Broken Hands

5. Amber Woods

Grayson landed on the grassy floor with a stealthy grace, knees bent, like a move out of a superhero flick. He straightened, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he slipped through the back door he'd carefully left cracked open earlier. The night air chilled his face, snapping him into focus, and for a second, he wondered what he was thinking sneaking out in the dead of night. Not exactly wise. But the idea of feeling the surge of adrenaline, the wind tearing past him as he rode his monster, was enough to shove all caution aside. This was his escape, his moment to outrun the confinement of his own mind.

He walked down the dark street, hands tucked in his hoodie pockets, shoulders hunched against the cool breeze. If Alex found out about this, he'd lose his mind-there'd be a long-winded lecture on responsibility, safety, and everything else Grayson already knew by heart. But Alex wouldn't find out; he'd made sure of that. The tracker was left under his pillow, right next to Stray, who was sound asleep under his covers, keeping the secret safe. Julian and Russell couldn't know either; they'd worry, and he didn't want their guilt over what happened that night, two years ago to creep back in. Not again.

He took a sharp turn and felt the reassuring weight of the knife in his pocket. One rule about sneaking into the night: always be ready for anything.

Pausing, he scanned his surroundings, his instincts tingling like he was being watched. But there was only the emptiness of the street and a group of stray cats having some nocturnal meet-up. He released a tense breath. Aiden should be nearby; this would all go according to the plan. A quick spin on the bike, maybe a race, then he'd sneak back, delete the CCTV footage, and that was it.

As he rounded the last corner, he spotted Aiden leaning against the side of a rusty pickup, the glow of his cigarette highlighting a sly grin. Grayson approached, scowling.

"Don't ever drag me out here like this again," he growled.

Aiden laughed, giving him a lazy handshake. The shadows made Aiden almost blend into the night, his dark skin and tattoos barely visible in the dim glow of the streetlight. He strolled to the back of the truck and yanked down a gleaming black motorcycle with sharp red stripes.

Grayson's eyes lingered on the bike, a hunger in his gaze, but he hesitated. "I dunno... not really feeling it tonight."

Aiden's grin faltered, then returned, mischievous. "I've got just the thing to change that," he said, pulling out a cigarette and lighter. "You need a little kick, man. I'd offer something stronger, but we're keeping it low-key tonight."

Grayson took the cigarette, lighting it and taking a slow, deliberate drag. Smoke curled from his nose and mouth as he exhaled, a sense of calm settling in. "You know I'm trying to quit," he muttered, taking another drag anyway.

"Not tonight, you're not," Aiden replied with a smirk. "Gotta keep that fire burning, keep that monster in you wide awake."

Helmet on, Grayson swung onto the bike, fingers gripping the handlebars, the cool metal grounding him. This was his release.

Aiden raised an eyebrow, taunting. "Think you can keep up?"

Grayson smirked, pulling his helmet visor down. "Just try not to die."

With a twist of the throttle, they roared into the night, leaving the quiet streets behind in a blur of speed and rebellion.

*******

The party at King's was a chaotic blaze of sound, strobe lights, and thick, hazy air. Bodies collided on the makeshift dance floor, while shouts and laughter mingled with the bone-rattling bass. Fights broke out in shadowy corners, only to be ignored or cheered on by the crowd. It was a savage scene, with neon lights slicing through the darkness and the scent of smoke and spilled drinks saturating the air.