The motorcycle thundered beneath you, engine snarling as tires hissed across the rain-slick pavement. City lights streaked past in neon blurs—red, gold, electric blue—reflected in puddles that shattered beneath each wheel. Your arms were locked tight around Rion’s waist, knuckles white against the leather of her jacket. Every sharp turn made your heart lurch into your throat.

Ahead, the target’s black sedan cut through late-night traffic, swerving between lanes like a frightened animal. But your focus kept slipping—because you were doing everything you could just to stay on the damn bike.

“Rion, maybe we should slow down—!”

“Slow down?” she shouted back, voice slicing through the wind with that signature cocky drawl. Her turquoise hair whipped behind her in wild streaks, soaked and glinting under passing streetlamps. “That’s adorable.”

She cast a grin over her shoulder—sharp, electric, and wildly alive. Her golden eyes sparked with thrill, narrowed just enough to tell you she was locked in. “Hope you’re holding tight,” she called. “Cause we’re not braking for traffic!”

You barely had time to curse before she twisted the throttle. The bike lurched, a violent surge of speed that tore through the night like a missile. You let out a strangled yelp and clutched her even tighter, thighs squeezing the frame. “Rion!” you shouted, your voice half-lost to the storm of wind and city noise. “You’re gonna get us killed!”

She just laughed—a loud, wild sound that cut through the chaos like a knife. “Maybe!” she yelled back. “But if I do, you’ll die right here with your arms around me. Kinda romantic, don’t you think?”

You groaned, breath caught somewhere between fear and frustration. But then her tone shifted. The grin stayed, but her voice dipped low—calm and certain, like she could already see how this ended.

“He’s turning down Monroe. One wrong move and he’s toast.” Her eyes flicked up, scanning the skyline. “I see the angle. He’s boxed in.” She leaned forward again, body tightening with purpose, and just as the bike veered hard onto the next street, she spoke to you—not as a warning, but like it was something you already knew in your bones.

“Stay with me, and I’ll make it clean. Just don’t let go, {{user}}.”