Page 22 of Monstrous Serpent

My body's been restless all week. The dorm makes it worse. Even the couple I was supposed to fuck did nothing for me. I walked into their room, looked at them, then left.

Thought the ride would help, especially since Atlas’s eyes are better.

Except what I need is to scratch the itch that’s getting louder under my skin. Except we haven’t found someone worth putting into the ground, and I won’t become my father. I won’t kill an innocent person.

I catch up to Atlas, rev the bike, then point to my gas tank. He nods and follows me off the next exit to the nearest station. We pull up to the pumps, cutting the engines before fueling.

Atlas flips up his visor. “How come you came home early? Something happen with that couple?”

“Didn’t want to be there.”

He huffs. “Yeah no, okay.”

I stare at him. “Problem.”

“Nope.” He taps off, then screws the gas cap back on.

He’s been snapping all week. Won’t tell me what the problem is. Can’t figure it out either, which means I can’t fix it.

And I need to fix it for him.

“Stop staring at me. I'm fine.”

My jaw clenches. “You’re not.”

He shoves his visor back down, mumbling something I can’t understand. Whatever it is, I’ll get it out of him. But right now, I let it go.

Once the pump clicks, I hang the nozzle, screw the cap back on, and then start the engine.

Atlas pulls out first. I fall in behind him, and once we’re on the parkway, I accelerate past, heading north.

A BMW drifts into my lane without signaling. I cut right, keep the throttle steady, and clear him before he finishes the merge.

New York.

Too many cars. Too many drivers doing dumb shit.

Duluth rides are different. Dark roads. Empty stretches. Smoother pavement. My body settles there.

Here, it doesn’t.

We push ahead, putting distance between us and the traffic stacking up behind us. Atlas blows past me before popping a wheelie. I close the gap until we're trading the lead back and forth, engines screaming in the dark.

The sign for Rosewood Bay shows up, and I take the exit.

Atlas pulls up beside me at the light, lifting his visor. “Where are you going?”

“The harbor.”

“Why?”

The light turns green. I go without answering.

The roads leading to the harbor wind, and I lean into each turn without slowing down, tracking for cops. Last thing I need is Rosewood Bay cops on our ass. Their badges bend for the families that own this village.

Including the one the Titans’ captain comes from.

The harbor lot is half-full. I pull in, kill the engine, take off my helmet, then scan the streets. Storefronts. Parked cars. Foot traffic. Three ways out. No threats.