ḾṎᕍ⁅ᖇṈ ℄Ṏv⁅ | The Lost Boys

ᏨᏲᾀᑬt⁅ᖇ ⁅℄⁅v⁅Ṉ

⚠️Warnings: mentions of past broken bones, mentions of past motorcycle accidents⚠️

They'd parked their bikes illegally at the base of the boardwalk, earning some nasty glares from those nearby. Marko and Paul sandwich me in between them, laughing merrily about something or other. From an outside perspective, the three of us would look like friends; however, their vice-like grip on my hands did away with any illusions. They weren't letting me go any time soon.

Paul was more reluctant to release me than his companion, but he did with little coaxing. The boys hopped on their bikes, looking like the heavy machinery was a mere extension of their bodies. Their confidence exuded from every pore, and it astonished me; even the most experienced riders still had an air of caution around them, but not these boys. No, they looked like they believe they're indestructible.

I shy away from their death machines as they roar to life. The sound of a motorcycle engine never fails to tie knots with my stomach.

Back in Phoenix, when Michael had first bought his bike, he took me for a joyride. Maybe it happened because Michael wasn't used to riding with a second person, or perhaps luck hadn't been on my side. Whatever the case, it resulted in one of the ugliest crashes Michael and I had ever been in, landing both of us in the emergency room with broken limbs.

Yet, I was now confronted with the fact that none of the boys had an actual car—or sidecar. Or a helmet.

David tilted his head, sensing my hesitancy.

"Hop on," insists David.

I eyed them carefully. They all had a reckless, shit-eating grin plastered on their faces, so my option was limited. After careful consideration, I decided Dwayne was the safest option. I saddled beside him, and he offered me his hand, helping me situate myself on the back of his bike.

He tossed a catty grin at Paul, "Told you." Paul flips him the bird. Dwayne turns his head, addressing me. "Hold on tight."

I lightly clutch the soft leather of his jacket. "Just—go slow, please?"

The boys snicker. I instantly regret saying anything, fearing I have made an already reckless drive even more dangerous.

David peels out first, and then the motorcycle moved. It was much faster than I had anticipated, and I squeaked, clutching Dwayne's middle for dear life. I might've grabbed his shirt had he been wearing one. Instead, my hand was met with smooth skin.

The boys rode fast—Dwayne was not an exception. Though he might've been the least rowdy of the group, his driving was only slightly less reckless. Stress on the word slightly.

They tore down the stairs that lead onto the beach, their wheels kicking up a storm of sand. I buried my face against Dwayne's back, squeezing my eyes shut. People around us were shouting. I could only imagine what they were doing and, honestly, I was happy I couldn't see.

And then, the bike was airborne. I screamed, squeezing against Dwayne so tight I was surprised he could still breathe. My thighs hugged his hips, knees pressed tight against the chrome of the car.

Fortunately, I wasn't thrown from the bike. It jolted hard as it landed, knocking the air out of me, but it didn't fall on its side or flip over. Dwayne had perfect control of the vehicle, keeping it upright with little more than a little swerve.

I opened your eyes a crack and met Marko's eyes. He was laughing without abandon, nodding to Dwayne. Over the wind, the brunet called to me.

"You okay?"

I couldn't manage a reply, mouth dry and tongue heavy. I press myself even closer to Dwayne's back, thighs squeezing his when I go down a particularly sharp dip.