Chapter 66
Chapter 66
Lyra pov
I really don't blame him for talking back at me, it's a mistake that I had to sneak out of the hell pit just to spend time with a lunatic like him. I pray he doesn't go violent on me, if he does I will break the record by breaking his head. I thought as he kept driving to his pack. No conversation, no sneezing, no snickering, just keep the focus like a security personnel. I leaned back to the chair, the weather was already getting stormy, my heart started racing because his pack was too far and Marcello would soon find out that I had left his pack.
Once Marcello discovered that I had left his pack, a wave of dread washed over me. The thought loomed large that I wouldn’t have a moment to enjoy my newfound freedom before facing the consequences—death seemed imminent. Even if fate had inexplicably granted us a wild night filled with passion, a 'sex marathon' as some might playfully call it, all I could feel was the weight of impending doom overshadowing any thrill I might experience. To make matters worse, the streets outside were choked with heavy traffic, the honking horns and frustrated drivers a stark reminder of how trapped I truly was.
The tension in the car was suffocating, heavy like a thick blanket pressing down on us. I could almost feel his anger radiating towards me, an electrifying force that crackled in the air. As I glanced at him sideways, I noticed the rigid set of his jaw, the way his muscles twitched beneath his skin, and his eyes, dark and unfocused, fixed on the dirt road stretching endlessly ahead of us. Each breath he took was shallow, his nostrils flaring slightly as he struggled to maintain control over the storm brewing inside him.
Suddenly, without warning, he swung his door open. For a moment, I thought he was trying to make space for us to talk, but to my shock, he strode over to my side, yanked my door open, and shifted to the side, blocking my exit. "Get out!" he commanded, his voice booming with authority, sending a shiver cascading down my spine.
"What? Are you really going to leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere?" I shot back, my voice dripping with sass and defiance. I locked my gaze onto his, both of us engaged in an unspoken battle, each refusing to back down.
"Get out, Lyra," he repeated, his tone steely and unwavering.
"Why? So you can ditch me like a forgotten piece of litter? No thanks," I countered, folding my arms defiantly across my chest, determined not to show any sign of weakness.
He took a step closer, invading my personal space, his eyes ablaze with a fierce intensity that sent a jolt through me. "I won't ask again," he warned, his voice low and laced with an edge that hinted at his growing frustration.
"Oh, I'm shaking in my boots," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes, trying to mask the flicker of fear that threatened to surface.
That was when he lost it. In a swift, unexpected motion, he reached inside, grasped my waist, and pulled me from the car as if I weighed nothing at all. I found myself cradled in his arms, my feet dangling above the ground, heart pounding in my chest. "Put me down, you caveman!" I shouted, indignation fuelling my fury as I pounded my fists against his chest, a mix of anger and disbelief coursing through me.
He didn’t flinch or look back. Instead, he strode down the cracked asphalt road, leaving his sleek black car behind, its engine still humming in the background. The brisk wind whipped through my disheveled hair, carrying with it the scent of pine and dust, as I glared at his retreating figure, my anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface like a pot ready to boil over.
We walked in tense silence for what felt like an eternity, the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath our feet punctuating the air with each step. Finally, we reached a zebra-print crosswalk that stood out vibrantly against the dull pavement. With a flick of his wrist, he suddenly dropped me onto the ground, and I stumbled awkwardly, nearly losing my balance as I tried to regain my footing.
Just then, a motorcycle roared up beside us, the sound of its engine reverberating in the air. The biker, clad in a leather jacket and a full-face helmet, nodded in acknowledgment as he pulled to a halt. “Good day, Boss,” he greeted Vincenzo with a respectful tip of his helmet, his voice muffled but friendly.
Vincenzo nodded curtly, his expression impassive, and the biker quickly handed him a glossy black helmet along with the keys to the motorcycle before revving the engine and speeding off without another word, the sound of his bike fading into the distance.
“Get on the bike,” Vincenzo commanded, his steel-grey eyes locked onto mine, exuding an air of authority.
“No way,” I shot back defiantly, planting my feet firmly on the ground, feeling the rough texture of the asphalt beneath my shoes.
He let out a low growl of frustration, his jaw tightening, and strode towards the bike with long, purposeful strides. “Fine,” he muttered under his breath, climbing onto the motorcycle’s seat only to dismount again in a flash.
In a swift, powerful motion, he scooped me up, my feet leaving the ground for a brief moment, and plopped me onto the bike with a surprising gentleness. He climbed on behind me, his presence overwhelming. “Hold onto me,” he ordered, the command leaving no room for argument as he fired up the engine, the throaty roar vibrating through my body.
I gripped the bike seat tightly, my knuckles turning white with tension as I tried to steady my racing heart.
With a sudden jerk, the bike lurched forward, and I fought to maintain my balance, my body instinctively shifting as the wind whipped past us. Vincenzo shot me a warning look, his eyes narrowing, and I hastily wrapped my arms around his waist, holding on for dear life.