Page 45 of Watch Me Turn
Black Betty.
My beloved motorcycle sits there, the body gleaming even in the darkness, her black curves and polished chrome still flawless. Every scratch I remember, every modification I made with my own hands—she's exactly as I left her.
"How—" The word comes out strangled. "How did you get her?"
"I went back," he says simply. "To the bunker to look for signs of you, and I found this, and I just knew she was yours. I thought you might want her back." He runs his hand along the seat. "I hope everything is in order? I was careful loading her up. I didn't want to scratch anything."
I can't speak. Can't move. I just stare at Black Betty like she might disappear if I blink.
"I know she's not wings," Angel says quietly, stepping closer. "But maybe she's the next best thing?"
I turn to him, and this time I don't try to stop the tears. "You did this for me."
"Of course I did." He cups my face in his hands. "Sophia, I'd go anywhere for you. Do anything for you. Take an eternity of beatings for you. His thumb brushes across my cheek. "You gave up everything so I could live. The least I could do was bring back a piece of what you lost."
I jump into his arms, and he catches me, pushing me back against the side of the truck. His hands find the snaps of my coveralls and tear them open with such force the metal fasteners pop free. He kisses my neck, his mouth hot against my skin, and I arch into him, my fingers threading through his pomaded hair and ruining it completely.
Out here in the darkness, with nothing but the desert wind and the distant hum of power lines, I don't care who might drive past. Don't care if some cartel runner or desperate traveler catches us in their headlights. All that matters is his hands on my waist, his teeth grazing my throat, the way my body remembers his even after six weeks apart.
But then reality crashes back in.
"Wait." I press my palm against his chest, breathless. "Not here. If anyone sees—if word gets back to La Madre?—"
He pulls back, his pupils dilated, chest heaving. "Right. Of course." He runs a hand over his ruined hair, looking as wrecked as I feel.
I straighten my coveralls with shaking hands, trying to refasten the broken snaps. "She's expressly forbidden me from seeing you. She made it very clear. Contact with you means she'll take my wings for good."
Angel's jaw tightens, but he nods slowly. Then something shifts in his expression—that same determined look from earlier. "Then let me give you something she can't refuse."
"What do you mean?"
"Information. Lazaro is threatened by the Malditas' power," he says, voice low and urgent. "He's already talking about it. Planning. He wants to eliminate anyone or anything that could stand against him." His eyes lock on mine. "Tell La Madre I'll be her eyes and ears at the Hollow. They’ll kill me if they found out, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s worth risking everything to keep you safe."
My breath catches. "You can't be serious?—"
"Tell her I'll only deliver the information to you. In person. Once a week." He gestures to the empty highway around us. "We'll meet here. Same spot, same night." His hand finds mine, squeezes. "It's not perfect, Sophia. But it's all I can give you right now. Until I find a way for us to be together forever."
I look at him—this man who died and came back, who tracked me down because he couldn't live without me, who's offering to betray the most dangerous vampire in Texas just so he can see me once a week on a deserted highway.
"She might say no," I warn him. "She might tell me to kill you for even suggesting it."
"Then I'll die knowing I tried." He lifts my grease-stained hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. "But I don't think she will. If what you've said about La Madre is true, she'll do anything to protect you and your sisters."
He's right. She's a survivor above all else. And information from inside Lazaro's operation? That's worth more than her anger toward me.
"Next Saturday," I say. "Midnight. Right here."
"Midnight," he confirms. "I'll be waiting."
We stand there for a moment, neither of us wanting to be the first to leave. Finally, Angel reaches into the truck bed and pulls out a helmet. Shiny, black, and brand new with gold wings painted on the side.
"I almost forgot. I got you this in case you want to take her for a ride tonight," he says, handing it to me.
I turn the helmet over in my hands, tracing the wings with my thumb. They're not real, just paint, but the protective gesture, the thoughtfulness of it makes me melt.
"Thank you," I whisper. "It's beautiful."
"Wear it," he warns.
