Thea
The city collapsed behind us in a blur of neon and concrete.
Out on the open highway, the world opened up into endless black asphalt cut through by the steady rhythm of dotted white lines. The wind clawed at my jacket, whipping stray strands of hair around my neck, but inside the safety of the full-face helmet, the roar of the air was muffled. What wasn't muffled was the engine.
I felt it straight through my boots, through my knees, through the palms pressed against Miles's waist. The Harley didn't just run; it purred with a terrifying, liquid power. Every time Miles cracked the throttle to pass a semitruck, the machine surged forward without a single hiccup, smooth and lethal.
A fierce, quiet satisfaction bloomed in my chest. I did that. I tuned that engine to perfection. And fee
