His Broken Muse

New York's favorite devil

Seventeen years later,

No matter who entered the arena, the night always belonged to Lucien Laurent.

The massive RORINõ FMX Arena shook with noise long before the riders even appeared. Thousands of people packed the stadium from corner to corner. Young fans climbed over rails with banners in their hands while grown women screamed loud enough to lose their voices before the show had even started.

“LL! LL! LL!”

The chant rolled through the arena like thunder.

Bright screens flashed his initials across the stadium walls. Cameras moved wildly through the crowd, catching signs lifted high in the air.

LL, marry me.

One night, please.

My role model.

Bad Boy King.

The energy was insane.

Lucien was not the only rider competing tonight. There were champions from different countries, famous names with years of experience behind them, but none of them held the crowd the way he did. The moment his name appeared on the giant screen, every other rider faded into the background.

That was the effect Lucien Laurent had on people.

RORINõ FMX had become one of the biggest names in the sport because of him.

Then the lights suddenly died.

The arena dropped into darkness.

The roar of engines filled the air.

One by one, spotlights cut through the dark as riders stormed into the stadium, speeding across the dirt track while flames burst from the sides of the ramps.

The crowd screamed louder.

But when the final rider appeared, the entire arena nearly exploded.

A red bike tore into the stadium like a bullet.

The signature LL symbol glowed across the helmet.

Lucien Laurent.

The screams became deafening.

Phones shot into the air immediately. Some people stood on their chairs just to get a better view of him.

Lucien barely acknowledged any of it.

His gloved hands tightened around the handlebars as he rolled the bike toward the starting line. Calm. Focused. Untouchable.

The announcer's voice echoed through the arena.

“And here comes New York’s favorite devil himself! The king of RORINõ. Lucien Laurent!”

The crowd lost their minds again.

Lucien tilted his head once, stretching his neck slightly before revving the engine.

The sound alone sent chills through the stadium.

Then silence fell.

The competition began.

The first riders went hard. Backflips. Whips. Superman seat grabs. Clean landings. The audience cheered loudly for all of them, but everyone was waiting for one person.

Lucien.

When his turn came, the atmosphere changed instantly.

The engine growled beneath him before he accelerated toward the first ramp at terrifying speed.

He launched into the air.

The bike twisted sideways in a massive whip while his body leaned dangerously low. Gasps erupted around the arena.

He landed perfectly.

No hesitation.

He sped toward the next ramp immediately.

Another launch.

This time he let go of the handlebars midair, stretching his body completely behind the bike before snapping back into position just seconds before landing.

The crowd screamed his name.

“LL!”

“Holy s**t!”

“He’s insane!”

Lucien only smirked beneath the helmet.

The final ramp stood ahead.

Tall. Steep. Dangerous.

Every rider before him had played safe on this one.

Lucien accelerated harder.

The bike flew off the ramp like it had been shot into the sky.

For a split second, everything froze.

Then he flipped once.

Twice.

Three times.

The entire arena rose to its feet.

And then a fourth rotation.

The scream that ripped through the stadium was almost violent.

Lucien completed the quadruple backflip before landing perfectly on the narrow dirt platform below.

The impact shook the ground.

People completely lost control after that.

Some fans screamed so loudly they cried. Others grabbed their heads in disbelief.

“Did he just do four flips?!”

“No freaking way!”

“That guy’s not human!”

“Only LL!”

Lucien sped across the finish line while fireworks exploded above the arena.

The winner was obvious.

Again.

He slowed the bike to a stop near the center of the stadium while chants echoed endlessly around him.

“LL! LL! LL!”

Then he removed his helmet.

The reaction was immediate.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd.

Long dark hair fell loosely around his face, slightly damp from sweat. Sharp features. Cold eyes. A jawline sculpted so perfectly he barely looked real under the stadium lights.

Some girls actually screamed louder after seeing his face.

One woman nearly fainted against the barricade while her friend held her upright.

Lucien noticed.

Of course he did.

The corner of his mouth lifted arrogantly before he dragged a hand through his hair and climbed back onto the bike.

Show off.

The engine roared again before he drove away from the arena floor toward the private parking section behind the stadium.

Away from the noise.

Away from the cameras.

The moment he parked, a familiar voice greeted him.

“Hey, badass.”

Lucien glanced sideways.

Valentino leaned against a metal pole nearby with a lollipop between her lips. Black leather jacket. Messy silver chains around her neck. The exact definition of trouble.

“You watched the show?” Lucien asked, removing his gloves.

“Obviously.” She pushed herself off the pole. “Actually, I followed you in. Had to see if the rumors were true.”

Lucien arched a brow. “What rumors?”

Valentino pointed lazily at his face.

“That this face causes emotional damage.”

Lucien snorted softly.

“No joke, Lucien. I saw three girls crying.”

“They cry every week.”

“Exactly my point.”

She chuckled before walking backward in front of him.

“And that stunt?” she added. “Four flips? Are you trying to die for entertainment?”

Lucien shoved his hands into his pockets casually.

“Crowd looked entertained.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

He smirked slightly.

Valentino studied him for a second before narrowing her eyes.

“Where are you heading now?”

“MIMO or MEMO or whatever it called.”

Her face twisted instantly.

“A club?”

“Yes it is. Fortunately he says there is a lot of booty waiting to be s*****d.

Unfortunately.”

“What do you mean unfortunately?” Valentino ask with a raised brow.

Lucien grabbed a bottle of water from nearby and took a slow sip.

“The i***t that has a crush invited me.”

Valentino nearly choked on her lollipop.

“Oh my God. Don’t tell me you mean Dante.”

“That’s the one.”

She groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down her face.

“Lucien, please try not to ruin the club tonight.”

“No promises.”

“That’s exactly why people fear you.”

“They still come around.”

“Because you look illegal.”

Lucien laughed quietly this time, low and rough.

Valentino blinked once before muttering, “Yeah... that laugh alone just ruined someone’s relationship.”

—--

MENMO breathed like a living thing.

Gold lights flickered across the massive club, sliding over expensive bodies, glittering drinks, and sinful smiles. Music pounded through the walls hard enough to shake the glass tables while smoke curled lazily through the air.

Everything inside MENMO screamed luxury and temptation.

It was not a club for ordinary people.

MENMO belonged to the elite.

Powerful men lounged comfortably in private sections high above the dance floor while women draped over them like expensive addictions. Laughter mixed with moans. Fingers traced bare skin openly without shame or restraint.

Nothing was hidden here.

Nothing was innocent.

Women moved around the club in outfits that barely covered their bodies, shimmering fabrics clinging to curves beneath the golden lights. Some danced slowly against polished poles while others sat comfortably on the laps of rich strangers who touched them freely like they already owned them.

Nobody looked surprised.

Nobody looked uncomfortable.

This was MENMO.

A place where desire walked openly without apology.

Near the center floor, a woman tilted her head back as a man pressed kisses along her neck while another pair disappeared behind velvet curtains leading toward the private rooms upstairs.

The music grew louder.

More dangerous.

Bodies moved closer together beneath the lights until the entire club looked hypnotic.

Then suddenly, the lights dimmed.

A loud whistle echoed somewhere in the crowd.

The giant screen above the stage flashed black.

Immediately, the atmosphere shifted.

People started screaming before the announcer even spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen…”

The voice dragged slowly through the speakers.

“Welcome to the stage… the one and only…”

The crowd roared loudly.

“Nightingale Gale.”

More screams exploded through the club.

“Bad Girl Sierra!”

The entire stage lit up in deep crimson gold as smoke spilled across the floor. People surged closer instantly, phones already raised high into the air.

Some shouted Sierra’s name wildly while others climbed onto seats just to see her first appearance.

The music changed.

Slower.

Darker.

And then she appeared.

Sierra stepped onto the stage like temptation itself.

The golden lights slid over her body slowly, catching every movement as the crowd completely lost control beneath her.

TBC........