RIDING ON THE BACK of Sinclair's motorcycle feels the same as it always has. We ride along the barren, country road with no helmets—although that's dangerous and I wouldn't recommend it at all—and all I can feel is the wind on my face and caressing tendrils of curls as I hold onto his waist and lean close to his back. Even though I can't see him, I know Sinclair has been smirking all this time. He, no doubt, is enjoying this closeness.
I feel inclined to tell him that he'd better enjoy it now because this is all the closeness that he's ever going to get, but I keep my mouth shut. If I said that, I don't doubt that he'd use his wicked powers of persuasion to trick my body into doing what he wanted.
Up ahead is the county line bridge that is completely vacant. After a girl jumped to her de
