The Liberator (A Dante Walker Novel) (Entangled Teen) by Victoria Scott Page A

tells me otherwise. She looks at me through the gap in her helmet, her riotous eyes flashing. “Sure you ain’t got nothing else to do?”
    She’s quoting what I told her earlier. And I know what I need to do is get her off that bike, because crap like this earns seals for hell, not heaven. But that growl rolling off the twin bikes—oh, shit, that growl —it creeps in; it slinks through all the openings in my body and smothers my resolve. Without thinking, I touch a finger to the skull on my red belt. It’s cool and reassuring beneath my skin.
    My eyes land on the third bike. It’s cherry freaking red. And it’s calling my name. I move forward and—gripping the chrome handlebars—I mount her. Then I start the engine, pull on a helmet, and close my eyes in ecstasy. When I open them, Gage is smiling at me—
    And in his eyes is something I’ve only seen in hell.
    The sight should scare me. It should tell me to get off the damn bike and get Aspen out of here. But for the first time since I left Charlie, my head isn’t back there with her, it’s here and in the now—a beast between my legs, an empty road begging to be plowed, and a dare in Gage’s eyes I’m not about to abandon.
    Throwing my head back, I howl at the open sky like an animal.
    Then I release the brake and thunder out into the afternoon sun.
    The last thing I see before my eyes lock on the road is a flesh-colored tattoo peeking out from beneath Gage’s sleeve. And I swear on all that is unholy, I’ve seen it somewhere before.

12
    I Want Her
    After racing on the bikes for several hours, we finally return them. The owner still doesn’t know they’re gone, so no harm done, I figure. We leave them in the garage and jump into The Regulator. Then we hit up Mickey D’s before swinging by Aspen’s house to get Lincoln.
    Gage lays on the horn as he stuffs French fries into his mouth. “Come on, shithead.”
    I almost laugh, but the sound dies in my throat, because I like Lincoln. And I can’t tell whether Gage does. For some reason, I doubt it. It feels like we’re all here for Aspen, like we all want a piece of her just like Lincoln said, and that makes us competitors. Still, I like to think Lincoln and I are on the same train. So yeah, I don’t laugh.
    Lincoln comes strolling out of the house, surveying the battlefield like a soldier at war. Finding it free of enemy fire, he climbs into the backseat, squishing Aspen between us.
    “My dad home?” Aspen asks, touching a finger to her empty necklace.
    Lincoln glances at her, then up at Gage and Lyra. “Yeah, he’s here. With Sahara. He sends his well-wishes.”
    Aspen laughs and tells Gage to get us out of here.
    He does.
    Ten minutes later, we roll up to another party. “You Denver peeps enjoy the frosty beverages, no?” I tell Aspen.
    She gives a small shrug but smiles. “We do it up. Don’t be J.”
    I get out of the car, and everyone follows suit. “I’m not jealous of your whack job city with your whacked-out drivers trying to run me off the road.”
    “Say what?” Aspen says with genuine surprise, and maybe a little concern, stretched over her face.
    “Never mind,” I mumble, because I’m busy watching Gage whisper to Lyra about what I said. Freak shows.
    Lincoln shivers and shoves us both toward the house. “Can we get inside, please? My man ornaments are going to shatter out here.”
    I wrap Lincoln’s head under my arm and lead us inside. In response, he elbows me in the crotch, and we both crumble to the ground right inside the entrance.
    “Idiots,” Aspen says, but I can tell she’s happy we’re getting along. As she glides into the room, people stop what they’re doing. They offer her a drink, they remove her mink coat, they orgasm as they note her green Jimmy Choo heels. I’m familiar with the way she allows herself to be consumed by them. It feels good , I remember. Like it doesn’t matter that Mom doesn’t give a crap or that Dad’s always gone.
    I grab a beer