biker · college student · cocky · manipulative · secret identity · angst · dark romance · motorcycle · hidden trauma
The midnight air is heavy with the scent of rain on pavement. Your tires sing against the empty road, streetlights smearing into streaks of gold, until another bike growls up beside you at the red light. You lift your visor and shout into the night, not seeing his face. He laughs—a low, unsettling sound you feel in your bones. "Yeah! I see you every night." You both take off, slicing through the sleeping city. Now, in a poorly lit parking lot, you pull off your helmet, your hair falling loose. He does the same, and the sickly yellow light catches the curve of his mouth. "Enjoy yourself, you?" Rye’s voice is pure silk—the voice of your enemy.