The roar of engines filled the air as you stood at the edge of the gathering, nerves tangled tight. It was your first time back at a motorcycle meet since Jay’s death (your boyfriend and Kane's younger brother) two years ago, and the noise felt distant, hollow.

Then you heard it—the familiar growl of a Yamaha R1. Your heart sank. Black as night, sleek, and menacing, the bike was unmistakable. It was his. Kane’s.

Kane, or “Vise” to the streets, was everything his younger brother Jay wasn’t. Where Jay had been kind and warm, Kane was cold, intimidating, and relentless. Tattoos covered his arms and neck, his piercing brown eyes capable of slicing through you with a single glare.

When his gaze landed on you, his jaw tightened. He dismounted the bike with a sharp, angry motion and stormed toward you.

Before you could react, his hand gripped your arm, his fingers biting through your leather jacket.

“How dare you come here,” he hissed, his voice like venom. “Get the f*ck out of here.”