T⃨u⃨r⃨n⃨ O⃨n⃨ T⃨h⃨e⃨ N⃨i⃨g⃨h⃨t⃨ | The Lost Boys

C⃨H⃨A⃨P⃨T⃨E⃨R⃨ T⃨W⃨E⃨L⃨V⃨E⃨

The walk to the bike rack was silent. The rest of the boys appeared to have succumbed to the same mood as David. Even Paul seemed to be in a bit of a tiff as he sulkily smoked his joint, his free hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket. Laddie remained none-the-wiser, chatting about a new action figure he wanted, and I chimed in occasionally, simply to keep the peace.

When I finally reached the boys' motorcycles, Dwayne broke away from the group without a word. While his silence wasn't unusual, this felt deeper. He straddled his bike and revved the engine almost spitefully. His face pulled into a tense frown before he was peeling out of the stand and toward David's waiting figure.

I swallowed, concerned at the abrupt change. 

"Well," Paul started, "You heard boss man, you're with me, babe."

I sighed, staring at the motorcycles in front of me in a strange mix of fear and anticipation. This didn't feel like something I could decline, especially with the shift in their attitudes. Some unconscious warning told me that I'd better do what they say and do it quickly, lest something unfortunate happen.

I just wished that submission didn't involve this.

"Promise you'll drive safe?" I twisted my head over my shoulder to pin Marko with a slightly fiercer look, "Please don't kill my son."

"Mom," Laddie whined, "I'll be fine—"

Waving me off, Marko offered a surprisingly sincere assurance, "He'll be okay."

His promise didn't stop the way my heart jolted in physical pain as I watched my son walk toward the motorcycle. Statistics flashed through my mind and I couldn't stop myself from cataloguing Laddie's outfit, happy he at least wore long sleeves.

My observation failed to remedy the rock that lodged in my throat as I envisioned the worst.

"Marko—" I trailed off, staring at him when he pulled Laddie up to straddle the motorcycle behind him, "I'm trusting you, okay?"

Blonde eyebrows lifting in surprise, Marko stared at me for a second. I had the belated realization that I'd startled him. While I didn't get a verbal response to my admission, Marko eventually nodded in muted sincerity.

It wasn't prefect, but it was the most I was going to get in this scenario.

I watched them drive away with clenched fists, trying to force my worry down. I hadn't lied. I trusted Marko, but god, this still scared the shit out of me.

"Come on, girl," Paul grabbed my hand, tugging me toward his own bike, "I'm about to take you on a ride."

I shot him a tired look, "Great."

As I moved to straddle the metal machine, I tucked my arms around Paul's waist and pinched my eyes shut. I didn't have the same hope that I'd survive this ride, but I could only pray that Paul didn't traumatize me too bad. When the engine rumbled to life and Paul whooped as he revved the ignition, I deemed those prayers worthless and prepared myself for a very distressing ride.

I was proven correct not even five seconds in when Paul sent his bike wheeling through the crowd and down the steps.

The rest of the ride passed relatively quickly thanks to my determination to keep my eyes shut. I only shrieked a few times, and it was generally due to Paul's own actions. I knew he took the turns too fast on purpose— I could tell by the way he hollered.

There was also the sinking suspicion that he actively worked to frighten me, but I had no merit for those accusations other than exposure to his personality.

I swore to myself if I ever had to do this again it would be with Dwayne.

Around ten minutes later, I arrived at our destination, or so I believed. Paul pulled his bike in behind Marko's, parking it at the edge of a very steep cliffside. I held onto Paul's shoulder as I lifted myself off the bike and tried to ignore the trembling of my legs.

I wandered a few steps ahead, a little bit past Marko's bike. It was hard to see in the dark, but I could almost make out a gate a few paces away.

"Hold up," Paul hopped off his bike when I wasn't looking and his hand latched onto my shirt, "You're gonna walk off the damn cliff."

I froze as the warning registered, letting Paul pull ne back toward him, "I can't believe you actually live on a fucking cliff."

I earlier assumption about their living situation was being proven wrong in the worst way possible. Eyeing the now apparent drop off and listening to the heavy crash of waves, I realized I would much rather be spending my evening in a cramped apartment instead of whatever this was.

"Not just any cliff," Paul corrected, leading me toward the gate I spotted earlier, "You're about to see a fucking masterpiece, babe."

I didn't have time to question him before I realized that the gate I spotted earlier wasn't a gate, but a staircase that led to a goddamn bridge. Unconsciously, I gripped the back of Paul's jacket and tucked myself closer to his heat. There was no way I was about to walk across that disgrace of modern engineering—except I didn't really have a choice.