Page 116 of Healed

“You’re a strange person, princess.”

My mouth fell open, and a disbelieving laugh left my lips.

“Well, if that’s not the pot calling the other pot a black kettle.”

“The pot calling the kettle black,” he corrected.

“That’s what I said.”

“Of course it is,” he replied, shaking his head. “Get your gear on. I’m itching for a ride. I’ve been cooped up in here far too long.”

“Do you have Doc’s approval?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he scoffed, looking unbelievably offended. “I don’t need his permission to ride my girl. And she has missed me.”

Holy cow, if that wasn’t a loaded comment.

“Be ready in five,” he said with a smirk.

So he had meant it as a double entendre then!

He closed my door gently, and the countdown to our ride began.

“My God, I forgot what a fucking beast she is,” I breathed a little while later.

He hadn’t needed to tell me twice.

There was a lot I was reluctant to do here, not wanting to overstep my place. But give me the offer of an afternoon on the back of a bike and I was sold.

I’d raced to tie my hair up and throw on one of Vienna’s leather jackets—because I would not be caught dead riding without proper gear—and as I’d gone outside, Vienna had already been waiting for me, propped up on his bike, looking like sin personified.

Vienna was hot. There was no doubt about it. He was over six and a half feet of solid muscle, covered in tattoos, and, despite his beard being that little bit too long—though I’d never admit it to him, and it had made a very nice saddle last night—he looked like a blonde god come to life.

And then my eyes had fallen to his bike, and God help me, I forgot the man and all I could focus on was the beast.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Vienna grinned with pride.

“I can’t believe the condition of her! She’s still the same…?”

“As if I would ever give her up,” he scoffed back.

He’d had this bike since he had been patched into the club. Upon graduating from Descendent status, Crash had taken all the youths to pick out their own bike.

A few years earlier, Macbeth had already picked something flashy and modern, bragging to anyone who would listen about his being the future. But Dante and Vienna had taken their time. They didn’t want something straight out of the showroom. They wanted something timeless. Something elegant. Even when every other member of the Descendents had their bikes, these two were still researching and sourcing their dream bikes.

Until, eventually, they both rocked up with Harley-Davidson Softail Heritage Classics.

Vienna had picked me up later that night and we’d ridden up and down the city, laughing until our stomachs hurt. And then we’d christened the bike at the back of the Devil’s clubhouse.

“I can’t believe she still looks like this,” I breathed, running my hand over the frame, lost in a million memories of her. “She looks brand new!”

“Same frame,” he boasted proudly. “Though she’s on her second engine and third exhaust. Also needed new forks after Chicken once tried to kill me over an innocent joke.”

“I’m sure it was very innocent,” I laughed back.

He wiggled his eyebrows at me and then continued showing off his pride and joy.

“Different bars. But same seat. And the same girl.”