Chapter 12: Teasing Pursuit

The speakeasy exit spat them into a narrow service corridor beneath the park—dank concrete walls sweating with cold condensation that dripped in slow, deliberate beads down necks and spines, each drop a shocking chill against overheated skin. Pipes overhead groaned like something alive and aroused, the metal vibrating with every distant bass note from the jazz still thumping behind the velvet curtain. The muffled saxophone curled through the tunnel like smoke made sound—sultry, low, sinking into bones, making thighs clench involuntarily with every lingering wail. Snowmelt from above had seeped through cracks, turning the ground slick and treacherous—every footstep a risk of sliding, of falling into each other, the cold concrete biting through boot soles and up into calves already trembling from adrenaline and want.

Rikki retrieved her gun from the hostess with a nod that dared contradiction, fingers brushing the woman’s in a way that made her flush and bite her lip, the brief contact electric. Sophia adjusted Shadow’s clutch on her shoulder—the crimson silk dress torn at the hem from earlier chaos, fabric clinging damply to her thighs from heat and sleet, the silk cool and slippery against overheated skin, riding up with every movement to expose more flushed flesh that prickled in the sudden cold. Her hair was wild now, strands sticking to her neck and cheeks from sweat and melted snow, jasmine scent blooming thicker in the confined space—heady, intoxicating—mixing with the sharp ozone that followed them like a third presence, metallic on the tongue, tasting of lightning about to strike.

They climbed the iron stairs back to the Ramble—metal cold and slick under gloved hands, the chill seeping through leather to bite fingertips, steps groaning under their weight, vibrating up through boots and into cores already thrumming. The air grew colder with every rise—biting through coats, making nipples harden painfully beneath fabric, breath visible and sharp, tasting of ice and the faint, lingering wine on their tongues. At the top, they emerged into the park proper—trees skeletal against the orange glow of distant city lights, branches heavy with snow that dripped in slow, cold drops onto exposed skin, melting instantly against flushed cheeks and necks. The snow blanketing everything muffled sound, but the silence wasn’t empty; it thrummed with anticipation, with the promise of pursuit, the crunch under boots loud and intimate.

Sophia stopped suddenly—hand shooting out to grip Rikki’s arm, nails digging through leather hard enough to bruise, the pressure sending heat flaring despite the cold. Her body pressed forward instinctively—chest brushing Rikki’s back, hips aligning, heat shared through layers. “Wards,” she breathed, voice low and husky against Rikki’s ear, lips grazing skin. “Someone’s tracking us. Close. Very close ... I can taste them.”

Rikki’s hand went to her holster, but her body shifted—pressing back against Sophia, pinning her lightly against the stair railing, the cold metal biting into Sophia’s back through the torn dress, contrasting the furnace of Rikki’s body flush against her front. The railing’s chill seeped through silk, making Sophia gasp, body arching into Rikki’s heat. “How many?” Rikki growled, thigh sliding between Sophia’s—slow, deliberate—pressing with pressure that drew a sharp, involuntary moan, slick heat pulsing against denim.