Caught in Us (Lost 3)

He frowns then unzips his black leather jacket.

"What are you doing?" I ask suspiciously.

"Making sure you won’t get sick." He holds his jacket, motioning for me to put it on.

"But then you'll get sick."

"No, I won't. Come on, no argument."

Obediently, I let him put the jacket on me and zip it up. He then proceeds to put the second helmet he has with him on my head. I feel like a small child, but I relish being taken care of. He shows me how to mount the bike. He sits first, and then I do, right behind him.

"Hold on to me tight, okay?"

I sling my arms around him, my fingers resting on his chest. I can feel his rippled muscles under my fingers. Moving closer to him, my thighs come to rest next to his. My dress slides up my thighs, revealing bare skin. Damon's hands, which were hovering a few inches in the air, probably preparing to make sure my thighs are sitting right, freeze in mid-air. I quickly readjust my dress, but there seems to be a sudden something looming in the air. It fills the few inches of space between my chest and Damon's back. It makes the skin on my thighs tingle.

I bury myself in Damon's jacket. It smells of aftershave and him. The smell invades all my senses, luring me toward unchartered sensations. The tingle on my thighs transforms to heat. As Damon revs the engine and I hold tighter to him, I find the courage to say something I never would have if we were face to face. "So I look stunning, huh?"

He chuckles. "Oh, you do. That's not good, seeing where we're going, but I'll take care of you."

I keep my eyes shut the entire time we're on the road. I'm freezing, but smiling. I still think the bike is a death machine on two wheels, but I find a redeeming point: I get to be closer to Damon than I ever hoped. As I cling to him for dear life, I tune out the sound of the wheels speeding and the wind blowing through my flimsy dress, pondering something he said earlier. I hate everyone in Californi

a except you. This fills me with both elation and sadness. I resolve to find a way for him to feel happier here. Living in hate is awful. Hating others eventually leads to one hating life itself. Look at my parents. Of course, my parents only hate each other, but they do so with a passion that has turned them both to stone.

When the bike stops, I finally open my eyes. Damon helps me off, and I take in our surroundings. I've never been here before. There are only a few large buildings that resemble warehouses. The first rows of houses are visible in the distance...about ten miles away. Unease overwhelms me. I take off my helmet and Damon's jacket and hand them both to him. I realize he's watching me. Perhaps he's done so for a while. A slight frown crosses his features.

"Why have we come here, Damon?"

"So I can show you why you should stay away from me." He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "That was my intention, but now I think it was a horrible idea to bring you here. You know what," he continues, preparing to put his jacket on me again, "I'll drive you to a cafe in the neighborhood over there. It looks safe. I'll pick you up after it's over."

I take a step back. "No. I'm not a chicken."

"It's not about that, Dani. It's about the—”

I never find out what it is about. A man looking a few years older than Damon interrupts us. He has light hair that falls to his shoulders and tired, blue eyes. He must have come from behind the nearest warehouse.

"Damon, it's good you got here early. Everyone is already—” The man stops dead in his steps when he sees me, his eyebrows furrowing.

"She's with me, Alex." Damon's tone startles me. It's strong. Authoritative. I've never heard him speak like this. Even though they’re the same height, and even have a similar build, the man takes a giant step back.

"You'd better hurry inside. The crowd is restless already."

The crowd?

Damon looks at me, and before he can bring up taking me somewhere else again, I say, "Let’s go."

He takes my hand, and I feel oddly secure as I walk beside him, even though this place creeps me out. As we walk by a few warehouses, I can't help thinking Damon was right. My dress, my shoes...they don't belong here. They make me feel out of place and vulnerable. We finally come to a stop in front of one of the warehouses. It looks like all the others, but there is one notable difference: while the others were silent, obviously empty, it's clear this one isn't. The crowd Alex was talking about must be inside here. We go around the warehouse. In front of the entrance, I see two dozen or so bikes and as many cars. Damon squeezes my hand gently as Alex opens the door to the warehouse.

A few people whistle as we go in, while others chant, "Finally." It's obvious the welcome is for Damon, but he doesn't acknowledge them. I look around wildly, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. In the center of the warehouse is an empty circle with rows of people huddled, waiting for something. Once I see the guy pacing inside the otherwise-empty circle, things get more confusing. When the crowd parts at the sight of Damon and someone from the crowd yells, "I've bet on you, Damon. You'd better win this one," I finally get it.

"You're a fighter," I whisper. Of course. That explains the bruises. Damon lets go of my hand, turning to me. His eyes have lost their usual sparkle. He assesses my outfit again.

"Alex," he calls. "Keep an eye on her."

"I will. But that doesn't mean others will keep their hands off her. Especially dressed like this. No offense, but they might mistake her for a hooker."

Damon curses. "Just stay put here; nothing will happen to you."

"Why are you doing this?" I ask.