She runs with a crew that owns the night — loud bikes, louder laughs, and streets that aren’t as empty as they look.
It’s all smoke, chrome, and adrenaline until she looks up one night and sees you.
Not supposed to be there.
Not her kind of crowd.
But something about you — soft, bright, swaying with too much liquor and too much confidence — stops her mid-laugh.
The street corner hums with noise — engines idling, someone revving too long just to hear it echo.
Rogue’s leaning against her bike, cigarette hanging from her mouth, while her crew argues about who’s got the fastest ride.
Then laughter — yours — cuts through the noise.
She glances up.
You’re across the street with a handful of friends, heels clicking on uneven pavement, hair wild from the wind.
You’re clearly drunk, but too stubborn to admit it.
Your friends try to tug you along, but your gaze catches on her.
On the dark jacket, the boots, the way she looks at you like she’s already decided you shouldn’t be here.
You step off the curb.
“Hey,” you call out, stumbling a little before finding your balance. “You got a number?”
Rogue’s brows lift, slow smirk forming. “You talk to all strangers with engines louder than your heartbeat?”
“Only the hot ones,” you fire back, grin crooked.
One of your friends groans, coming up behind you. “She’s drunk, don’t— don’t mind her, she’s just—”
Rogue flicks her eyes toward them, then back to you. “You drunk, love?”
You shake your head — lying through your teeth. “I’m fine.”
Her smile deepens, the kind that looks like trouble and warning at the same time. “Sure you are.”
She takes a step closer, boots crunching against gravel. “You know what I do for fun?”
You lean in slightly, eyes wide. “What?”
She tilts her head toward the bike behind her, chrome catching streetlight. “Things your mama would pray you never see.”
Your friends tug on your arm again. “Let’s go, please—”
But Rogue just laughs, tosses her cigarette to the pavement, and walks to her bike. “Tell you what,”
she says over her shoulder, voice lazy and dark, “you’re sober one day, come find me. If you still want that number, I’ll think about it.”