This bonus scene comes with its own Spotify playlist. It’s only two songs but really sets the mood as the songs are mentioned along the way. Listen to it *HERE*.
On a timeline, this scene would be after the last chapter in Detour but before the epilogue. Although you do not need to read Detour to enjoy this bonus material, it definitely helps. Find Angela and Coty’s incredible story on Amazon *HERE*.
Happy Halloween, Creekwood!
Thunder echoes throughout the building.
I didn’t think it was supposed to rain.
“What are you doing tonight?” Lucinda, a girl I went to high school with and is now in my class at the local community college, asks me. She graduated valedictorian so I thought she’d be at some big university somewhere, instead she chose to stay close to family. “Hanging out with those hotties you live with?”
Stuffing my laptop in my black messenger bag, I shake my head, murmuring, “I don’t live with them.” Not technically. Technically I live across the hall from them. Only one of the three knuckleheads is my boyfriend, Coty, who sleeps over at my place. When I’m not spending the night at his apartment, that is.
But still, we don’t live together.
She waves a hand, saying, “Semantics.”
No, not semantics. I don’t live with my neighbors who’ve become more my family than my own family—if that’s what we’re calling them—and it needs to stay that way. For everybody. There might even come a day where they thank me for that decision. It’ll be to my back as I drag my ass away in tears but it could still happen. They see something in me I don’t even see and I’m not sure I ever will. And they…they deserve the best.
Which may not be me.
Together, we step out of the classroom into a small common area with vending machines and I stop with her while she buys an energy drink, the thunder growing louder and…closer?
My phone in my hand, I say, “I can make you something that tastes a thousand times better than that, you know?” And less heart palpitations.
Not seeing any new messages, I frown. What are we doing tonight? It’s Halloween and I thought we’d do something but I have yet to hear from any of the guys next door. Usually Beckett’s the first one jumping on me to commit to something with their crew. Or our crew. Our crew.
“I thought you had nights off,” I hear her ask, still scrolling through all three apps I actually use. It definitely isn’t supposed to rain tonight.
The coffee kiosk I work at closes before it gets dark usually so I never work nights, which fits perfect for my night class, but the guys next door splurged and bought me my own espresso machine a few days ago for my birthday. I’m pretty sure it was more for their benefit than mine though since they’ve been asking me to make them some caffeinated drink or another since I unwrapped it. Even at six o’clock this morning when Beckett knew I was running late for work after Coty sweet talked me into an early morning, um, workout. Twice.
“My nights are always busy,” I mutter with a smile tugging at my lips.
A beat of silence hangs in the air, sending a charged chill up my spine and I pull the front of my red cape tighter around me with my free hand. Our falls are pretty mild here in southeast Washington and luckily it’s not as cold today as it could be, so the cape’s enough to keep me warm. It’s about as festive as I’m going to get for the holiday that I never really celebrated growing up.
“I can see that.”
The sound of engines—yes, engines—punctuates her statement and I jerk my head up to see a flat-black street bike driving through the narrow hallway, heading right toward us, the echoes bouncing off the walls mimicking the thunder I mistook them for. The rider sitting atop the intimidating machine is dressed head-to-steel-toe in black as well, looking every inch the dark temptation I know he is.
A peek past his leather jacket covered shoulder reveals the two other bikes I knew would be there—one neon green as bright as the personality riding it, the other as understated as my most mysterious neighbor revving the engine with several quick twists of his wrist.
Damn. What are they doing?
I glance around, finding every set of eyes locked on the scene as all three of my neighbors fill the college’s hallway with their impatient beasts beneath them, gnashing their teeth in rumbly cadence as they sit idle in their need for open roads.
Despite the cold, a light sweat breaks out on my forehead as my heart picks up speed.
People scatter out of the way as Coty approaches. Coming to a stop directly in front of me and my wide open mouth, his boots land heavily on the linoleum like a boom of lightning striking the earth. My black helmet with cat ears sticking out the top is presented to me next, all without my boyfriend even bothering to open his visor or so much as greet me.
I cock an eyebrow, scanning his roommates trailing him. Beckett’s got his visor open, taking full advantage of his only opportunity to scope out the whole college experience, you know, from inside the college. I can see the smile in his blue eyes from here as he checks out every female in his line of vision. One’s pressed against the wall, trying to keep her feet out of harm’s way while she blushes a deep shade of DTF for my tallest neighbor.
How did they even get in here?
Bringing up the rear further down, Marc stays laser focused as his tinted visor hides his no doubt severe expression as he nods in my direction, basically telling me to get on already.
“Let’s go, neighbor girl!” Beckett roars at me, letting out a whoop.
My lips mashed together, I wave goodbye to Lucinda and grab my helmet from Coty, bypassing him to walk over to climb on behind Beckett instead.
He goes through all this trouble but can’t say hello? He knows the rules. Give and take.
Beckett’s back shakes with a laugh in front of me, cranking his head to the side. “You’re playing with fire, Angie.”
Yeah, well, ice hurts just as bad and I’ve got the burns to prove it. This, at least, feels better than the cold numbness associated with rejection. If I’ve got the power to walk away then nobody else can.
I pull my helmet over my head, not responding, but once it’s on, we don’t move. Like at all. If fact, Beckett stiffens, sitting ramrod straight as he stares ahead like the innocent little boy I know he’s not.
I can’t see past my 6’6” neighbor but I don’t have to because Coty comes into view a second later as he strolls up to us, his gloved hands out in front of him. Gloves that have spikes sticking out of them. No, not spikes. Claws. Between each of his fingers are metal claws protruding right through the thick material.
Holy shit. Where did he find those?
I don’t get to ask because I’m lifted clear off Beckett’s passenger seat, Coty holding me to him with those same gloves, and nudging me to wrap my legs around his waist as he returns me to his blacked-out R6.
Why isn’t he talking?
Past his shoulder I get a better look at Marc now that I don’t have to use my own legs for walking. And is he…a cop?
My eyebrows practically scrape the ceiling Coty’s carrying me beneath.
Marc’s dressed like some kind of police officer in a blue, form-fitting uniform that I doubt is standard anywhere, not even Chicago or New York City where they actually have hot cops. And the way he’s filling it out while on his red and black Ducati, it should be illegal.
Maybe that’s how they got into the building to begin with?
Any chance of actual conversation is killed by the music kicking on inside my helmet thanks to the Bluetooth device Beckett typically controls. “Big Bad Wolf” by In This Moment starts out slow, building, waiting to pounce, then the beat drops as my ass hits Coty’s gas tank…facing him. He sits me backward, but climbs on normally at the same time, switching my bag onto his back and starts the engine again like we’re really about to drive out of here like this. A nervous laugh bubbles out of me because…we can’t actually ride like this.
After he twists and wraps the bottom of my cape around one of my thighs, we’re moving down the hall in the next instant, giving me my answer.
Squeezing my knees tight against Coty’s ribs, he leans into my crotch, making me lie back, my head dropping between the handlebars, and I’m reminded of the first time we were in this position except there were a lot less people then—thankfully.
My legs start to shake and he notices, angling his helmet to look down at me. I flop my arms at him. What am I supposed to do with these? They’re just hanging here, useless.
His head shakes and I know there’s a grin hidden under there. A grin he’s refusing to show me for some reason.
I glide my hands up his torso, resting them on his taut chest. The heartbeat I feel through his shirt and jacket picks up speed, hammering away, and I smile under the obscurity of my helmet.
The three engines whine loudly, creating our own thunderstorm of awe-inducing reverberations between the old, yellowing walls, then someone opens a door for us, allowing all three bikes to drive out into the open night air tinged in soggy leaves and delicate ash, unlimited possibilities and utter rebellion.
Each time we go over a bump, he presses into me a little harder, stirring up some of that friction against my pussy he knows I love and more than a few groans are stifled—his. His are stifled. Mine I let loose unashamedly…once we’re out of earshot of my fellow students. And professor. Gross.
We bypass my Jeep in the lot altogether but not before they slow down, letting me get a good look at it.
What the fuck?
There are red handprints and smears all over the white exterior. It looks like I took a little detour through a zombie apocalypse on my way to business law.
I go to sit up, still gaping at my crime scene of a vehicle, but Coty pushes me back down, shaking his head. My chest fills with air.
Is he serious right now?
The volume in the built-in speakers in my helmet jumps to near-deafening levels, then we’re charging down the darkened highway. On instinct my thighs squeeze Coty even tighter, my knees hooking under his armpits to keep me from flying off. After a while I relax my neck muscles to rest my head on the handlebars, watching the occasional towering high-mast light zoom by overhead. Past those, hanging high in the sky, is the moon. The red glow around it makes it look like its dressed for the occasion too.
Anytime we’re on a straightaway, Coty reaches one of his hands between my back and the bike to relieve some of the pressure on my spine and when he does, every one of those claws grazes my skin through the thin shirt, threatening to slice the material wide open.
The wind whips my hair sticking out the bottom of my helmet, striking my chest like a hundred tiny snakes.
I used to think riding on the back of Coty’s bike was intense.
How wrong I was.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the sensations, blowing through my nose, and when I open them again we’re pulling behind an abandoned warehouse where a bunch of other riders are already in full party mode with races going in the distance, a blazing bonfire in the middle, and a wheelie competition off to the side, as well as dancing and drinking for the spectators. Almost everyone’s in a costume even if it’s just those creepy neon masks with the lit up X’s over the eyes.
Beckett’s obnoxious laughter drowns out the sound of everything else as soon as we’re stopped and I cut my roaming gaze to his.
“The look on your face when you saw your Jeep, neighbor girl. Worth the stains on my hands.” He removes his gloves, revealing the red palms and fingers.
“You did that?” I snap, lifting my head to glare at him.
His annoying chortle is the only response I get. What an idiot.
“What happens when the police show up thinking that’s real blood?”
“Good thing we got Officer Frown Town on our side, huh?” He jerks a thumb at Marc beside him.
Marc lifts his visor—see Coty, it’s not that hard—to reveal he is indeed frowning. It only lasts for a moment though then he’s shaking his head, smirking too.
“Sorry, but it was funny. We’ll clean it up tomorrow when you get it back,” he promises.
“Wait, I’m not leaving my Jeep there overnight.” It doesn’t have windows, or doors. Even though it’s cold enough, I just can’t bring myself to put the doors back on. Maybe by Thanksgiving.
Or maybe I’ll just wear a scarf.
“Angie! The damn thing’s covered in blood! Nobody’s going near that thing. Trust us,” Beckett ensures me and I eye him suspiciously. It wasn’t actual blood, was it?
“If it stains, I swear you’re buffing that shit out,” I say, pointing at him.
He just shrugs nonchalantly like he doesn’t care either way and I narrow my eyes.
“Don’t worry, SEAL Team Dicks over here checked the label. It’s safe.”
“I thought you checked the label,” Marc tells Beckett seriously.
The two bicker about who was supposed to check the label and my eyes fall down Marc’s blue uniform, appreciating the way it tightens across his chest every time he waves his friend off. The flame tattoos licking up his forearms only add to the dangerous vibe he’s constantly exuding with dark hair cut close to the scalp, dark skin, and even darker eyes.
If only everyone knew how kind he actually is.
“What are you supposed to be?” I ask the blond jokester in our group, effectively cutting off the pointless argument between roommates. Who are we kidding? Washing cars is kind of my specialty.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Beckett says like I should know.
“A clown?” I deadpan.
Sighing loudly, he unzips his riding jacket to show the shirt underneath and there in bold letters across his chest is the word SNACK.
Oh, my god.
Exceeding every other person here in both height and personality and with that ever-present playful smile highlighting his incredibly handsome face, he’s not lying. I just assumed he would’ve went all out with an outrageous costume to end all outrageous costumes. One with a sword. Or two.
I give him the same once over I just gave Marc but the glove with claws closes over the mouthpiece of my helmet, pulling my head to face Coty, and he shakes his head again like a parent chiding a naughty kid. I almost smile then I remember he still hasn’t spoken a single word to me. Oh, and I’m lying on a street bike that he just did almost a hundred miles an hour on. If my backbone rubs the gas cap any harder, we’ll have flames and a bonfire of our own.
“By the way, what are we doing?” I ask no one in particular.
“We wanna play.”
Play, meaning ride bikes, do cool tricks on them, and leave me on the sidelines to watch. I’m frothing at the mouth. Really.
“So, go play. Why pick me up at all? I could’ve just met you here.” Meh.
“We wanna play…”
“With you,” my boyfriend finishes, speaking for the first time since I left him in bed this morning. His deep voice, as familiar as it may be, raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
But, also, they want to play with me? What does that mean?
Those claws on his other hand creep beneath my back again and I feel the barest of nicks along my spine as he traces the column of bones, pushing my chest off the bike and into the air. I hiss through my teeth, ready to play any which way as long as it’s soon. Like really soon.
Done with not seeing his face, I flip his visor open, finding those rich, chocolate, mocha swirl eyes of his gazing at me through hooded lids. His full lips pull into a lazy grin while bits of dark brown hair made almost black from sweat stick to his forehead.
“I was wondering how long it’d take you to do that?”
Two white fangs—fake, obviously—stuck onto his canines gleam in the firelight when he speaks, absolutely mesmerizing me.
“My, what big teeth you have,” I breathe out, glued to them. Claws, fangs—he’s a wolf, which makes me his…prey?
No, I’m Red Riding Hood and he’s looking for something to eat. Someone to eat.
I swallow thickly. “What do you plan on doing with those?”
“I told you I had a big appetite, didn’t I?”
I tear my eyes away to meet his stare again. Yes, yes, he did. And he’s proved it too. Many times over.
Keeping his visor open, he rasps, “hang on tight,” and my eyes go round.
With one hand suppressing the brake and the other on the clutch, he stands to his full height, bringing his hard cock in line with my already wet center as I grip the back of his neck and dig the heels of my black and red Adidas Cardinals into his ass. Kicking the bike into first then revving the engine, he slingshots the clutch making the back tire send a tail of smoke out behind us like a dragon giving its warning as we remain stationary. The tire spinning in place causes Coty and I to bob against each other in a delicious jackhammering motion that hits me in the exact right spot to rob me of all other thoughts.
Soon the plume of smoke surrounds us, blocking us in while keeping others out. Coty bows a bit, running his tongue over those sharp points in his mouth and I gasp, close to coming already.
His free hand drags along my chest between my breasts, using those claws to scratch just enough to hurt but not enough to cause damage. The back tire and I compete in a race of our own to see who’ll explode first.
The pressure surges and I let out a series of moans when something clangs into the front of my helmet. Coty’s helmet is there, pressed to mine, as he drinks in my every sound, his chest rising and falling heavily.
Then everything goes quiet as he releases the throttle, stilling the tire but not breaking eye contact as he gazes down at me like he found what he’s been craving all day.
“I knew this would happen. As soon as he gets his hands on her, he hogs her all to himself. Come on, bro, I thought we were all playing tonight,” Beckett whines from somewhere nearby.
Coty snarls over his shoulder, then turns back to me with an apologetic expression. “Get off,” is all he grits out, voice scratchy and raw.
Uh, I was trying to, I think as I roll my eyes and dismount, hopping onto the ground with wobbly legs. I was right there.
My cape comes unraveled, blowing out around me like sails on the high seas. Some of our smoke lingers as I squint to make out where the other two are. What do they even need me for anyway?
What do they need me for?
“The Wolf” by Fever Ray filters in now, the tempo increasing in volume and speed, then a blur of metallic motion catches my eye followed by another and another as the three bikes I arrived with circle me in a cloud of colorless smoke and endless noise as their tires screech across the asphalt.
We wanna play with you.
A smirk sneaks across mouth before I can hide it.
Okay, boys, let’s play.
Lifting my hands above my head, I twist my body like a snake on the beach, warming from the outside in, knowing as dangerous as it is to be dancing in the center of three impossibly fast street bikes as they whir around me, I’m more safe than I’ve ever been thanks to the drivers handling them. They’d never hurt me, not willingly, and this is just one more example of how they continue to prove themselves to me. A part of me wonders when they’ll tire of it, of the constant reassurance, but I tell that part to take the night off. I got it from here.
Each rotation is another layer of their protection, wrapping me up as secure as a thick blanket.
My eyes flutter closed but I keep dancing, swaying to the music as if nobody’s watching. Just him. My wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s as sweet as he is sinful and he’s all mine. Tonight and every night. I’ve never had anything worth keeping…until I met the boys next door.
The song starts to fade to a close just as one hand locks onto mine, hips as familiar as my own meeting my every move.
His fragrance of spicy coconut slightly washed out from the smell of burnt rubber settles over me and I open my eyes. He’s got his helmet off and in the other hand hanging at his side so I remove mine as well, asking, “Done already?”
Beckett and Marc continue to spin their motorcycles around us, keeping a wall of taillights, exhaust, and perfectly timed chaos between us and everybody else. Loose pebbles skitter past in all directions while bits of dried leaves swirl around our feet, tangling with the hem of my cape as it billows from the cyclone-like breeze our friends are creating.
Coty shakes his head. “Just getting started, babe.”
“Promise?” I ask, searching his rapidly darkening eyes.
“Promise,” he says, never blinking once, and I know he means it. Today, tomorrow, forever.
Placing a thigh between my spread legs, he drops his hand from mine and yanks me flush against his muscled front, the claws piercing the skin on my lower back. With a flash of those fangs a second before he dives down to bite my throat, he proves just how big his appetite really is. Again.
Maybe Halloween isn’t so bad after all.
©A. Marie 2020
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Happy Sunday! I’m sitting outside on a beautifully mild day writing this and I cannot wait for more of these days. The weather says Fall . . .
Did you hear? Did you hear? That’s right! Beckett is the next boy in the Creekwood Crew to get his own book, releasing this winter! . . .