Chapter Eight
Laila’s POV
“I’m not asking,” Zane said.
Before I could take another step back, he killed the engine. The sudden silence in the alley was deafening. He swung his long leg off the bike and stood right in front of my face, towering over me like a shadow.
He didn't argue with me. He didn't laugh at my oversized hoodie or my fluffy pink crocs. He just raised the heavy black helmet in his hands and brought it down over my head.
I froze as his hands moved to the strap beneath my jaw. His calloused fingers brushed against the soft, bruised skin of my cheek and neck, and my whole body jolted. It wasn't fear. It was a sharp, unexpected jolt of heat—like static electricity snap-cracking under my skin, spreading straight to my chest.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked up at
