Page 38 of Biker Boo
I remember that Halloween when we were sixteen.
I punched a guy in the nose for calling herjailbait trash.
She always believed in me back then.Even when I didn’t.I was already halfway in love with her that night.
And now?
Now I’m drowning in it.
I go outside into the night, the mask still in my hand, and stare up at the black Kentucky sky.Hell’s quiet tonight.
But it won’t be for long.
There’s still one night left before the clock turns and All Hallow’s fades into November.Still one night left to behim, the man she needs even if she don’t know his name.
Her Biker Boo.
She can have her Legend.
She can worship the boy who left her every damn time it got hard.
But me?
I’ll be the one in the woods.I’ll be the breath on her neck.I’ll be the shadow behind the curtain.And when she whispers into the dark,Are you there, Biker Boo?
I’ll always be listening.
No, I ain’t the kind of monster who gets the girl… I’m the one who keeps her safe in the dark.
Becki’s hunting ghosts again.In town, I watch her behind a different mask, blending into the Halloween night.As she wanders from the party, I follow like the dog I am.This time to her father’s backyard.
Changing my mask, I become her Biker Boo.I watch her from the shadows of the crumbling church wall, the bones of this place hollow and rotted, just like the lies she tells herself.
Her boots avoid the graves.Her blood-red lipstick is smudged from drinking.I imagine she smells like candy and bourbon and longing.Like rage dressed up as desire.
She thinks she’s chasing Legend.
But it’s always been me.
I step out from behind the stone archway, the porcelain mask hiding everything she’s not ready to see.Her eyes widen when she spots me, somewhere between terror and thrill.
“Boo,” I rasp through the mask.
She flinches.Then smiles.
It’s all the invitation I need.
We collide like two wrecks drawn to each other by gravity.
I pin her to the moss-covered wall of the ruins, where the old church blocks out all the light.We are completely in the dark as my forearm braces above her head, the other gripping her hip.She gasps, not from fear, but from how badly she wants this.
Wantsme.
Her fingers claw at my hoodie, yanking me down.“You came.”
She’s trembling.But not from cold.
From need.
