Ride or Die

#1

Maya.

The engines screamed like they were pissed off at the world, and I loved every f*****g second of it.

I leaned against the metal railing of the makeshift viewing deck, cigarette dangling from my lips, a half-empty bottle of Jack in my other hand.

“Maya, you’re gonna fall over that rail if you keep leaning like that,” one of the prospects yelled from below.

Laughter erupted around me. These were my people. Loud, dirty, loyal, and just as unhinged as I was. The Iron Reapers Motorcycle Club. My club. Not my father’s. Not my perfect siblings’. Mine.

The rival team—some cocky bastards calling themselves the Viper Crew—had shown up earlier flashing expensive bikes and even more expensive attitudes.

They’d been talking s**t all week online, and I wasn’t about to let that slide. So I called for a street race. Midnight. No rules. Winner takes the other crew’s respect and a fat stack of cash.

I took a long drag of my cigarette and blew the smoke toward the track. My bike, a matte-black Harley I’d customized myself, sat waiting on the side. I wasn’t racing tonight. Tonight I was watching. Enjoying the show. Living.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket for the third time in ten minutes. I ignored it. I already knew who it was. Family group chat.

Probably another reminder about some boring business dinner or another comparison between me and my golden older sister who just closed another multi-million-dollar deal.

Or my brother who somehow managed to be both a lawyer and a saint. f**k that noise.

I hated business talk. Hated the way people looked at me like I was a disappointment every time I walked into a room wearing leather instead of a pencil skirt.

I was smarter than most of them combined. I could’ve finished that business degree with my eyes closed. But the second I turned twenty-one and got access to my trust fund, I did the one thing that made every single person in my family lose their minds.

I bought a motorcycle club.

Not just any club. The Iron Reapers. The same club my father used to have quiet dealings with back in the day. I walked in, threw money on the table, and told the old president I was taking over.

He laughed until I showed him the paperwork and the cash. Now the patch on the back of my leather jacket said Owner, and every single member answered to me.

The race was about to start. I climbed higher onto the railing, balancing like a crazy b***h who had zero interest in self-preservation.

One of the girls, Tessa, handed me another cigarette already lit. I took it with a grin.

“You look like you’re about to cause problems,” she said, eyeing my outfit.

“I am the problem,” I answered, hopping down and landing on the concrete with a heavy thud of my boots. “And I’m f*****g proud of it.”

The bikes lined up. Engines revved so loud my chest vibrated. I raised my bottle in the air and screamed, “If any of you Viper bitches crash, don’t expect me to call an ambulance! I’ll just take your bikes while you’re bleeding!”

More laughter. Even some of the rival crew cracked smiles. They knew who I was.

Crazy Maya.

The girl who once raced drunk and still won.

The girl who punched a guy twice her size for touching her bike without permission.

The girl who didn’t give a single s**t about rules.

“That’s it, baby! Eat their f*****g dust!”

Someone passed me a joint. I took a hit, held it, then blew the smoke upward.

This was the only place I ever felt like myself. Not the perfect daughter. Not the smart one who “wasted her potential.”

Just Maya. Owner of the Iron Reapers. Queen of the chaos.

My phone buzzed again....Harder this time.

I groaned and finally pulled it out. Dad. Of course.

I almost rejected the call. Almost. But something in my gut told me this wasn’t the usual “come home and act like a normal human” bullshit. I pressed the phone to my ear, still watching the race.

“What?” I answered, loud enough to be heard over the engines.

“Get home. Now.”

His voice was cold. Flat. The tone he only used when s**t was serious.

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m in the middle of something, Dad. The Vipers are getting their asses handed to them and I—”

“Maya.” He cut me off. “Home. Within the hour. No arguments.”

I laughed, short and sharp. “You do realize I’m twenty-three, right? I own a whole f*****g club. You can’t just—”

“There is someone here waiting for you,” he said, voice dropping even lower. “And if you are not standing in this house in sixty minutes, I will send people to drag you here myself. Do not test me tonight.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a second, cigarette burning forgotten between my fingers. Someone waiting for me. That never meant anything good.

I flicked the cigarette away and downed the rest of the Jack in one long swallow. The burn felt good.

Tessa looked at me. “Everything okay?”

“Family bullshit,” I muttered, already walking toward my bike. “I have to head out.”

“You sure? Race isn’t even finished.”

I swung my leg over the Harley and started the engine. The deep rumble settled something in my chest. “If any of those Viper pricks try to start s**t after I leave, break their legs. Politely.”

She grinned. “You got it, boss.”

I pulled out of the lot without looking back, the night wind slamming against my bare stomach and thighs. My hair whipped behind me.

The city lights blurred. I rode faster than I should have, weaving between cars, ignoring every speed limit like they were personal insults.

My father’s house sat on the edge of the city, big and cold and full of expectations I had spent years trying to burn to the ground.

The gates opened the second the security cameras caught my bike. I didn’t bother parking nicely. I left the Harley right in the middle of the driveway, engine still ticking as it cooled.

I stomped up the front steps in my boots, shorts riding even higher with every movement. The door opened before I could kick it.

My father stood there in a button-down shirt, face unreadable. Behind him, the foyer was quiet. Too quiet.

“You’re late,” he said.

“You gave me an hour. I made it in fifty-two minutes. You’re welcome.” I brushed past him, already heading for the liquor cabinet in the living room. “So who’s the special guest? Another therapist? Another business mentor who wants to tell me how I’m wasting my life?”

He didn’t answer right away.

I poured myself a generous glass of whiskey, turned around, and finally looked at him properly.

“Sit down, Maya,” he said quietly. “We need to talk about your new bodyguard.”

I froze with the glass halfway to my lips.

This was going to be fun.