his perfect fucking hair right out of the helmet, like he hadn’t even worn one. Like he was a fucking freak of nature god or something, gracing us mere mortals with his presence as a gift.

Fucking asshole.

I bethislegs were never jello after riding on the back of a bike.

I bet he’d never even rode bitch on a bike in his life.

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