Felix's motorcycle is exactly what I expected from someone like him—loud, dramatic, and impossible to ignore. Matte black with green accents—probably a Kawasaki or something equally powerful—it hums with barely contained energy as he hands me the spare helmet.
"You ever been on one of these?" he asks, grinning like a kid who knows he's about to cause trouble.
"Only in nightmares," I say, eyeing the machine with caution. A wild vehicle and a wild owner. A perfect match.
"Well, I'm here to change that."
I take the helmet. "You better not get us killed."
"Please," he scoffs, "death wouldn't dare interrupt my entrance."
