The night had settled over the winding road like a heavy blanket, the sky a deep indigo streaked with the occasional flicker of lightning.
Marcus and Vincent rode in silence, the motorcycle's hum a steady drone beneath the growing tension. Vincent's eyes scanned the darkness, his mind a tangle of plans and guilt, careful not to repeat the mistake of dragging Marcus into some seedy, inappropriate motel.
The last thing he needed was another layer of complication or an excuse for Marcus to cling closer. The card in his pocket felt like a ticking bomb, its promise of millions warring with the warmth of Marcus's arms around his waist.
His thoughts snapped when Marcus's voice broke through, soft but curious, cutting through the wind. "Vincent… do you have hemophobia?" He asked probably due to that night , The question hung in the air, referencing the blood-smeared motel room from days ago, a memory that still sent a shiver down Vincent's spine.
