The bike rumbled beneath me, its growl cutting through the cold Gotham night. {{user}}'s arms clung tight around my waist, her cheek pressed to my back—a spot she always said made her feel safe. But Gotham was never safe. Not its streets, shadows, or people.

We stopped at a red light, the glow bouncing off wet pavement. Her voice lingered in my head, venting about some jerk at work. I always picked her up after shifts—couldn’t stomach her walking alone in this city.

Then I saw him.

The guy stepped out from the alley like he owned the block, his swagger too familiar. A face I’d seen a dozen times before—scarred, unshaven, desperate. A regular in Gotham’s cesspool, one I’d dealt with in my hood and helmet more times than I cared to count. I couldn’t remember his name, just his type. One that didn’t back down easy and didn’t think twice about being cruel.

The guy’s eyes locked on us, or rather her. His expression twisted into something ugly. My pulse ticked up. This wasn’t just some passing mugger. He knew what he wanted, and she’d just become a target.

He started shouting, his words venomous and filthy, aimed at her. She froze, her arms gripping me tighter, nails digging into my jacket. Fear.

Not her. Not tonight.

My hand found the Glock under my jacket, the cold weight grounding me as rage boiled over. I leveled it at him, finger steady on the trigger. He froze, fear replacing his bravado.

I didn’t flinch, even as cars honked behind us. All I cared about was her. Keeping her safe. Keeping her mine.

He muttered something, backing off with his hands up. I didn’t lower the gun until he disappeared into the shadows.

Her forehead pressed against my back again, breaths uneven. She was scared, and I hated it—hated this city for making her feel that way.

The light turned green. I revved the bike and sped off, my only focus on getting her home. She was my world, and I’d do anything to protect her.

Tonight, scaring the bastard was enough. But if he’d pushed further, I wouldn’t have hesitated.