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The sound fills the concrete and climbs my spine. We shoot up the ramp and explode into the street.

Wind. Glare. The city ripping past on both sides.

I hold on. I have to. But I also want to.

“Let’s fucking go,” I cry out, encouraging Dmitri to push faster.

The bike leans then accelerates. My thighs clamp. Dmitri’s waist is solid under my hands.

Respect, I told myself in the kitchen.

You’re not a toy.

Now maybe Dmitri is seeing that I can handle whatever he wants to throw at me—and more.

But the wind does not care what I told myself. It only cares that I am here, holding the devil, flying through a city that still thinks I am nobody.

I keep my arms tight.

I keep my mind sharper.

Somewhere ahead is the mission Dmitri has not explained yet.

Somewhere else is Zane, waiting for a meeting I may not be able to take.

The lights change. Green to red. But we do not slow.

The city opens.

And the real work begins…

10

DMITRI

Iopen the Kawasaki up.

Not all at once. In pieces…

A hard surge out of the light. A lean that asks the boy’s thighs a question. Another burst down a straight that makes the city smear.

I am testing Elias.

Most boys would claw and freeze. Elias does neither. What I feel instead is his body answering the speed. He grinds against me.

It’s not a slip. It’s a rhythm. His crotch pressed to the base of my spine, rolling with the engine like the risk is a hand between his legs. Heat comes through the denim in more ways than one.

I almost laugh into the helmet. Then I almost ask if he just climaxed on the back of my bike in traffic.

Maybe he did. Mayne he didn’t.

I cut the throttle only when the boutique hotel rises on the opposite curb…

Pretty stone. Intricate flags. The kind of place that sells discretion to men who have none.

Lucci ground.

Not their fortress. Not an official place of business.