Page 95 of The Invite
Why did it have to be her?
Up until the night of the knife incident, everything was going perfectly on the right track. I need to go back tobeing who I was before then. No letting her weaknesses get to my head and no forgetting my end goal.
To get her to admit that she made a false accusation.
If she doesn’t, then I’ll have no choice but to expose that she’s my dirty little whore.
Either way, she’ll be proven a liar.
Once I finish with Nessa, not only will she hate me, but she’ll hate herself too. That will be my ultimate revenge.
Come tomorrow, I’ll be back to being her monster.
Tonight, I’m going to get my head on straight.
Pulling out my phone, I text Maverick.
ME: Meet me at the tracks.
A second later, he responds.
MAVERICK: On my way.
Grabbing my leather jacket, I leave the house and head to the outside garage. My gaze lands on my Ducati Diavel motorcycle when I enter and adrenaline pumps in my veins. It’s my precious baby.
A sleek black beast that never fails to make me feel alive. When I’m riding it, nothing but the engine’s purr and the world whipping past me exists.
It may as well be an extension of my body.
I’ve always gravitated toward motorcycles more than cars. My love for them had been passed down by myfather. The most cherished memories I have with him have revolved around bikes. He knew them inside out.
His collection of some of the best vintage and limited editions sits in the second garage. My mother wanted to get rid of them after he passed away, but I threw a fit and didn’t allow her.
It was the last piece that connected me to him. I wasn’t selling them to some random stranger for any amount of money.
My chest squeezes with the familiar pang as I think about my dad, but I ignore it and straddle my bike. Sliding on my helmet, I turn on the ignition and it lets loose its throaty purr, bringing a smile to my face.
Pulling out of the garage, I zoom past our circular driveway and into the street. In seconds, I’m out of the gated community I live in and head to the other side of the town. For the next hour, my mind is in a peaceful silence.
Halfway to the tracks, Maverick catches up to me on his motorcycle. I recognize him before he reaches beside me. His face isalso hidden behind his helmet. Lifting his visor, he winks and speeds up.
Leaning forward, I rev the engine and give Maverick some friendly competition.
Soon, both of us reach our location and slow down when we enter the circuit. It’s an illegal makeshift race course run by the Tanner siblings on the weekends. This area used to be a railway track before it was abandoned.
The crowd is thick and loud. Music blares from the speakers being played by a DJ on a stage while booze and drugs are passed around freely.
It’s the perfect place to blow off steam.
Most of them recognize us at first glance and stare with wide and curious eyes as we park our bikes and slide off. This is the second time I’ve come here. Removing my helmet, I place it on the passenger seat and lean against my bike.
It’s not long before one of the loyal lackeys runs to tell the self-appointed owner about our arrival. No one from our school will set foot in this part of town, which saves me from maintaining the façade.
Maverick lights up a cigarette and blows smoke upward. Glancing around and winking at a group of girls ogling us, he asks me, “Are we here to pick a fight? I am in the mood for that.”
Did I mention this place hosts illegal boxing matches and MMA fights?
“Save it for yourself.”
