The Girl Who Wasn't (14 page)

I hesitate. I know there is something
he isn’t telling me, like the fact that I will never be without a
camera on me, no matter where I go. And of course there’s my GPS.
But the offer is too good to pass up and I rise to my feet, half
expecting him to laugh at me and tell me it’s a joke. He doesn’t.
Instead, he smiles a knowing smile and watches me leave.

“
See you later, daughter,”
he calls out behind me.

I don’t turn.

My steps are methodical as I wind
around the circular hallway to the elevator. I don’t bother
stopping at my room to change or dab on more makeup. I’m too afraid
Titus will change his mind and lock me away after all. I make it
into the elevator without seeing a single security guard. The door
closes and in this moment, freedom—however contrived—is so close I
can taste it.

The elevator stops and the doors open
to the lobby. My boots echo against the hard floor, a fast-paced
click-click as I hurry toward fresh air. The doorman sees me
coming, tips his hat, and pulls open the door for me. I pass
through and relish the feel of the air as it hits my face and legs.
I hold my skirt down to keep it from blowing up around
me.

Three steps onto the sidewalk, I stop.
I have no idea where to go from here. My familiarity of the city
ends at the curb, where I’ve only ever been ushered into a waiting
car and swept away. Now, with the entire city at my fingertips, I
have absolutely no clue what to do next. The thought of escape
cloys at the back of my thoughts but I don’t plan to try. For one
thing, I know it’s what Titus expects. I am not so naïve that I
don’t recognize this as a test. But more importantly, I promised
Linc.

I am also very aware that I appear
alone. And though I don’t doubt Titus is somehow watching, I feel
like bait dangling from a hook. Whoever wants me will no doubt come
for me should I attempt a tour through the city on my
own.

Car engines groan and whine as they
whir past me. The smell of exhaust is everywhere, mixing with the
expensive colognes of passersby in a way that makes me wrinkle my
nose. I shift my weight, looking this way and that, trying to pick
the least dangerous direction to wander.

The longer I stand here, the more I
feel like a target.

An engine sounds from behind, louder
than the passing cars. It dies off as it reaches me and I turn.
It’s a motorcycle, shiny black. I cannot see the rider’s face
through his reflective helmet but I know him by the shape of his
body. I think I would know him anywhere. Linc.

He flips the front of his helmet up,
exposing the top half of his face. “Wanna ride?” he asks over the
sound of traffic.

We haven’t spoken since he walked away
from me on the rooftop, but if he’s offering me a ride, I suspect
some sort of truce is in effect. I decide to go with it, especially
if it means getting back on the motorcycle.

I start to tell him yes, then glance
over my shoulder at Rogen Tower. The windows feel like pupils:
cold, unblinking, always watching. I hesitate. He looks at the
building, as if guessing my reluctance. His hand rolls forward on
the throttle and the engine revs. Throaty. Loud.
Convincing.

“
Gus cleared it,” he
adds.

My lips curve upward at that, and I
take the helmet he offers. When it’s fastened, I slide in behind
him, loving the way my body tingles where it touches his back. I
tuck my skirt in around me and slide my hands around his
midsection, the gesture at once both new and familiar.

“
Where are we going?” I call
out as his foot works the gears and we ease into
traffic.

“
Where do you want to go?”
he shouts back.

I try to think of an area in the city I
want to see again but there’s nothing. Everywhere I’ve been seems
coated with either desperate poverty or blood money, and I have no
desire to see either.

“
Is there somewhere with no
people around? No city?” I ask.

“
Mother Nature in the raw?
Of course.”

His hand slides on the throttle and
we’re off. He veers left, then right, weaving in and out of
traffic, missing bumpers by inches. I gasp, my fear turning quickly
to awe that we can move like this.

The city flies by on either side. I let
it all blur together and revel in the way every heavy thought
dissolves as we pick up speed. Wind rushes by and after a few
moments, I feel a chill on my thighs. It is a comfortable cold, a
windy, freeing, delicious cold. I love it.

The engine hums with vibrations beneath
me. I can feel it building toward a need but I push it aside for
now in favor of the feel of my arms around Linc. He doesn’t offer
his hand on my leg and I don’t want to take any more liberties than
he’s already given.

The city disappears gradually. First,
the nicer buildings devolve into more dilapidated versions.
Boarded-up windows eventually turn into empty frames and walls
emblazoned with graffiti. Trash litters the sidewalks. It blows
across the road in front of us, giving off a feeling of loneliness
so strong that I blink back tears for all of the people who see
this every day—and know the extravagance that exists five miles
northward.

I see a few faces peeking out from a
sheltered storefront. No one stumbles through the streets here.
Even in daylight, it feels dangerous. Desperate.

Finally, the buildings and cracked
sidewalks give way to fields. Far in the distance to my left, I see
thick forest. Between me and the trees, it is only open fields with
grass so tall I think it might cover my head were I to wade in. It
is white and feathery. Wheat, maybe.

Ida once called my hair that color.
I’ve never seen anything like it outside of a television screen or
textbook but it is beautiful as it sways under the weight of the
breeze.

The road narrows and the double-yellow
line becomes a single line of dashes. I don’t know what this means,
though there isn’t any traffic here. My hands tighten around Linc
as he increases our speed. In front of us the road stretches as far
as I can see.

In this moment, with the wind whipping
my hair, the view endless and open, I experience joyful abandon for
the first time in my existence. It is sweet and sharp in my mouth.
I want to memorize it, store it up, so that when I need it most, I
can recall that this feeling does actually exist—and it is every
inch worth living for.

The clean air, devoid of the scent of
exhaust and oil, is refreshing. Linc leans in for a turn. We dip
lower and lower until we’re almost parallel to the ground. My heart
accelerates. My hands squeeze. The fear and adrenaline are
delicious. I grin as the turn rounds out and the road straightens
again.

It is a rare moment when I allow myself
to feel like me. Ven. An Imitation. And while that is something I
used to despise, I know now that I would take it over Authentic
Raven. She is shallow and easy and meaningless. I am deep and
complicated and appreciative of the simple experience of a single
moment of pleasure.

My desire to be all of those
things
and
human is
a pain that never dulls no matter how many times I think it. This
time, I push the thought away, determined to live in the right
now.

Linc downshifts and takes a fast
corner. His shoulder eases us into a deep lean. When we straighten,
I shift so that every inch of my torso is pressed to his back. My
thighs squeeze against his and I jut my hips forward, pushing
against him. His fist flies off the throttle hard enough that the
bike bucks. I smile to myself, braver now that I know my touch has
an effect on him. I pull my skirt free from where I’ve tucked it,
eliminating at least one layer of fabric between us. It teases and
tickles against my hips.

Linc adjusts his grip on the gas until
the speedometer gives a steady read and makes some other adjustment
alongside of his handlebar. He flips a small switch near the
throttle and then, without warning, both of his hands reach back
and grip my legs.

I scream but it’s lost on the wind.
Somehow, our speed is maintained. He’s engaged an auto-pilot of
sorts. Without hands to steer us, the motorcycle drifts slightly
left until our front tire rides the yellow line in the center of
the road. Linc lifts his arms out at his sides and leans right. I
squeeze his midsection, certain we’re going to veer too far. We
curve a couple of feet to the right and he straightens his stance,
balancing with his arms. When we stay put in our own lane, he
lowers his arms and grip my legs again.

I laugh out loud even though he can’t
hear me. He’s driving a motorcycle with no hands. The rush of heat
and exhilarating excitement from his trick is dizzying. It fuels my
desire and suddenly it’s no longer a want but a need.

When my hips rock forward again, Linc’s
hands tighten against my thighs. He pulls on my legs, encouraging
me to increase my efforts.

I rock harder.

Linc’s left hand drifts higher up my
thigh. My skirt blows against his hand and he knocks it out of his
way. When the angle gets tough, he leans forward, returning his
right hand to the handlebar and reaching around with his left. His
fingers graze my hip and dip lower, pressing into the soft spot
between my legs. My panties offer a thin barrier but it’s already
the most intense form of touch I have ever experienced.

I whimper and every inch of me sparks
with electricity. More. I’d demand it from him if he could hear me,
but the wind and the engine make it impossible. I use my hips
instead, thrusting forward against the massaging of his fingers.
It’s a delicious agony of tension and need.

He stops long enough to move my panties
aside. When his fingers touch my bare skin, I shiver. He slips a
finger inside me in a long, slow thrust. I move faster against the
force of his hand. He presses back, still facing forward, still
maintaining speed with one hand curled around the
throttle.

With every back and forth of his
finger, I spiral closer to the edge. My hands unclasp and roam over
his chest. Through his shirt, I trace the curvature of his pecs and
abs. His muscles tighten underneath my fingers. He likes my
touch.

My fingers graze his nipple. I lick my
lips, wondering what the hardened tip would feel like against my
mouth.

His hand moves faster. Presses harder.
The speedometer inches upward. The wind licks at my thighs. Linc’s
touch is a lightning storm of sensation. I want to be struck by
it.

My legs tremble as the pressure inside
me coils tight. My breathing is raspy and sharp. I can’t feel a
single thing beyond his finger stroking my insides and the wet heat
he sparks within me.

When my release comes, I throw my head
back and cry out. My shoulders convulse as a shudder courses
through me. When it subsides, Linc’s strokes become smaller and he
withdraws his hand and lets my panties cover me again. He massages
small circles with his fingertips and I squeeze him in a one-sided
embrace.

Not once in all of my daydreaming did I
ever imagine it could be anything like this. Aside from Linc’s, I
never want another person’s hands on me again.

A moment later, Linc slows the
motorcycle and pulls onto the dirt shoulder. He cuts the engine and
the silence is beautiful and nerve-wracking after what I’ve just
experienced. I’m still caught in the afterglow as he says, “Let’s
take a walk and stretch our legs.”

I dismount and stand beside him,
relieved he’s not suggesting that we head back. I know the time
will come but I’m not ready yet.

I slide my helmet off, hanging it on
the bike where Linc shows me, and follow him into the grass. It is
shorter here but still reaches above my waist. I wade in and before
long, the road and the motorcycle have disappeared behind
me.

The moment we’re obscured by the grass,
Linc’s hand slips around my waist. He lifts me clear off my feet
and into his arms. I slide against him until our eyes and mouths
are parallel. His grip tightens, holding me there. Even without his
arms around me, the desire reflected in his eyes is tangible. “I
want to touch you,” he says softly.

“
So touch me,” I tell
him.

“
I don’t want anyone else to
touch you but me.”

“
I don’t either.”

He frowns and I can’t help but wonder
what he expected me to say. But then there’s no time to wonder
anything as his mouth lands hot and fervent on mine. I wrap my arms
around his neck and hold on, breathless, already burning all over
again.

His hands are everywhere, my back, my
hips, my hair, and his mouth is greedy, taking from me in deep
bursts. When his tongue enters my mouth, a small noise escapes me,
and his hands tighten where they’ve dropped down to cup my
ass.

I bring my legs up, wrapping them
around his waist and locking my ankles. He growls and adjusts his
hands so that one holds my weight and the other is free to wander.
His fingertips trail over my thigh and slip underneath the fabric
of my panties. I shift to give him better access and bite down on
his lower lip as his finger slips inside me.

“
Linc …” I say on a ragged
breath.