Chapter 3. Smoke and Sparks

His smirk widened by a fraction. The keys twirled once more around his finger, catching the dying sunlight. “Then I’ll make sure the whole school knows exactly who you are.”

Her throat tightened. Rage flared, hot and wild, mixing with fear until she couldn’t tell which was stronger. She hated that he had leverage. Hated that her pulse sped up not just with anger but with something dangerously close to curiosity.

“You think I’m scared of you?” she snapped.

“No,” Axel said simply. His gaze flicked down to the bike, then back to her. “But I think you’re scared of yourself. Scared of what happens if you stop pretending.”

Her chest ached. He was too close to the truth.

“Fine,” she muttered, shoving the helmet onto her head. “One ride. Then you forget my name.”

Axel’s eyes glinted, something sharp and unreadable sparking in them. “Deal.”

But the way he said it, she almost—almost—believed he’d protect it.

The bike roared to life beneath them, vibrating like a beast stretching awake. Axel slid onto the seat first, gloved hands gripping the handlebars with the ease of someone born to it. Riven swung on behind him, the movement muscle memory even after months of swearing she’d left it behind.

She hesitated, hovering inches away from his back. The heat of him seeped through his hoodie, the scent of leather and smoke curling around her.

“Hold on,” he called over the engine.

She bristled. “I don’t need to—”

The bike lurched forward, and instinct won out. Riven’s arms shot around his waist, clutching tight.

Axel’s laugh carried back to her, rough and amused. “Thought so.”

Wind knifed against her jacket as the bike ate up the road. The world blurred—houses, trees, cars, all smearing into streaks of color. Every vibration rattled up through her spine, through her chest, through her pulse until her heartbeat matched the rhythm of the machine.

She hated how much it felt like home.

Her cheek brushed Axel’s shoulder as they leaned into a curve. She felt the strength of him, the solid certainty in every movement. He didn’t ride like a show-off, didn’t weave recklessly. He rode like he belonged to the asphalt, like the road bent to him.

Riven’s chest tightened, not from fear but from the rush of it all—the speed, the closeness, the electric danger humming under her skin. It was wrong. It was reckless. And it was precisely the thing she’d been starving for since she left that world behind.

The engine roared louder as Axel pushed faster, the wind tearing at her hair, the night rushing up to swallow them whole.

When he finally slowed, the bike rumbling to a halt at the edge of a cliffside lookout, Riven’s arms lingered around his waist a moment longer than necessary. Her palms tingled where they pressed against him.

She pulled back quickly, hating the warmth flooding her face.

Axel cut the engine. Silence crashed down, heavy and ringing in her ears. The only sounds were the tick-tick of cooling metal and the distant hum of cicadas in the trees.

“Not bad,” he said, swinging off the bike. “Didn’t scream once.”

She yanked off her helmet, glaring. “I wasn’t scared.”

His smirk deepened, infuriatingly sure of itself. “Didn’t say you were.”

***

The cliff stretched wide, overlooking the sprawl of the town below. Streetlights blinked on one by one, constellations of amber glowing against the dark. A few other bikes were parked haphazardly near the edge, their riders lounging on hoods, smoking, laughing too loud. Sparks from lighters flared, brief stars in the night air.

Axel walked ahead, not checking if she followed. Of course, she did.

One of the riders called out, “Wolfe!” and Axel raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment. The others gave him space, though, eyes flicking curiously toward Riven before sliding away.

She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, keeping her shoulders stiff. She didn’t belong here. Not anymore.

Axel leaned against the railing at the edge of the cliff, staring out at the glowing town. He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Finally, he spoke without looking at her. “You ride clean. Tight grip, steady lean. That’s not beginner’s luck.”

Her throat worked. “I told you—it’s none of your business.”

He turned his head just enough that she caught the glint of his eyes in the dim light. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like the puzzle.”

Riven looked away, focusing on the horizon where the town lights flickered. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted past, mingling with gasoline and the faint salty tang of night air.

Axel pushed off the railing and closed the distance between them. He reached for her helmet, fingers brushing her jaw as he adjusted the strap that still dangled loose.

Riven froze. The touch was small, practical, but the heat of his fingers burned against her skin.

“There,” he murmured, voice softer now. “Wouldn’t want you falling.”

Her pulse tripped. She jerked back, glaring. “I don’t need your help.”

He smiled faintly. “Maybe not. But you look like you haven’t let anyone help in a long time.”

The words lodged in her chest. She hated how easily he saw things she’d buried.

She crossed her arms. “Why me? You could drag any girl out here. Why risk pissing me off?”

Axel studied her, expression unreadable. “Because the rest of them don’t bite back. And you…” He tilted his head. “You remind me of something I thought was gone.”

The air thickened. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of them—the hum of engines behind them, the distant laughter, the smell of smoke, and the space between his gaze and hers.

Riven’s breath caught. She hated it. She hated that she didn’t look away.

A new engine growled close, breaking the moment. A headlight cut across the cliff, and a rider pulled up, kicking dust as he killed the motor.

The man swung off the bike, his eyes already on Riven. His smile was sharp, cruel, recognition sparking in his gaze.

His patch read “MC”. The name rang louder than the growl of his engine.

“Well, well,” he drawled, pulling off his helmet. “Didn’t think we’d ever see his girl again.”

Maddox, Riven realized. Her father’s shadow in leather. Ten years older than Axel, and ten times meaner. He used to run with Iron Howl—until the fallout.

Riven’s stomach dropped.

Axel straightened instantly, his body shifting just enough to put himself between her and the newcomer. His voice was calm, almost too quiet. “Back off.”

The rider snorted, eyes never leaving Riven. “You know who she is, Wolfe? That ink doesn’t lie.”

Riven’s blood went cold. She glanced down instinctively—her jacket sleeve had ridden up just enough to expose the faint edge of the old tattoo her father once pressed into her wrist. The patch. The mark of her bloodline.

She yanked the sleeve down, but it was too late.

The rider’s grin widened. “Hale’s little girl. Thought you vanished with the ashes.”

The world tilted. Her chest constricted, breath refusing to come.