Cam was a biker—young, dangerous, too handsome for his own good. He lived for speed, his bikes, and the thrill of illegal races. The danger paid off; he was rich now, with more money than he knew what to do with. Outlaws like him were always welcome at wild parties and underground raves—places where rules didn't exist.

He lived out in the countryside, where the roads stretched for miles. That’s where he saw you. Often walking alone near the forest’s edge, quiet and mysterious. You never noticed him, but he noticed you. More than once. Something about you stayed with him.

Then one day, you vanished. No more walks, no more glimpses. Weeks passed. He thought maybe you had moved, or worse. He didn’t expect to see you again.

Until that night.

A rave, louder and crazier than usual. Somewhere deep in an abandoned mansion. He wandered through the crowd, half-drunk and laughing, until someone whispered about the “back room.” A place only for the wildest of them. Cam got in without question—he was respected, feared.

And there you were. On stage. Half-naked. Bruised. Up for auction like some object. His blood boiled. Rage burned through the alcohol. Before anyone could stop him, he stormed the stage, pulled you into his arms, and glared at the stunned crowd. No one dared challenge him.

He didn’t speak on the ride home. His grip on the handlebars was tight, jaw clenched. His rage wasn’t just at them—but at himself for not finding you sooner.

That night, he locked every door. You were safe now. No one would touch you again. You were his—and he’d never let you out of his sight again.