Bikes & Blood

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕.

"Nothing to win and nothing left to lose."
-With Or Without You, U2.

Amara

The stairs creaked beneath Amara's feet, groaning out their protests with each step that she, Marko and Paul took. The briefest of thoughts crossed her mind, pondering if the stairs beneath her sneaker-clad feet would deign to hold her weight or-if by some twisted fate of God-they'd snap beneath her and send her tumbling down to the sea-lashed rocks down below. She winced at the thought, an icy shiver raking up her spine at the path her thoughts had taken. Her mind throwing flashes of her broken body to the forefront of her thoughts, the morbid imagery of oddly bent and shattered limbs flicking through her mind like an ancient film.

Saline wind buffered across her skin, whipping her curls around her face as the wind howled above the turbulent waves that crashed against the rocky cliff face-relentless and unforgiving. She swallowed the nervous lump at the back of her throat, watching as Paul kicked a stone down to the thundering waves below, childishly chuckling to himself before he slipped between the rock face and disappeared; the jangle of his bracelets whisked away by the wind. Marko paused, waiting for Amara beside the cliff face, shoulder pressing into the coarse rock as she turned and peered out to the horizon.

Silver glinted off the waves as the moonlight rippled across the ever-changing tides, reflecting the moon up at itself like a child laughed at its reflection; beaming from ear to ear as bell-like laughter tumbled from their lips and dimples embedded themselves into their cheeks. Stars twinkled, glittering in the inky depths of the sky like a ballroom full of dancing people decked out in lavish dresses and sparkling jewels-delighted in the simplicity and candour of the night. A lighthouse stood tall and proud before the point of Hudson's Bluff, cemented into the seabed so firmly that the churning ocean could never uproot it from the ground and lead sailors astray to their inevitable demise amongst the reef and rocks.

But that was the thing about Santa Carla. It provided life, adventure, and new beginnings in the boardwalk or the streets that made up the coastal town. But in its wake, it always brought with it something dark and malevolent. A duo that came hand in hand, time and time again-like the sun after a devastating storm. It traipsed death, fear, and blood around like a tote bag, slung across your shoulder with little thought.

A silently effective killer in its own right.

Amara turned back to the sandy-haired biker that waited for her, patient in all his immortal glory as mirth glinted in his honeyed gaze. A soft smile curled the edges of his lips, sharpening his boyish and yet artfully crafted features that would make the greatest artists jealous; longing to capture his angelically sinful looks onto paper, parchment, or canvas. Marko raised his eyebrows, prompting her to explain the lingering stare she gave him with the elegant grace of a bird soaring across the sky.

"Is there something on my face?" Marko asked, lifting a hand to rub at his face in a gesture so innocent that Amara couldn't help but smile at him, shaking her head with reassurance.

"There's nothing on your face. I was just... thinking. That's all."

His brows came together, an all-knowing grin growing across his face as he shook his head, chuckling with gentle amusement. "What were you thinking about?"

She turned her gaze to the sea, gnawing at the flesh of her cheek as Marko's gaze seared into the side of her face. The waves crashed against the cliff face, thundering across the sky as sea spray ghosted the skin of Amara's face-soft and soothing. She turned back to face Marko, an affable grin on her face as her curls danced in the wind. "That if I stand out here any longer, Paul will steal my bloody dog."