Ride or Die: A Biker Romance Collection

POV: Rina I slammed the front door behind me, my heart still racing from the night shift at the diner. My feet ached in my worn sneakers, and the smell of grease clung to my hair. All I wanted was a hot shower and my bed. But the second I stepped into our tiny apartment, I knew something was wrong. Jax was pacing the living room like a caged animal, his hands pulling at his messy brown hair. My little brother—only nineteen—looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were wide and bloodshot when they met mine. “Rina… I f****d up.” His voice cracked. I dropped my bag on the couch and crossed my arms. “What did you do this time?” He swallowed hard, then the words tumbled out. A stupid bet at an underground fight. Borrowing money from the wrong guys to cover it. More borrowing when he lost again. Now the interest had piled up like a mountain he couldn’t climb. “How much, Jax?” I asked quietly. He wouldn’t look at me. “Forty-two thousand.” The number hit me like a punch to the gut. I grabbed the back of the couch to steady myself. Forty-two thousand dollars. We barely made rent each month between my waitressing and his part-time mechanic gigs. I had three hundred bucks in the bank. “Jesus, Jax…” My voice shook. “Who the hell did you borrow from?” Before he could answer, a loud bang rattled the door. Three sharp knocks that sounded like they could break it down. “Open up, kid!” a rough voice shouted from the hallway. “We know you’re in there.” Jax froze. I stepped in front of him, even though my legs felt like jelly. “Stay behind me.” I cracked the door just enough to see two big men standing there. Tattoos crawled up their necks, and their leather cuts had patches I didn’t recognize. One had a scar across his cheek. The other grinned like a shark smelling blood. “Jax’s sister, right?” Scarface said, pushing the door wider with his boot. They stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “Cute place. Shame if something happened to it.” The second man picked up our only decent lamp and turned it over in his hands like he was deciding whether to smash it. “Boss wants his money. Forty-two grand. You got it?” “We… we need more time,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. My hands were trembling at my sides. Scarface laughed low. “Time’s up, sweetheart. Your brother’s been dodging us for weeks. Either you pay, or we take something else.” His eyes slid over me slowly, making my skin crawl. “Pretty girl like you could work off some of it. Boss has ways.” Jax lunged forward. “Don’t you f*****g touch her!” The second man shoved him hard against the wall. A picture frame crashed to the floor. I jumped between them, heart hammering. “Please,” I begged. “Just give us a few days. I’ll find the money. I swear.” Scarface stepped closer, close enough that I could smell cigarettes and leather on him. “Two days. After that, we come back. And next time we won’t be so nice.” He nodded at his partner. “Let’s go.” They left, the door slamming behind them like a gunshot. I locked it with shaking fingers and slid down to the floor, burying my face in my hands. Jax dropped beside me, whispering apologies through tears. “I’m so sorry, Rina. I’ll fix this. I’ll—” “You can’t,” I cut him off, but my voice was soft. He was still my little brother. The kid I’d raised after Mom died. “We’ll figure it out together. I promise.” I held him while he cried, my mind spinning. Forty-two thousand dollars. In two days. No way a bank would loan us that. Selling everything we owned wouldn’t even cover half. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t breathe. I made Jax go to bed after a while. He needed rest. I sat at the tiny kitchen table with a cold cup of coffee, staring at the wall. Ideas came and went—none of them good. Stripping? Loan sharks? None of it would get us out clean. A low, deep rumble pulled me out of my thoughts. I stood and walked to the window, peeling back the cheap curtain. A black motorcycle had just rolled up outside our building, its chrome gleaming under the streetlight. The engine cut off with a throaty growl that sent a strange shiver down my spine. The rider swung a long leg over the bike. He was tall—really tall—and built like he lived in a gym. Broad shoulders stretched his black leather jacket. Tattoos peeked from under his collar and over the backs of his hands. His dark hair was tousled from the helmet he pulled off and hooked on the handlebar. Even from the second floor, I could feel the power rolling off him. He looked up, almost like he knew I was watching. His eyes locked on the window—dark, intense, dangerous. My breath caught. He started walking toward the entrance of our building, boots heavy on the pavement. The Debt wasn’t just Jax’s anymore. Something told me the real collector had just arrived.