Not tonight

Aaron

"Keep driving." Scarlett replied as she leaned back comfortably.

I was losing my patience each second. But I decided not to burst out.

"That's not an address." I said.

"And this isn't a taxi, remember?" She shot back with a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Just drive, Wylder."

I checked the mirror again.

The SUVs had utilized a straightaway to gain ground. They were organized, aggressive, and clearly familiar with the industrial district's layout. The gap was narrowing to less than four hundred yards.

Scarlett sat up as she checked her side mirror. The smirk disappeared.

"Left." She ordered.

I kept my eyes on the road, maintaining my speed.

"I said left, take the next turn!" She snapped, pointing toward a narrow, poorly lit alleyway approaching on our driver's side.

I ignored her.

"Are you deaf?" She demanded, turning in her seat to glare at me. "They are gaining on us. Take the damn…"

I didn't turn left. I floored the accelerator.

The Aston Martin surged forward with a deafening roar just as the traffic light ahead of us flipped from yellow to red.

I didn't brake. I calculated the distance, the speed of the oncoming cross-traffic and the exact weight of my car.

We blew through the intersection a second before a truck barreled across the lanes, cutting off the SUVs behind us.

Horns blared in the distance, followed by the screech of brakes but we were already gone.

Before the security detail could maneuver around the truck, I killed my headlights.

Only then did I turn. A narrow service road opened between two warehouses.

I slipped into it.

The Aston Martin vanished into the maze of loading docks and shipping yards where rows of stacked containers blocked visibility in every direction.

Left. Right. Right again. Another left.

The roads narrowed until they became little more than delivery lanes.

Only after another minute did I return to a normal street.

I turned the headlights back on and eased the car to a smooth, legal cruising speed.

The rearview mirror was entirely empty. Silence settled inside the cabin.

I didn't look at her but I could feel Scarlett staring at the side of my face.

I could feel it.

Studying. Evaluating. Trying to understand how a corporate executive had just shaken a professional security team without raising his heartbeat.

"You are one of those…" she finally murmured, leaning back into the leather.

"One of what?" I asked flatly.

"People who alphabetize their spice rack."

I didn't say a word. I just kept my eyes on the road.

From the passenger seat, Scarlett let out a laugh.

A real laugh. Bright. Unrestrained.

It filled the cabin so unexpectedly that I almost looked at her.

Almost.

We drove in silence for a while.

"Take the next exit toward the shipyards.” She instructed a few minutes later.

The skyline faded behind us. Glass towers became shipping containers. Steel cranes replaced office buildings. Rust replaced marble.

"Pull over there." She pointed toward an aging warehouse sitting alone at the end of a dead-end road.

I brought the Aston Martin to a halt in front of the rolling steel doors. It looked abandoned but the faint, rhythmic thumping of bass bled through the walls.

Before either of us could move, the massive garage door rumbled upward.

Light spilled across the rain-soaked pavement. Rows of motorcycles gleamed inside. Custom Harleys. Indians. Ducatis. Every machine immaculate.

So… it was a motorcycle club.

A group of men and women in heavily patched leather vests were gathered around a pool table. The moment the garage door opened, they stopped and looked toward my car.

They saw her.

One massive, bearded biker let out a loud, piercing whistle. Another grinned, grabbed a bottle of beer from a nearby crate and tossed it perfectly through the air.

Without hesitation, Scarlett rolled down the window, caught it one-handed, and hooked the cap off the edge of my lowered window.

Metal scraped against glass.

I closed my eyes for exactly one second. "...Did you just use my car as a bottle opener?"

She looked genuinely confused. "It worked."

Before I could respond, someone yelled from the back. "Look who decided to ditch the tiara!"

"About damn time!" another voice shouted.

Scarlett climbed out.

The garage erupted around her. People slapped her shoulder. Someone wrapped an arm around her neck. Someone else stole the beer from her hand.

She belonged here. Not at a political gala. Not beside Nathan Vale. Here.

Before closing the door, she leaned back down toward my window.

"Thanks for the ride, Wylder." she said, her tone laced with that same infuriating, playful mockery.

I stared back at her, deadpanning. "That's it?

Scarlett shrugged. Her storm-gray eyes danced with amusement. "Were you expecting a kiss?"

I just stared. Yeah, she was completely out of her mind.

She smirked. "Not tonight."

Without waiting for a response, she stepped back and slammed the passenger door shut.

I watched her walk into the light of the garage, instantly absorbed into the crowd of leather and laughter, before the steel door rolled back down, leaving me alone in the dark.

The drove to my penthouse took another hour.

The elevator doors opened directly into the private foyer.

Everything looked exactly as I had left it.

Minimalist furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline.

Silence.

Perfect.

I shrugged off my rain-soaked jacket, loosened my tie, and walked toward the bar.

One finger of scotch.

The amber liquid barely reached the bottom of the crystal glass.

I carried it to the window.

Below, the city glittered.

A while later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

ELENA

Did you make it home?

I typed one word.

Yes.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Good. Because the internet has officially lost its mind.

Another message arrived.

A link.

I opened it.

The headline made me close my eyes.

SENATOR’S DAUGHTER STORMS OFF STAGE AFTER SHOCK ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT

Of course.

There were already dozens of blurry cellphone videos. Scarlett pulling her hand away from Nathan. Walking offstage. Marcus Vance forcing smiles for the cameras. Nathan looking like someone had stolen his inheritance.

No mention of me.

Good.

I exited the article.

Another message from Elena appeared.

Board meeting moved to 8:30. Also… Our lobbying team says Senator Vance is pushing the shipping tax vote forward.

I frowned.

Forward?

That wasn’t good.

Marcus only accelerated legislation when he needed leverage. Or distraction. Either way, it meant he was moving faster than expected.

I typed back.

Move tomorrow’s meeting with legal to seven.

Done.

A final message appeared before the screen went dark.