The streetlamp above me buzzed like it was struggling to stay alive, casting that dull amber glow over everything it touched. My phone buzzed for the tenth time in as many minutes. Jax. Always Jax, with his endless invitations to the pack rides, his cheerful insistence on camaraderie. I ignored it.
"Brother, where the hell were you?" Jax's voice crackled through the phone, sharp and irritated. "We waited for you at the bridge for forty minutes. Tank nearly had a meltdown thinking you got arrested or go wild again."
I flicked my lighter open, the flame catching the edge of my cigarette as I took a slow drag. "I needed space." I said simply. Final
"Space?" Jax laugh was rough. "You own half this city, Yoh. You don't get 'space'. You do—"
"Jax," I warned, tone flat.
Silence. Then a sigh. "Fine. Whatever shit mood you're in… just don't shut us out again."
Click.
I ended the call before he could finish his lecture. The night was finally quiet again. My head wasn't. Too many moving parts. Too many deals, names, threats — the usual carousel of shit.
I leaned against the machine, thumb flicking through my phone, not really reading. The streetlamp above me buzzed, casting a dull amber glow. My cigarette burned slow between my fingers. The city was quiet. For once, it felt like it wasn't demanding anything from me.
Then I felt it — that shift in air.
Footsteps. Heels.
Sharp. Confident. Cutting into the night as if it owed her space.
I turned my head lazily, expecting… hell, anyone else. A drunk party girl. Someone lost. Someone stupid.
Not her.
Not a woman in tailored clothes and bold posture, moving she had something to prove.
She didn't hesitate. Not for a second. Walked straight up to me as if she had a map, and I was the destination circled in red.
My brows lifted, the closest thing I gave the world to surprise.
Is she… serious?
She didn't slow. Didn't flinch. Didn't even pretend to be cautious.
Does she not know who I am?
I straightened slightly, taking her in — the expensive shoes, the watch that cost more than my first bike, the tension she held in her spine like she was trying to hold herself together with sheer will.
A lawyer. A high-end one.
And walking up to me alone at night like she wasn't approaching the most feared man in the country.
Either brave, drunk, or suicidal.
"Hi," she slurred, voice thick.
My grip tightened slightly on the cigarette.
Not afraid.
Not pretending to be bold.
Actually bold.
Not a threat.
But not not a threat either.
She didn't look at me with fear. She didn't ask if I was Ronan Hale. Didn't look like she was waiting for a pitch, a threat, or a transaction.
Maybe she really didn't know.
Or she was playing the most idiotic game alive.
Her eyes — sharp, lawyer-sharp — met mine. Not the gaze of a woman-scoping-a-mark. Something else. Something desperate. Something honest.
Hell.
She said she just wanted to forget. That she'd pay me. That she wanted me and not whoever else I could send her to.
Every sentence she spoke twisted something low in my gut.
People didn't talk to me like that unless they wanted something. Money. Power. Protection. Violence.
But she wanted none of those.
She wanted oblivion.
From me.
I watched her — the trembling hand, the set jaw, the flush on her cheeks. Drunk, yeah. But not hallucinating. Not delirious. Just… raw.
Jax's words replayed in my mind: "You don't do space. You do chaos."
This felt like chaos.
And strangely, I didn't mind.
I tilted my head, studying her. Maybe she was in denial. Maybe she was lying. Maybe she was using this as a way to get close to me, close enough to strike, spy, whatever.
"Women like you don't walk up to men like me," I told her.
But she didn't back down. Didn't blink. Didn't falter.
And when she said, I want you, something in me sharpened. Focused. Like the world had gone quiet except for her voice.
She wasn't pretending.
She wasn't acting.
She wasn't afraid.
Not of the rumors. Not of the reputation. Not of me.
She was reckless. Or brave. Or broken. Maybe all three.
And God help me — I wanted to see how far she'd go.
I reached out, letting my fingers brush her jaw. Warm. Soft. Trembling.
She leaned into it, not away.
I felt my mouth curve — barely — but it was there.
Fuck it.
If she was joking, I'd know soon enough.
If she wasn't…
Well.
"If you're getting on my bike," I murmured, slipping off my jacket and placing it over her shoulders, "you're wearing this."
Decision made.
Her night to forget.
And my night to figure out why the hell a woman like her walked straight into the lion's mouth… smiling.
****
She climbed onto the back of my bike like she'd done it before — like she wasn't afraid of speed or steel or the man driving it. My jacket hung off her shoulders, too big, too heavy, but she wore it like armor. Like mine.
The moment her arms locked around my waist, I knew two things:
she doesn't give a shit,
and I wasn't going to forget her.
Not because of anything physical — hell, we hadn't even touched yet —
but because of how she held on.
Not reluctant.
Not shy.
Not calculated.
Just… trusting.
Like her body decided before her mind could stop it.
Her cheek pressed to my back, soft against my cloth.
Her breath, warm through fabric.
It wasn't sexual — not yet.
It was something quieter. Something more dangerous.
A woman like her isn't supposed to cling to a man like me.
And yet she did.
So yeah — that's when I knew she'd stick in my head.
Maybe not rent-free.
Maybe she'd owe me something.
A name. A memory. A reason.
But she would stay.