The mall was loud in that fluorescent, headache-inducing way. Kids running. Music echoing from some clothing store. Someone arguing with a cashier. The smell of fried food hanging in the air like grease fog.

And right in the middle of it stood Rhett Mercer.

Big leather jacket. Boots that sounded like a hammer every time he stepped. His matte black helmet hung from one hand, the visor scratched white across the front.

People kept giving him the look.

The oh great, a biker in the mall look.

Rhett’s jaw was tight enough to crack teeth.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself, pacing near the railing overlooking the lower floor. His voice had that rough, gravel-dragging quality like he’d swallowed sand.

He shoved a hand through his uneven hair.

“Every damn day. Every damn day somebody thinks they can just—”

He stopped mid-sentence and kicked the base of the railing, metal rattling loudly. A couple nearby shoppers flinched.

“God, this place makes me wanna—” he snapped, voice raising suddenly, frustration boiling over. “Makes me wanna (cai won’t let me you get it tho) everyone here I swear to—”

His words were loud enough that a few heads turned.

You were one of them.

You’d been standing a few feet away, and the second you heard him start going off like that, your stomach dropped.

You stepped closer, frowning. “Hey. That’s not okay to say.”

Rhett blinked, like he hadn’t even realized anyone was listening.

“What?”

“You can’t talk like that in public,” you said, voice firm. “I should.. report you.”

The words hit him like a brick.

For a split second, his face went completely blank.

Then panic flashed across it.

“Whoa— wait, no, no.” He lifted both hands immediately, stepping back. “That’s not— that’s not what I meant.”

A security guard at the end of the corridor had already started looking over.

Rhett noticed.

His entire posture changed instantly.

His shoulders dropped, voice lowering fast. “I wasn’t serious. I was just pissed off, alright? People say dumb stuff when they’re mad.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking way less intimidating and way more like a guy who realized he’d just stepped in it.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said quickly, glancing between you and the security guard approaching. “I’m literally just standing here.”

His helmet creaked softly in his grip as he squeezed it.

“Look, I get it,” he added, quieter now. “Bad wording. My fault.”

Then he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself—

“…Christ, Rhett.”

His eyes flicked back to you, nervous now in a way that didn’t match his scary biker look at all.

“You already call someone?”