Biker's Beautiful Flame

Chapter 1

The engines always started before midnight.

It was drizzling. Ground wet. The crowd was buzzed with noise as we watched, electric with anticipation. Adrenaline hung in the air— sharp and undeniable.

It has never been sour here on the forgotten streets at night.

At 10 p.m., it only comes alive, as if the sun is shining right above us. The screams, the laughter, the smell of smoke from engines and cigarettes.

I stood amidst the crowd of chaos, cloaked in a big hoodie and baggy trousers, with a face cap pulled low. Calm and still, unlike the crowd, but my eyes were fixed on the road.

Waiting. Waiting for the race to begin. Waiting for Him.

I shouldn't be here. I should be in my dorm sleeping, dreaming of court cases, and preparing for my exams, but like always, I had snuck out just to watch the race. To watch Him ride.

“Here he comes,” Mira, my best friend and roommate, squealed.

My heart palpitated in anticipation, my twinkling eyes instantly snapped to the sleek black leather jacket, fair skin, sharp jaws, blue icy eyes, stern face, no expression at all. Just cool and collected. Radiating power.

I have never heard him talk before, he doesn't smile either.

“Your guy's up,” Mira said, chewing gum. Her arm looped around her biker boyfriend, Alan, who was also a member of the MC.

“He is not my guy,” I laughed under my breath. Though we both know that's a lie.

I was his biggest fan— secretly, hopelessly. My diary was filled with his name, his color, his moves on the road and if I could paint, oh God help me what I would have done.

Killian Frost.

His bike rolled forward through the crowd — sleek, black, growling like it had teeth. And there he was, straddling it like it belonged to him. Like everything did.

Frost is the most handsome biker ever. Even the way he sits on his bike makes me drool. I wish I could say Hi just once, but I know that can never happen.

Not because he was a biker, but because I have a father who wouldn't let me leave his sight at day. My only free time was at night when Frost was busy racing.

The loud whistle shook me off from my daydream. The run was on. He rode like he owned the night and not just his bike.

The Reapers MC patch on his cut was the only thing left to stare at as we cheered for him. We waved and screamed, rooting for him. Rooting for the Reapers.

Frost just rode. Like he was born on two wheels and never learned how to stop. The way his gloved hand flexed once in a while as he raced. I’d watched him win every time. And tonight was no different.

Just like it started, it ended. He won. Again.

The crowd cheered, and so did I, forgetting who I was. Forgetting what I was. Right here, in this street night race, I wasn't Ember Monroe, the daughter of the famous politician, Daniel Monroe.

I was the biggest fan of Killian Frost. And I damn sure screamed louder than anyone else.

“That's it! Go, Frost! Biggest, Baddest Rider ever!” I screamed into the night.

Frost didn’t need to do anything to be the center of gravity. The crowd just shifted around him. Gravity bent. Like even the night made room for him.

“BBR! BBR!” I screamed and cheered. Mira joined me. I had named him that after a few weeks of seeing him ride— seeing him owning the night always.

He took off his black helmet, like always he didn't smile or wave at the crowd like others would. His blue, icy eyes looked around the crowd for a while. My eyes were fixed on his face. This was the first time I was seeing him up close. And when I thought he couldn't get more handsome, there, I saw a scar that ran from his left eyebrow down closer to his eyelid.

God! So hot!

And then… he looked at me. Right at me. My breath caught.

I quickly diverted my gaze, my heart racing, and my throat dried as I wondered what just happened.

The next time I looked up at him, he was ready to drive away.

Or not.

He rode his bike— closer to us. Where we stood. In the crowd. Not the normal way out for a winner like him.

He held his gaze with me even as he made his way closer. My heart began to race when I thought it couldn't get any faster. My eyes were wide with disbelief. I was unable to take my eyes off him. I was standing there, rooted to the spot.

Then, he got off his bike, killed the engine, and strolled to where we stood— where I stood.

I swallowed.

His blue eyes stared right back at mine, he stepped into my space like he belonged there. Maybe he does. He owns everything the night could give, including my space. His cologne hit me, everything went blurry. The noise died down.

One of his fingers, covered in gloves, held my chin up, and my lips parted without questioning. And I watched him lean towards me. My eyes shut, and my heart stopped when his lips brushed mine.

Every part of my body responded to his touch so much that I felt like I was melting. I wasn't sure my legs were carrying me anymore. And when I thought I was in heaven already, his teeth nibbled my lower lip and I gasped.

His tongue slid into my mouth like an expert. Deep, hard, fast, he kissed me.

I clutched onto his leather jacket and moaned in his mouth. Heat. Leather. Fire.

And then… gone.

Just like that.

When I opened my eyes, he was back on his bike, into the smoke. Back into the dark.

I stood there, stunned, lips tingling, blood roaring through my ears.

Leaving me wanting more.