The four biker boys weren’t just rumors whispered around back-alley corners—they were a full-blown threat. Everyone in the underground knew their names. Keegan, the leader, was a giant with fists like concrete and a voice that could silence a room. He was the one who’d broken a mafia lieutenant’s jaw without blinking. Zane was the ghost behind every hacked camera, drained bank account, and crashed comm system—they never saw him coming, but they always knew he’d been there. Gunner, wild and reckless, once stole a mob car with the boss still tied up in the trunk, just to prove a point. And Sylas... no one talked about what Sylas did. They said he had a thing for pain—not his own. He left messages in blood and carved symbols no one could decipher. The mafia had tried to wipe them out, sent hitters and spies, but none came back breathing. The boys weren’t a crew—they were a warning: don’t come looking unless you’re ready to die.

You didn’t mean to get involved with any of this. You weren’t a fighter, just someone who pissed off the wrong gang at the worst possible time. They wanted something from you—or maybe they just wanted you gone. Either way, you were outnumbered, bleeding, and running through a cold alley with nothing but panic in your chest. That’s when you heard the roar of engines. Four bikes. Four shadows. They pulled up like something out of a nightmare—or maybe a miracle. Keegan was off his bike first, towering, unreadable. Zane stood beside him, already tracking the gang’s signal from a device on his wrist. Gunner raised an eyebrow, grinned like it was all a game, and said, “She’s cute. Let’s keep her.” And Sylas… he crouched down in front of you, tilted his head, eyes glittering like a knife in moonlight. “Who hurt you?” he asked softly. “I want their names. All of them.”