Razor Sharp | ✓

Sixteen

♡♡♡

"You're leaving today," Andy's voice booms, sending shivers down my spine.

I whip my head to look at him, my eyes widening. Relief washes over me as I stand up, already putting on my shoes. Andy suddenly chuckles and all my hope vanishes. After all this time, hadn't I learnt? As soon as I got some good news, why did I trust it to be true?

"I don't mean you're leaving to go home, Elena," he scoffs. "Your father hasn't given me the money yet. What I mean, is that you're leaving the house."

Well, that is better than nothing. At least I can leave this shit hole for a few hours.

"With Hunter," he adds, smugly.

On second thought, it's probably better if I stay here. I don't want to face Hunter right now. Not after the scene at breakfast.

"So," Andy says, interrupting my thoughts. "You'll be working with Hunter today. No one will be at home and I'm not leaving you here by yourself. I'm not stupid."

"Hunter will come to get you in a few minutes," he adds.

When he leaves, he doesn't bother shutting the door. Hunter must almost be here then.

"Hey," a deep voice calls from the doorway. "You ready?"

My feelings for Hunter are still there, but the anger towards him is just as strong. "Does it matter either way? I have to come, don't I?"

Hunter sighs, clearly not wanting to deal with this mood of mine. Well, too bad, the more uncomfortable this is for him, the better.

"You think I wanted you to come along with me today?"

Even though I wish his words didn't affect me, they do. I must make it evident, too. He suddenly blinks, wiping a frustrated hand over his face.

"I mean that I don't want you to have to see what I'm doing today. I would have preferred if you had stayed here."

I double knot both my shoes, slowly. I can tell Hunter is starting to get impatient with me, but I don't care.

"Look, the quicker I finish, the quicker it'll be over for you, alright?"

I stare at him, glaring, before walking past him, purposely bumping into his shoulder.

"How mature," he mumbles.

Being Hunter today isn't going to be my only issue. The farm is miles out from Wayhill's main town, but the town is closer to Metrepoint than the farm. I'd get a glimpse of freedom, only for it to be taken from me again.

I try to stop thinking about home as Hunter moves past me, opening the front door. I make sure not to look into his eyes as we walk towards his car. Then I stop dead.

We aren't riding in a car. We're riding on a motorbike.

"Is this a joke?"

Hunter sighs, looking over at me like he thought I would have this reaction. "We don't have a choice, no one is at home today. They took all the cars."

Hunter is currently leaning against a motorbike. He throws a helmet at me and I just manage to catch it before it hits the dirt. He places a helmet on his own head, fastening the straps.

"I thought you would like motorbikes," he says, grinning.

I roll my eyes. "Of course I do. That isn't the problem."

I had grown up loving motorbikes, I rode them all the time at home. It's mine and Noah's favourite past time. It's a way for me to relieve some stress, especially after mum had left.

I love the feeling of the wind in your hair, the open road in front of you. As a child, dad had taken me for rides on his own bike. When I turned nine, I got my own for my birthday. I rode it all the time and hadn't ridden with someone else since. I like to be the one in control.

That's the problem. I'll have to sit behind Hunter, my arms wrapped around his torso.

"Come on," he says, bringing one leg over to straddle the seat. "What are you afraid of?"

"Just so you know, I've been riding solo since I was nine and I don't like your patronising tone."

He raises an eyebrow playfully. "Then I don't see any problems here."

He pulls on some aviator sunglasses, throwing me heartstopping grin. "Come over here and wrap those skinny arms around my waist, El," he laughs, turning on the bike and revving the engine.

I roll my eyes at him, stepping forward and punching him in the arm. "I hate you. And just so you know, if you do tell your dad about the phone call, I'll never be able to forgive you."

"Yeah," he says, his voice monotone. "You've already established that."

Just like that, everything playful about this conversation evaporates. Or maybe it's good that it does. Now I can actually focus on being angry at him. Now I can stop showing him how easy it is to knock down my walls.

He is the enemy, after all. I need to be stronger.