Royce moved with deliberate haste toward the back door, his fingers already seeking out the familiar shape of his keys.
The locked door thwarted his usual expectation of effortless passage, eliciting a brief, muffled expletive. He inserted the key into the lock, then left, darting across the car park without looking back.
My heart knew that home held no love, no answers, no solace. All that I longed for lay here, with him and the others. And so, despite the inevitable fury that would ensue, I defied orders and trailed him into the garden. No longer would this madness be permitted to continue unchecked. I had to stand up for what I believed was right.
Royce sprinted toward the motorcycle situated beside the seldom-used monster truck that habitually collected dust in the communal car park. He maintained his forward trajectory, offering no indication of acknowledging my hurried pursuit.
In spite of the obscurity of the night, his search proved swift. He reached the designated parking area for his motorcycle and cast a cursory glance towards the beach house, perhaps to verify my absence. But then, out I popped (his worst-case scenario) to ruin his plans. His shoulders sagged like a grumpy teenager facing chores. Round one: decided in my favour.
"Liv..." He was noticeably dismayed that I had disobeyed him yet again. "For fuck's sake."
Deep breath, Olivia
"I told you to leave," he growled, the sentence heavy with icy finality. "This is your last warning. I won't ask you again."
I watched as he swung his leg over the saddle and settled onto the motorcycle, finding his footing on the pegs. His lack of a helmet was concerning. He blipped the throttle a few times, then worked the shift lever with his boot, testing the clutch engagement.
My brow wrinkled in thought.
Where on earth did all this newfound motorcycle knowledge come from? Given my complete lack of prior exposure to the subject, the source of this knowledge remained wholly perplexing.
"Take me with you." My voice, barely a whisper, fought against the howl of the wind whipping strands of hair across my face. My fingers tightened on the handlebar, right on top of his hand, as my eyes pleaded with him to relent for me. "You owe me this much."
Royce's hypnotic gaze held me hostage, the stray hairs of his dark locks dancing over his mesmerising heterochromatic eyes—one a deep ocean blue, the other a warm, earthy brown. "Why are you so stubborn?"
"Someone has to fight for my future." In that heart-stopping moment, I was lost in the enigmatic depths of his stare, transfixed by the mystical fusion of colours that spoke of boundless dreams and whispered of a comforting home. He was an exquisite masterpiece, every feature perfectly crafted with the accuracy of an artist. "It might as well be me."
He sighed, and in that soft exhale, I saw a battle fought and lost. His rigid jaw relaxed, and the spark of defiance flickered out of his eyes. Bit by bit, he was conceding ground.
"Please," I begged, mustering every ounce of dignity I could summon. "Do not shut the door in my face. Not this time."
His relentless examination of my face bore into me with such ferocity that it left me vulnerable and defenceless. In a trance, he slowly reached for the front of my long-sleeved jumper, his fingers delicately tracing the fabric before gripping it tightly in his fist. He tugged me closer, like the distance was too much for him, adding another layer of confusion to our—friendship?—for he seemed to hate me in one breath and be fascinated with me in another.
It's no wonder my chest fluttered whenever he was around. He made it impossible to ignore our complex chemistry.
"Liv..." His bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he focused on the structure of my slightly exposed collarbone. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, but you're not making it easy for me."
Yes, I am starting to realise there is something darker at play here between Royce and Daniel, and worse, it has everything to do with me, which is why I am not backing down. If I am the root cause of hostility amongst men, it's only fair that I be the one to put an end to it—some way or another.
Without my memories, I only have the ability to understand something instinctively without the need for conscious reasoning. My intuition insisted that I was right to start here, with Royce, not at the cliff house with my husband.
Royce eyed the meagre space on the seat behind him. "You ever been on one of these before?"
I wanted to refute the question, as I had no recollection of ever riding a motorcycle, especially during my younger years when my memories were still intact. However, it would be inaccurate to assert that I had never mounted one prior to retrograde amnesia.
In addition, the inquiry, though innocuous, felt like a test of sorts. While I might lack memories of past two-wheeled touring adventures, I inexplicably retained knowledge of the mechanics involved. I knew, for instance, that he had to kickstart the lever with his right foot and press the starter button with his thumb to ignite the engine.
I stared at him with the fierceness of a woman who knows what she wants. "You tell me."
His eyes flicked away from mine to hide the satisfied smile tugging at his lips. But I saw it, and it was enough for me. I had ridden on a motorcycle before, and I could only assume it was with him and nobody else.
His breath hitched before he reached for my hand, guiding me onto the seat. I positioned myself, his touch a guiding warmth. My arms encircled him, fingers hesitantly finding their place, the curve of my body moulding against his solid back.
"Don't let go." He applied pressure to the clutch lever on the left handlebar and stomped down on the gear shifter to engage first gear. "And I mean it this time."
His cryptic words left me puzzled, but the roar of the engine drowned out any questions before they could form. He revved the throttle, the bike shuddering beneath us.
The sleek black motorcycle sputtered to life, its wheels churning up a cloud of dust. He deftly navigated through the rows of parked cars and reached the exit, where he smoothly leaned into the turn without hesitation.
He manoeuvred into the sharp turn, the tyres gripping the road with absolute control. With a burst of speed and a rush of wind, the village melted away, replaced by the open road and the thrill of pure acceleration.
My heart was pounding with the sudden surge of adrenaline as I buried my face in his back and clung to him, fully aware that this was the most reckless thing I had ever done. I have already survived a near-fatal car accident that robbed me of my memories. Yet, here I was on the back of a motorcycle, without a helmet, weaving through traffic lights like it was the most incredible thrill imaginable.
Buildings flowed past as abstract streaks of colour against the vastness of the night, and neon signs pulsed, painting the streets in fleeting shapes. Every curve, bend, and twist of the road was met with effortless grace, a finesse of motion orchestrated by Royce's skilled hands.
The wind whipped at our clothes, tugging at fabric and hair with an insistent fervour. It was a visceral sensation, the rush of air against skin mingling with the vibrations of the bike beneath us.
As we hurtled towards an unknown destination, I clung to him with both apprehension and exhilaration, the acceleration of a rush into the unknown--an inexplicable sensation that left me breathless and alive.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world fell away, leaving only the electrifying power of the ride, the pulse of the engine, and the passing sight of village lights as we whizzed by like nocturnal creatures of the night.
A long-dormant spark reignited within me, awakening a languor that had long lay dormant. Leaning into his solid form, I nestled behind him, shutting my eyes and surrendering to the thrill of the ride. The susurrus rhythm of the journey lulled me into a sense of security. I found a strange comfort, trusting him as my sole shield against the world.
With each turn of the throttle igniting an ardent passion for the road, the effulgent power of the engine beneath us roared into the abyss, its energy surging through the machine and sending a tremor of adrenaline and trepidation through my body.
In the unknown, where the chiaroscuro of darkness and light plays tricks on my closed eyelids, I could see it all—the streaks of neon lights painting abstract patterns on the canvas of my mind and the nebulous forms of buildings morphing into a phantasmagoria of fleeting shapes.
The world around me palpitated with a heightened intensity—every whisper of the wind and every rumble of the engine was amplified. I was utterly present, immersed in the incandescent rush of the moment, weightless and liberated as if the bonds of gravity themselves had slipped away.
A surge of recklessness washed over me. Slowly, liminality cautious, I loosened my grip on Royce, each finger a seraphic farewell. Then, with a burst of quixotic daring, I stretched my arms wide, palms open as if to embrace the heavens themselves. The wind, a chorus of sibilant whispers, danced through my outstretched fingers, a wild caress that left my skin tingling.
An onrush of energy coursed through me as the wind whipped hair tendrils across my face. The sensation was exhilarating—a feeling of weightlessness as if I were soaring through the star-dusted night sky with nothing but the ribbon of asphalt below and a galaxy of lights overhead.
In that stolen breath of time, I was suspended in a state of pure bliss. The world fell away, leaving only the pulsing rhythm of the motorcycle beneath me, the rush of wind against my skin and the heady rush of freedom that stretched out on the open road like an endless highway to heaven.
I was no longer a passenger on a motorcycle. I was a bird in flight, a creature of the night on the precipice of possibility and defying the laws of gravity.
Awareness brought my eyes open, my arms hesitantly finding their way back to their familiar place around Royce's waist.
His stillness surprised me--not a flinch or a word in response to my impulsive outburst. It was as if he had anticipated it, a relaxed confidence in his posture hinting at unspoken understanding.
As we continued down the road, leaving the city lights behind us, he guided the motorcycle with effortless proficiency, the engine's hum providing a comforting backdrop to the night's journey, punctuated by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
Although it felt like a short while to me, I knew that a considerable amount of time had gone by as a colossal warehouse-like building appeared on the horizon, its silhouette outlined against the night sky.
The old adage echoed in my head: time really does fly when you are lost in the throes of pure enjoyment.
And god, I was in my element, revelling in adrenaline and the unknown. I never wanted it to end.
It was almost unbelievable that I had let my fear of accidents keep me from experiencing these exhilarating moments for so long.
Despite the blackness, I spotted the shadowy figures of people slinking along the warehouse perimeter, their movements back-lit by a sickly glow. A distant rhythmic pounding set my nerves on edge. It was a surreal dreamscape—a hidden oasis in the heart of the countryside for those who thrived beyond the boundaries and the mundanities of the village.
Royce steered the motorcycle toward the hulking warehouse. He eased off the throttle, the engine's roar fading to a low growl before finally sputtering into silence. He parked by a secluded nook near a patch of verdant overgrowth, the tall blades shielding us from prying eyes.
A swift scan of the shadows confirmed our seclusion. Then, with a practised fluidity, Royce dismounted, his long legs gracefully unfurling from the bike. His large, inked hands sought mine at my waist, a perfect fit. He lifted me down, his touch lingering a beat too long as he settled my feet on the ground. My hand remained captive in his grasp, the darkness obscuring his face but not the intensity I felt radiating from him.
My throat constricted with unexplainable nervousness. I struggled to gulp it down. "Where are we going?"
"I'm going to get my brother." His hands slid from my waist with a decisive pull as he turned, his stride purposeful as he ventured into the overgrown grass. "You're going to follow me."
A smile teased my lips.
An unexpected wave of bravery propelled me forward. I matched his quick strides, a grin spreading across my face. What he did next caught me by surprise. Just as we stepped into the pool of light at the warehouse entrance, he snatched my hand, his fingers locking with mine in a playful yet defiant gesture. A silent message whispered to the crowd: I am with him.
My heart might have liked it.
As the assault of flashing lights and thumping beats drew closer, Royce stepped in front of me, his form obscuring my view. A twitch of something unfamiliar—vulnerability, perhaps—crossed his usually stoic face. His hesitation was uncharacteristic as if he were out of his comfort zone.
"Listen, about earlier..." His voice was low, a hint of shame colouring his usually cocky tone. He would not meet my eyes, and the way his thumb circled my knuckles felt restless and almost apologetic. "That wasn't cool. I just wanted you to leave, that's all."
My eyebrow lifted in silent inquiry. "Is that supposed to pass as an adequate apology?"
Royce gave me a flat smile.
"Technically, I tripped over my feet." For some reason, one way or another, I am always reacquainting myself with the floor. "It appears an unfortunate degree of clumsiness is my constant companion."
A subtle nod and a quirk of his lips suggested his agreement.
"Was I like that before the accident?" I wondered aloud, and his brow furrowed in unease. Discussing such matters transgressed unspoken boundaries. "Ungainly."
He nodded once.
The plot thickens. My incoordination was not a personality quirk. It was a biological conspiracy. "Well, If questioned, I shall reference amnesia as the explanation. It would be in our mutual interest for you to corroborate my assertion."
He tossed a two-finger salute over his shoulder, eager to get inside, but I had one more point to raise first.
"Royce," I said quietly, giving his hand a little tug to stop his advancement. "I, too, have something to address. It's about the threat I made earlier. I had no intention of reporting you to the police. I lied to get you to open the door."
"Why?" He jumped on the opportunity to have that question explained, almost as if he had wondered about it but chose not to ask. "I have evidence that could land Daniel Lewis in the slammer, so why wouldn't you report me?"
To be forthright, I held no wish to see my husband incarcerated. Irrespective of Daniel's abrasive tendencies, our long association instilled a degree of obligation. I wished for his betterment, with or without my continued presence. However, I firmly disapproved of his deceitful conduct and would not condone his deceptive actions.
"Daniel's exploitation of the villagers cannot be overstated." Had I been aware of this, I would have exercised my power to rectify this egregious situation sooner. "You must recognise my complete lack of complicity."
Royce merely observed me, his face a mask of stoic neutrality.
"Or perhaps I was complicit without knowing," I tweaked, his silence twisting my earlier certainty. "I must ask, why have you not already used the evidence against him?"
He blew out a ragged breath. "Do you want me to?"
"No." While I held no illusions regarding his conduct, I deemed incarceration an excessive reprisal. "However, if you have no intention of utilising the evidence against him, I formally request the return of those documents."
"I'm not giving up the only leverage I have, Liv." He bristled, ready to dig his heels in. "You can have the computer, that's fine. I couldn't get on there anyway. But the folders are mine. I'd like to keep it that way."
I was unsatisfied with his response. "May I ask why?"
"Why do you want them so badly?" His gaze held a new wariness as if my actions had chipped away at his newfound trust in me. "Let me guess. You're gonna trash them and pretend this whole mess never happened."
The notion of destroying evidence was never my intent and held no appeal. In truth, I struggled to discern its most advantageous use. However, one certainty loomed: the current state of my marriage was unsustainable, and extricating myself was the only viable option. It would prove difficult. Daniel Lewis would not relinquish me without a bitter, protracted battle. It was going to be messy.
Royce shot me a disapproving glance, his dark eyes narrowing in frustration. Without another word, he turned and strode towards the entrenched, his steps determined and purposeful. As we made our way through the crowd, he nodded curtly at familiar faces but never stopped to engage in conversation.
As I entered the musty warehouse, I was taken aback by the scene before me. Instead of the expected rows of crates or worn wooden furniture, the space was transformed into an electrifying rave party.
There was nothing but craziness. A kaleidoscope of bodies painted in a plethora of neon hues that glimmered under the relentless assault of multi-coloured strobe lights as everybody moved and swayed to the pulsing beat with reckless abandon, their movements fluid and free like a sea of living hallucinogens.
The first notes from the synthesiser exploded into the atmosphere like a powerful tsunami, interrupting the hushed murmurs of the unruly crowd. The thumping rhythm reverberated through the floor and demanded the room surrender to its pulse.
Metallic percussion clanged in an anarchic symphony, interweaving with the disorienting melody. A distorted voice emerged from the havoc--harsh, resonant, almost otherworldly--each phrase a cryptic message lost in a whirlwind of industrial sounds. It was loud, unsettling, and downright absurd.
"Royce!" I yelled over the din, but my voice was lost in the pounding music. I shoved through the sweaty bodies until I snagged the back of his leather jacket. "What is this place? I cannot hear myself think!"
The ignorant man continued his pursuit toward the east side of the warehouse, where a huge popup bar dominated the area. A mob of partygoers clamoured around, eagerly purchasing shots and spirits that glowed in the dark like tiny stars.
I stayed by Royce's side like a lost puppy, not brave enough to venture further. I would get eaten alive in a place like this (it's not for the faint of heart). I am not ashamed to admit that these people were scary, dangerous and uncontrollable.
Royce leaned over the bar, all elbows and determination, to snag someone's attention. It was a woman—shock, horror—and let me tell you, she was the most feisty-looking female I had ever laid eyes on, and that is a tall order considering Jules and Connie existed.
She owned her full, curvaceous figure as she confidently worked the bar. She was clad in skintight leather that accentuated every curve of her body, with strategic cutouts revealing glimpses of bare skin underneath. Her bold green hair was styled in electric waves, with streaks of black expertly woven throughout.
On each arm, she wore sleeves that matched the intricate designs on her eyebrows, and the heavy application of black eyeliner and dramatic eye makeup only added to the edginess of her look, along with facial piercings, statement earrings and arm cuffs.
Her eyes locked onto Royce, and a mischievous grin spread across her face. With the speed of a seasoned bartender, she bypassed her colleagues, used the footrest to boost herself up, and launched herself over the bar for a long hug.
I looked away, resisting the urge to dig for information that was not mine to uncover, even though everything inside me screamed to do precisely that. I wanted to know who she was to him and what she meant to him, but my pride would never allow me to ask such questions.
Soon enough, she returned to tending to a customer at the far end of the bar. This provided Royce with the perfect opportunity to bestow upon me the meticulously planned "itinerary." Or, more accurately, a list of restrictions regarding my movements and behaviour. It was a delightful touch, considering the thoroughly chaotic nature of our current surroundings.
"Wait here." Royce shoved me towards a stool that seemed precariously close to collapsing. The legs, I noted with alarm, sported liberal amounts of duct tape. "I mean it, Liv. Don't move. Don't speak. Don't even think about a drink." A glare, heavy with unspoken threats, promised retribution. "I'll be right back."
And that is how Royce Milton finally got rid of me. He dumped me at a party and slipped out the back door.
I am just kidding. I doubt he would leave me stranded...
At least, I hoped he would not leave me stranded. He had somewhere to be and did not want me to be part of it, which I could appreciate.
I am lucky he even allowed me to come along for the ride when, earlier, he never wanted to see me again...
My stomached churned.
Maybe I should have followed him.
———————————-
I'll be back for typos. ❤️
Thoughts on the update?
—Olivia?
—Royce?
—Chase?
—Drew?
—Daniel?
—any mentions I missed?
—I've got another update coming tomorrow. 😊
Thank you for reading. 💙
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