“Alexi!” I freak out, yanking at it to get it off my head, hating this feeling of trapped, muffled isolation and
stop when his voice comes through my ear from the side loudly, almost like he is in here with me.
“Can you hear me clearly?”
I stop the manic panic and nod mutely. Not sure how the hell he can be inside my helmet, but it has the
calming effect of being let loose. Not trapped in here with my own voice, but he can hear me.
“You can talk you know, the helmets have wireless speakers and mics, so we can still hear each other
over the bike.” He taps the visor in my face as though motioning to inside the helmet and I giggle
nervously, so much tension whooshing away as I do so. The sudden lack of panting makes the visor
clear up again and I can see perfectly out of it. Just takes some getting used to.
“Right … weird.” I don’t know if it is because I’ve never been on a bike before, but I find it odd that
helmets have wireless comms.
“You sound so close.” As though he is inside my brain and yet it’s oddly reassuring.
“I’m close, and in a minute, you will have to hold on to me and be even closer.” That smirk in his tone
and I know he is grinning to himself at that little fact.
“Now I know why you chose a bike as transport,” I respond, rolling my eyes even though he can’t really
see me through my foggy tinted visor.
“It’s the only way I can get you to cuddle up to me without argument.” He laughs a little as he says it
and I just sigh, realising this is happening no matter what I say or do and allow him to guide me and
help me climb onto that infernal machine.
He takes hold of me by the waist, reassuringly, and helps me up and over as gracefully as I can muster.
I sit astride the bike, subtle hints of faint stirring and shitting myself while trying to not have an epic
meltdown and make a complete idiot of myself in the process. I cling onto his arm when he lets me go,
feeling completely unstable, and clench my teeth as he turns away and the bike wobbles a little. My
insides somersault but I try not to react and sit stone still so as not to topple us over.
Alexi climbs on in front of me carefully, so he doesn’t catch me with his foot as he slides over, pulling
the bike up with him to straighten it and I impulsively grab on around his waist from behind, clinging for
dear life. Alexi doesn’t seem to notice the death hold I have on him and pulls on a set of leather gloves.
He seems to have every faith in this machine and his ability anyway.
“Put your feet on those.” He bends, catching my foot and moving it to a little flat rest near the back of
the bike at the rear wheel. It puts me in a better position, and I copy him, finding the one on the other
side without his guidance, without letting go of the grip I have on him. My lungs and heart are fighting to
keep functioning and I’m feeling dizzier by the second due to shallow breathing and lack of oxygen.
Real fear growing inside of me and spreading coldly through my veins. I repeat a mantra under my
breath ‘we won’t die, he won’t kill us’. It’s all I can do to stop myself freaking out as moving on this
infernal thing looms in on us.
“Tell me you drive this a lot and have never ever had any sort of bike accident in all the years you have
owned them.” I sound as scared as I feel, heart pounding and almost crushing him with the way I’m
clinging on. My body is cold, and I’m jittery as hell.
“Not crashed ... much.” He chuckles, and I almost get back off again. The strangled noise that comes
through my mic makes him laugh at me all the more.
“I’m kidding. Calm down, London. Never crashed, and I have been driving bikes since I was way too
young to do so. My dad taught me as early as seven years old how to zoom around on a dirt bike. It’s
like second nature. You can relax and enjoy the ride.”
Easy for him to say.
“Just tell me when it’s over and if I pass out, then don’t let me fall off.”
Alexi laughs again, a husky rumble, amused and I can tell he is enjoying my trauma. Arsehole’s getting
a kick out of putting the fear of God into me. You can tame the beast a little by introducing him to love
but that sadist in him will still find ways to get pleasure in his new-found personality transplant.
“You’ll be just fine. I’m going slow, just for you.” The tone says honesty, but my gut tells me he is lying.
He doesn’t seem like the type to drive his thunder machine in any other way than super-speed.
Isn’t that why men buy these things?
I swallow my nerves as he starts the engine and revs it a little, and even through my helmet, I can hear
the powerful roar as it vibrates through my thighs and I cling onto him even tighter. Arms wrapped
around his waist until my arms ache with the effort and praying to some sort of god to get me through
this. I hope I’m cutting off his blood supply and give him a fraction of the discomfort I’m feeling. He
obviously wanted me scared and I’m sure this is a method to getting me all feeble and weak, so I cling
to him pathetically.
I am literally putting my life in his hands and I wonder what the hell I’m doing.
“When you feel me lean to one side or the other, lean with me. It’s how we turn and if you stick to my
body, then it makes it a hell of a lot easier to keep my turns fluid. Don’t fight me or lean the other way,
mould to me.” Alexi’s voice pops up in my helmet, barely muffled by the bike growls, and I mentally
cross myself.
“Don’t kill us,” I answer with more than a touch of trepidation in my shaking voice, heart doing the
rhumba through my stomach so dramatically he must be able to feel me shaking.
Alexi sniggers again, that low husky, sexy hint of amusement at my unease in that devil tone of his. I’m
so fucking glad he is enjoying this torture.
“I’ll try not to. You should feel honoured; I don’t let anyone on this thing except me.” He leans forward
lifting one foot to whatever he puts it on and pushes us onwards.
That’s all I can take, that lurch of movement and I close my eyes, screwing them shut tight and grip on
so hard I’m sure I might crack his ribs. Alexi catches one of my wrists and pulls my arms up to his
upper rib cage as he nestles his pert butt between my thighs and the bike tilts to one side.
I can’t see, I’m not opening my eyes for anything and my visor is pressed between his shoulder blades,
anyway. I’m literally terrified and so close to him that if I die, I’m taking him with me. He deserves it for
this bullshit.
All I can feel is that horrible lurch of my stomach being thrown to the back of my rib cage as we speed
up and the way we seem to sway side to side like we are on a rough sea.
Noise, movement a sense of falling and going fast and I’m sweating inside my clothes like I’m on the
verge of dying.
I really, really hate this. I am never letting him do this to me, ever again.
I’m sure he loves it though. The fact I have no choice but to be moulded to his body and wholly
dependent on him for survival. I now see exactly why he put me on this damned machine. Alexi is a
tosser. He is the lord of being in control and he put me on something that gives me no option.
A couple of minutes go by of the same feelings and movements. Me stiffer than a board and afraid to
breathe, but my body adjusts to it. I get used to the sensation, although my stomach flips every time the
bike roars and I turn my helmet to the side, sliding across his back and open my eyes.
It’s a bad idea, as streets, lights and traffic whiz past and I close them again. It’s somehow worse
seeing we’re going faster than it feels and I curse his lie that he would go slow. I should have known he
would not stick to that.
Prick!
Thankfully wherever Alexi is taking me, is not far from the club. Still in Little Italy and as the bike slows
down and his leans and tilts become more exaggerated, I can tell we are turning down alleys already. I
lift my head to look and see I’m right. Narrow alleyways and tall dark buildings looming around us as he
slowly manoeuvres his machine into a little maze of inner single-track roads, not meant for cars of any
great width. They are barely footpath wide, and he turns us several corners one after the other. I sit up
a little and loosen my hold, looking around at the worn and mucky stone buildings, the dimly lit
windows, and find we are heading into a part of Little Italy I have never ventured into.
This area has a slightly industrial feel, and in the darkness coming over us, it feels like we are a million
miles away from the club. The terrain and vibe are so different. This is more of a downtrodden area,
like the place I rented when waitressing.
Alexi rounds one last corner, slowing the bike down to a rapid stop outside a chipped green door,
putting his feet down to steady us as we stop. Looking up at a set of stone stairs. Parking right at the
bottom of them and kicks out the stand before leaning the bike to the side slightly. I automatically put
my foot down onto the pavement to stop myself falling off and he turns to help slide and guide me off
fully. Holding onto me until I’m standing on jelly legs, trembling and have to stop myself from kneeling
down and kissing the sidewalk for being back on it. I’m clearly still affected by my fearful journey and he
follows me off the damn killing machine.
Alexi hops off a lot more confident than me, straightens up and pulls open a weird box compartment on
the rear of the bike. He pulls out a brown carrier bag and a white box from what seems like Mary
Poppins’ handbag compartment with magical endless storage.
He lays the bag on the ground and the box on the seat, perching it to balance and pulls off his helmet
stashing it in the now empty space that didn’t look big enough for it. No helmet hair for him anyway.
I try to find the buckle under my chin, looking down even though it’s pointless and jump when Alexi’s
hands slide around my throat gently and he does it instead. Pulling off my helmet in seconds and then
sticks it in the back of his bike before locking the box lid. He lifts his spoils back up and gives me a
charming smile. Looking unruffled and happy for once.
“We’re here … up those steps.” He nods to the darkened doorway and I let him take the lead. Intrigued
by our surroundings but also confused as we seem to be in a residential area rather than a business.
Definitely not a Chinese restaurant.
“Where are we exactly?” I follow closely, a sense that this neighbourhood isn’t the safest area to be in
and almost walk right into the back of him at the top of the steps as he fishes in his bag for keys.
“My first home. Where it all began.” He replies, getting the creaky outer door open and heads in,
gesturing me to follow with a nod into the dark interior. He holds the door open with his elbow so I can
duck inside the gloomy hallway of an apartment building.
I blanch at those words, blinking as I take in the stairs and entrance once again. Downtrodden, grimy
and common, hardly the place I imagined a rich Carrero would begin in this city.
The inside is a dark musty stairway, concrete with a wrought iron bannister edging the stairs. I can see
other internal doors as though this is an apartment block of several small units and looking up shows a
couple of floors in the space where the stairs go. Alexi heads right to the foot of them and I follow
quietly. Intrigued by this run-down building and the lack of grandeur I’m used to seeing him surrounded
by. It’s borderline inhabitable and the kind of place you expect to find rats and cockroaches in every
corner. A reminder of where I stayed after I left the hospital and reinvented myself as Meghan.
“Top floor, although it’s only a couple flights.” He adds, not looking back and I try to stay close.
Uncertain about our surroundings and trying not to step on any creatures I’m convinced might be
lurking in the dust and dirt of each solid step.
It’s dark, no natural lights at all as there are no windows, the dim electric lighting overhead is all we
have, which is dull as hell because most of the bulbs are out. That flickering, buzzing kind of light that
gives you a headache. The building feels deserted, and the lack of maintenance suggests not many
people use this.
“I thought you came from money. This place is a bit rough isn’t it?” I point out when we climb the stairs
quickly, passing more chipped and battered doors, and the concrete beneath our feet could do with a
good sweep. It’s so dusty it's choking me and stirring up all kinds of unwelcome smells. The clouds of
dust circle around my feet. Definite signs of disuse. I’m guessing a lot of these apartments are empty
nowadays.
“I did. I just didn’t want to be a trust fund baby and always rely on my father’s wealth in life. I found this
place once I secured a job nearby and rented it. I went it alone for a while.”
Well, that’s a revelation and I wonder how old he was when he did that. Moved out to the city alone and
stood on his own two feet. I blink up at his tall figure in front of me and really take stock of that little titbit
of info. There really is more to him than most silver spoon babies from wealthy backgrounds.
Alexi leads us to a black, more recently painted glossy door that seems a lot more maintained than the
rest of the building. Signs of cleanliness around it too as though someone tends to this hallway here
and the apartment behind it. The overhead light at the entry is bright and clean and illuminates us more
successfully. Making me blink as we stand under it.
Opening it, he pushes the heavy door inwards and reaches in with his carrier bag hand and flicks on
some lights to illuminate the interior.
“I don’t understand. I thought you went straight into the family business with your father?” Now he has
me stumped and I blink as the smell of chemical cleaners and air fresheners waft strongly in my face,
out into the damp stairwell and draw me into a much cleaner interior with healthier air to inhale. He
obviously has someone regularly keep this place in check, there is not a hint of dust or dirt or any signs
of disuse in here.
I always envisioned, after his mother turned her back on him, that he followed his father to the city and
worked as one of his henchmen. I mean, I assumed after taking someone out, his father saw the
promise in his son and mentored him to be his replacement. Took him under his wing and turned him
into the cold leader that became infamous in this city.
“Nope. Come on, you can question me inside when I get this place opened up. It’s been a while since I
was here.” Alexi walks in ahead of me as the apartment lights flicker on, both overhead and
underlighting, as the cosiest looking loft apartment I have ever seen, comes into view.
It’s nothing like the club or his apartment I stayed in before.
It’s urban and industrial and homely. Leather armchairs all battered and scuffed, a wall lined with
bookshelves, books, trinkets, photos. Neutral tone paintwork with lots of textures from various objects
and soft furnishings galore. There are rugs on the floor and some that overlap for a warm, inviting floor
space that requires barefoot investigating, and an electric fire already burning bright in a hearth in the
centre of the wall, with lamps that came on when he flicked the main switch.
The whole place has been set up to be homely, filled with junk shop finds or cheap decor and reminds
me of a secret reading nook in an old library, or a professor’s office in his home. It has an air of a
hidden, magical place, a little nook secreted away in a dark, disused corner of New York, and I
absolutely love it.
There’s a whole wall of battered metal signs and car license plates displayed neatly, all set out in a
gallery and some from random places in New York.
I like it a lot. I could see myself happily hiding here for weeks on end. It’s not a place I would ever have
put him in a million years though. It’s human and warm and screams of someone sentimental with a
love of the simple pleasures in life and a love of this city. There’s a tacky, bronzed statue of liberty sat
on a shelf near the signs and some odd postcards from far and wide propped around it. Signs of
someone sentimental who keeps unusual tokens. Like lipsticks.
Alexi veers right to the tiniest kitchenette along the wall that the door is on, and as I come in and close
it behind us as I do a full scan of the room. Taking everything in easily as it’s so small.
It’s tiny. A square room with an open-plan living room and kitchen, there’s a door in the far corner which
I guess is a bathroom, seeing as there’s a black metal staircase leading up to a platform ten feet over
my head. It covers half the ceiling and has a matching metal balcony which doesn’t conceal a small
bedroom space. Mattress on the floor, more rustic bookcases I can see from here and only just enough
room to stand up. It’s cosy as bedrooms go and very urban chic.
I would never imagine him staying anywhere like this and it’s not the style of the Alexi I know.
It’s like a time warp of some mythical safe haven where adventures start. It’s typical New York living for
those on a normal factory wage who make the most of the space they can afford. You pay per square
footage and this is the space you would expect a low earner, the living wage to wage type can afford.
Evidence of cosy nights in as he was budgeting his income are all around. DVDs, CDs, books galore
and this space is well worn and lived in. I can almost imagine a young Alexi coming home and
discarding his boots and jacket by the door and being enveloped into this physical hug of a place. He
made a home for himself to be less alone. Filled it with things to make it his. I know all about replacing
feelings with possessions.
Alexi is opening a fridge and depositing two bottles of wine from his bag on the counter and some
beers in the door. He holds out the white box with a smile, bringing my full attention back to him with
how at ease he seems in here and I take it carefully with a hint of suspicion.
‘What’s this?’ I eye him up and then look down at it. A lightweight cardboard box that is no bigger than
a muffin case.
“Your Chocolates and flowers.” He adds with a wink and goes back to flicking switches on the wall
which are connected to a thermostat panel. Not elaborating more than that. I assume he’s putting the
heating on to kill the chill in the air.
The place doesn’t feel unused, but it’s a bit chilly considering the season we are in and warmth will just
complete its perfection. I’m also sure he must have had a cleaner recently as there is not a speck of dirt
and the whole place smells fresh with a washcloth hanging on the tap over the sink. It looks damp and
is hung neatly to dry out. Everything is gleaming from a very recent scrub, most likely in the last few
hours. It’s cute that he got this place worthy of a visit. As always, his attention to detail is something we
have in common.
“This looks too small for both,” I add with a giggle, anticipation pushing me to flip up the lid on the
cardboard box that’s barely big enough to fit a mug, or maybe a corsage. I laugh out loud when I spy
the chocolate cupcake covered in pastel-coloured sugar flowers. A generous-sized cake for one from
my favourite bakery. I would recognise one of their cakes anywhere.
“Smart arse.”
It’s touching and gives me a warm gooey feeling.
“You like cake … so …” he shrugs, like the confident, cocky arse that he is and carries on opening
cupboards and pulls out glasses. I gaze at the cake and then at him and once again feel like I
underestimate him at every turn. He seems to be a never-ending surprise when you least it expect it.
He won’t ever bend to someone else’s commands, but he will compromise so he can stay true to who
he is. Sometimes in clever ways, much like with this gift. He’ll never give me chocolates or flowers by
the conventional standards, but I think his version of romance might actually warm me more than I
expected. He’s trying, for me. Never thought that would ever happen.
A warm, fuzzy feeling moves up within me, enveloping me and relaxing me, and I gently lay the cake
box on the counter and push it back for later as I watch him. He looks different tonight. Younger,
carefree and less intimidating when surrounded by a place where he obviously feels he belongs. He
looks happy and I appraise him with a fresh eye. He just seems different. Maybe because he’s taken
himself out of his empire and dressed like a normal Joe Bloggs for the night, removing us from
grandeur, command and anything that ties him to the man he has become. Knowing him, that was his
intention, and all of this was a well thought out plan.
Putting us in a place where he created a blank slate. No ties to the club or anything that’s normal for
us. I can see why he chose this over a restaurant.
“You were telling me why you lived here.” I remind him and pull off my coat so I can fix my messy hair. I
must look a fright after being assaulted by that helmet. I throw it on the back of the nearest armchair,
pulling out my hair pins one at a time so I can smooth my hair back into place and neaten it up by touch
alone. I was always good at doing my hair without a mirror and it can’t get any worse than what I can
feel falling around my ears.
I return to watch him pour two glasses of red wine. He is obviously paying attention to the details, as
red is my wine of choice and he rarely drinks it. He is trying to impress even if he doesn’t act like it and
it tugs an involuntary smile to my lips. Amused by it.
“I decided that I wanted to do my own thing and find my own way in life. My father put his foot down on
me joining him in the ‘family business’ and I was rebelling.” He hands me my glass, picks up his to
chink against mine in a motion of ‘cheers’ and nods to the cosy room in front of the fire. Gesturing for
us to go sit down.
I’m itching to sit on the plush rug, down in front of it and haul out the albums I spy as we walk across
but I’m a good girl and sit in a chair instead. Acting demure and inquisitive, subtly. My eyes scanning
the room intensely and trying to pull out all the little details in a place Alexi started life in. It’s weird he
brought me here because this is nothing of what I imagined of him. It’s so personal and a contradiction
to anything I know about him.
“He said no to you being what you are now? Then how?” I bring my eyes back to his as he hauls off his
jacket and throws it on top of mine as he sits down on the chair opposite me, leaning forward to the
beat-up wooden trunk that serves as a coffee table. It’s rustic and well-loved and I wonder what sort of
treasures are hidden in its belly. It has a lock on one side and a padlock keeping the contents safe from
prying eyes.
The whole place is decorated in antique shop finds, retro possessions and random things. It’s eclectic
and inviting in so many ways. A movie set for some student boho movie or artsy film.
“I get the feeling you’re going to ask a million questions now we’re here. What do you want to know,
London? I brought you here to let you get to know me, so I guess I better do that.” Alexi puts his glass
down, pulls the cushion from behind him and tosses it on the floor before sitting back and putting his
feet on the trunk too. Getting comfy in a strangely casual way. It’s obvious that this place helps him
unwind and as hard as I try to place him here, it just doesn’t fit the man I know. I feel like we’ve
stumbled into an alternate reality and Alexi just took off his dark cloak and mask to reveal some young
hero, one that I don’t know at all.
I narrow my eyes at him, a million questions poised in my head and take a long, slow deliberate sip of
my drink, sliding off my shoes to pull my legs under me and I haul my own cushion around to put on my
lap to rest my hand and glass. I get comfy too, delay the barrage of questions to let him think I’m
sussing out my surroundings. Which I am, I guess.
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