Burn Into Me (21 page)

It seems the mayor is equally impressed. “That sounds like a fantastic initiative. And the city will certainly support you in every way we can. Is this a standalone project or do you have more planned?”

“The first development will be in West Chelsea, overlooking the Hudson River, and depending on its success, we will look at developing similar projects in other parts of the city.”
 

An odd feeling overcomes me; a strong sense that something he has said is significant.

“What timeframe are you looking at?”

“The apartments will be ready some time next year, but the demolition of the old buildings will take place Wednesday next week.”

Oh my God.
 

A demolition to make way for new apartments. In West Chelsea. On Wednesday.

It can’t be a coincidence. It can’t.
 

This is the demolition that The 99 is planning to derail.
 

Ryder

She is taking a hell of a long time.

While I was discussing details of the project with Martin after Mayor Williams’ enthusiastic response, Elle excused herself to go to the bathroom. I don’t know if I imagined it, but she looked uncomfortable, and now I am wondering if I should have let her go by herself.
 

Rosenberg keeps on talking, but I am not taking in what he says—all I can think about is what Elle is up to.
 

“Excuse me, Martin. I’ll be right back.”
 

Even though his facial expression tells me he’s pissed, I ignore it, making my way through the mass of guests as fast as I can, but coming across business contacts along the way slows me down. And then there are the numerous women who are trying to get my attention. Dressed in exclusive couture, they are nothing short of model perfection. A few months ago, I would have picked the most attractive one for a one-nighter. But now I can hardly distinguish between them, let alone find one I am attracted to, and when they start talking to me, touching me, they make my skin crawl.
 

I don’t know what’s happening to me. Nowadays I only have eyes for Elle—she’s like an addiction, an obsession to me. It’s like some invisible force has taken over that draws me to her like a guided missile locked into its target. And now I’m even becoming possessive, jealous; an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling that makes my stomach turn. Tonight, I haven’t been the only one who thinks she’s a breath of fresh air in a room full of model-perfect women, judging from the many appreciative gazes cast at her. So I’ve deliberately kept my arm around her all night, clearly signaling
she’s mine
. I don’t know what’s going on with me—I’m always in control of myself. But I can’t help it. Every time a man checks her out or talks to her, I feel like punching him to the ground.
 

I finally get through the throng of people, and just when I step into the foyer, I spot Elle heading towards the front door. In two strides I am right behind her.

“Going somewhere, beautiful?”

She spins around, and her eyes lock with mine. She looks pale—is she planning on leaving without telling me?

“Hey, are you okay?”

A minute shake of her head reveals how she feels, but she says, “I’m fine. Really.”

Even though she lets me pull her into my arms, her body feels stiff against me. I am confused—what have I done wrong?

“Come on, let’s find a place where we can talk.”

With my hand on her back, I lead her down the stairs, into the open-plan basement. It is noisy; loud cheering and applause emanate from the professional indoor basketball court in the center. Guests crowd around the wet bar adjacent to the professional court, which is decked out complete with scoreboard. Mounted television screens on the walls display the fundraising game that current and former NBA stars are playing against guests willing to part with ten grand for the honor.
 

I guide Elle through the throng of people until we reach the far side of the basement where I push open a double set of doors and lock them behind me. It is instantly quiet, and I blink to get used to the dimness of the room, which turns out to be a small foyer. At the end is another door. I open it, and we step inside a spacious home theater with three rows of seating.
 

A movie is playing—
The Fast and the Furious
—and when I wink at Elle, she grins back knowingly. We sit down on the chestnut-brown leather seats in the front row, and I take her cold hands into mine.
 

I say, “Now, tell me why you’re upset.”

She looks down at our intertwined hands. “I’m not—it’s nothing, really.”

“Is it something I did or say?”

She shakes her head. “Really, nothing’s wrong.”

“Is it because I called you my girlfriend?”

“Am I?” Elle looks up, straight into my eyes. “I just—I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before.”

In my mind, I punch my fist in the air—she has accepted being my girlfriend. I can’t suppress a triumphant grin while I caress her cheek with the back of my hand. “I want the whole world to know you’re mine. And once you start working with me on the project, everyone will find out.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I’ll work with you.”
 

I feel my heart sink a little. I was sure she would be keen to get involved, especially since she’s so passionate about the issue of homelessness.
 

“But,” she says, “I can tell it’s going to make a difference to a lot of homeless kids. Actually, I think it’s pretty damn amazing. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about it before.” Her eyes light up, and I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“I didn’t want you to think I was out to impress you. I wanted you to get to know me for
me
, not for the things I do.”

Her lips curve into a provocative smile. “Ryder, I never expected to say this, but for someone as obnoxious as you, you can be too modest sometimes.”

“Is that a compliment, beautiful?”

“Hmm…that depends. I don’t want you to get more bigheaded than you already are.”

“Bigheaded, huh?”
 

Smirking, I slide my arm around her slender waist. “I’ll show you bigheaded.”

Raising the armrest between us, I lean over and cover her mouth with mine. She opens up to me, and my tongue finds hers, all hot and eager. I can never get enough of her sweet taste. My hands curve along her hips, around her waist, and in one motion, I pull her on my lap so she straddles me. Her dress parts at the split, causing the skirt to ride up her thighs.
 

My hand yanks down her dress strap, dragging her bra with it, and greedily cups her breast. I slide my other hand up and along her silky thigh until I find her panties, damp with her arousal.
 

“You’re so wet. Tell me you want me.”

“I want you. Now. Inside me.”
 

I rip off her panties while her slender fingers undo my pants and push them down just enough for them to close around my rock-hard cock. While she sweeps her tongue in my mouth, she starts moving her hand up and down. I almost shoot off so I grasp her wrist. “Stop. You’re killing me here.”

She squeezes me hard, and I fumble in my pocket for a condom, rolling it on in record time before she lowers herself onto me. I thrust forward, burrowing myself up to the hilt. We moan simultaneously, with Elle tossing her head back, her long dark hair trailing over the tattoo on her back. I hold onto her hips, pounding into her again and again as she meets me stroke for stroke.
 

In the background, the sound of revving engines reverberates throughout the theatre, sending vibrations to my seat. The music intensifies together with the roar of car engines and the horn of an approaching train. At the sound of a crash, I make a hard, final thrust and find my explosive release, with Elle following right behind me.
 

Still buried inside her, I draw her against me, my nose in her hair, breathing in her exotic scent. I wish we could stay like this forever. I feel a connection with her that I’ve never felt with anyone before.
 

There’s no way in hell I’m ever going to let her go.

Elle

The meeting seems to go on forever.
 

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I tap my foot impatiently. Another ten minutes.
 

After I found out about Ryder’s project at the charity event, I’ve been dying to talk to Adam, to talk him out of occupying the development site and preventing the demolition. I am sure an occupation would create a lot of publicity, but once it becomes known what the development is really about, it will undermine the credibility of The 99, and worse, it will wreck Ryder’s plans, which are going to help so many people who are in dire need of it. I have to stop them.
 

“Thanks everyone for coming tonight.”

Adam closes the meeting—finally. I wait for everyone to get up, put their chairs away, and leave the classroom, until only he and I remain.

Adam clears the leaflets off the side table against the wall. “Haven’t seen you around for a while.”
 

“I’ve been busy studying. I’ve fallen behind. So, what’s been happening?” I ask, trying to use a casual tone.

“Remember we talked about those luxury apartments they’re building in Chelsea? Well, it’s definitely going through. We’re going to stop that demolition. We’re going to show those assholes that we’re not going to stand for Manhattan becoming exclusive to the one per cent.”

He whacks a pile of leaflets on the table to make his point, and I know I have to play it cool, otherwise he won’t listen to me.
 

“Listen, Adam, I’ve been looking into that. And I found out maybe you’ve got it wrong. I heard from a reliable source that those apartments aren’t going to be expensive condos at all. They’re building low-cost housing for homeless families, for homeless kids. That demolition should definitely not be stopped.”

Adam’s brows draw together in a frown. “How can you be so sure? How reliable is your source?”

No way I will tell him about Ryder. He’ll see me as someone who is colluding with the enemy—a traitor. I know I have to come clean one day, but I’m not ready yet. Even though I’ve decided to make Ryder a part of my life, I still don’t know where we are going—if we’re going anywhere. The only thing I can do is try to protect him as much as I can. It would kill me if he’d be hurt somehow by the actions of The 99, especially when I could have done something to stop them.
 

“I’m very sure. I can even get you the plans. The complex that’s going to be built will not only have apartments, but it’s going to have a whole network of support. There will be counseling, childcare centers, and everything else. Seriously, it’s going to make a huge difference for a lot of homeless families. It’s going to change lives. This is not something anyone should stand in the way of.”

I am careful not to say “we” when talking about the group. They’ve been part of my life for a long time, but if I am considering having any future with Ryder, I know I will have to cut ties with them eventually, and I prefer to do it gently and slowly.
 

A flash of disappointment appears in Adam’s eyes. “If you can prove it, show me the plans, then yeah, we should set our sights on something else.”

“Good. I’ll email them to you. And let me know what you come up with next.”

I pick up my bag from under the table. “Anyway, I have to go. Have a funeral to go to.”

We say our goodbyes, and with a sigh of relief, I make my way out of the building. I’ll have to hurry to make it in time for the funeral wake.
 

Two mornings ago, a call at some ungodly hour woke me from my slumber. It was Damon, telling me that CJ had been involved in an accident. He had been in a street race, and his death was instant. Even though CJ and I hadn’t been close, I felt sad nonetheless. He’d been a formidable opponent, and I had enormous respect for him. CJ was no rookie by any means—he’d been in the game long enough to know the dangers. This just shows that it could have happened to anyone. It could have happened to Damon; it could have been me. That is why I’ve been warning Ryder against street racing. It could have been
him
, and I wouldn’t know how I’d live with myself if it were.

I pick up my bike from the lock-up, noticing Damon’s is already gone, and ride to my apartment building. From a distance, I see Ryder standing next to his bike, waiting for me to go to the wake together. I speed to where he is waiting, brake hard, jump off, and tear off my helmet. I am so happy to see him, I run straight into his arms. Tangling his fingers in my hair, he presses his mouth to mine, and I melt into his kiss. I don’t know what he’s done to me; I’ve regressed into the infatuated teen that I’ve never been.
 

Just looking at the grin on his face when we pull away makes my insides flip.

“I missed you, beautiful.”

“I missed you, too.”

I haul him towards me, and when his mouth covers mine for another hot, deep kiss, I wish it would never end. But it does, and Ryder gently untangles himself from me, leaving me feeling empty and cold after the warmth of his embrace.

“We better get going, otherwise we’ll be late,” he says, his voice cracking a little.

Sighing, I get back on my bike. I don’t know if it’s me or the weather, but I feel frozen to the bone when we ride to the funeral wake. We stop behind a mass of bike riders, many of them familiar faces. Flashes from police car lights bounce off the shiny bikes that block off the whole street from traffic. Rather than attend the wake itself, we will partake in a ride-by with his club and other riders who have known him from the racing circuit.
 

In front of the Abyssinian Baptist Church stands a black hearse with its back doors open. The family stand in a straight line on the curb, and when a group of young black men pick up the casket, an older woman—his mom or his aunt—wails loudly and shakes her fist at us bike riders. Apparently his family never approved of his racing, and now they’re blaming the street racing community for his death.