THE FIRST BITE
1589 Words
The tequila turned warm in Lena’s throat, but it did nothing to dull the heat that coiled low in her belly when Axel leaned in again. He didn’t touch her — not yet — but his presence pressed against her skin like a dare.
“So, Lena,” he said, her name sliding off his tongue like a secret. “Who are you running from tonight?”
Lena’s laugh came out too sharp. “What makes you think I’m running?”
Axel c****d his head, a predator’s motion. His eyes were dark, fathomless, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he found her amusing. Or maybe pathetic. She wasn’t sure which was worse.
“This isn’t the kind of bar you wander into for the music.” He drummed his knuckles once on the counter. The bartender glanced over — just a flick of her eyes — then disappeared into the back without a word.
It was subtle, but Lena saw it. The way the space around them changed. People moved away. Like they felt the temperature drop. Or spike.
She swallowed, rolling the empty glass between her palms. “Does it matter who I’m running from?”
“Maybe not.” Axel leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. “What matters is whether you’re running to something. Or someone.”
Her pulse jumped so hard she thought he could hear it. She should get up. She should leave. Her phone buzzed in her purse — probably Jax again, checking if she was alive.
She didn’t move.
He straightened, just enough to study her face. He saw too much — like he could peel back her skin and read every secret stamped on her bones.
“You look like you want to disappear,” he said. His fingers ghosted over her wrist — not quite touching, but close enough that her skin burned. “I could help you with that.”
Lena forced herself to scoff, to pretend her spine was steel instead of glass. “Is that what you do? Pick up broken women in dive bars and make them disappear?”
His smile was slow. Dangerous. “Only the ones who ask nicely.”
He lifted his hand — just two fingers — and the bartender reappeared like a conjured ghost. She dropped a folded bill next to Lena’s glass. A hundred, maybe more. Paid in full.
“Come on,” Axel said, voice low but absolute. It wasn’t a question.
Lena should’ve said no. She should’ve grabbed her bag, fled back to her safe little apartment and locked the door.
Instead, she slipped off the barstool. Her knees wobbled when her heels hit the sticky floor, but Axel’s hand was there — big, warm, steady on her lower back. He steered her through the bar like he owned it. Maybe he did.
Outside, the night had turned cold. The neon sign buzzed overhead, throwing flickering shadows onto the cracked sidewalk.
Parked at the curb was a motorcycle — matte black, chrome glinting under the streetlight like a promise of violence. It looked like it had eaten more than a few miles — and maybe a few souls too.
Axel handed her a helmet. She stared at it, the tequila haze battling the shards of her better judgment.
“I don’t— I’ve never—”
He raised a brow. “Scared?”
“Of course I’m scared.”
He grinned, wolfish and pleased. “Good.”
Before she could argue, he stepped closer, slid the helmet over her head himself. His fingers brushed her jaw, lingered just a second too long. When he pulled back, her heartbeat was a drum in her throat.
“Hold tight,” he said. “And don’t let go.”
---
The bike snarled to life beneath her. The vibration rattled her bones, her teeth, her fragile excuses for self-preservation. She barely managed to wrap her arms around his waist before they surged forward.
Los Angeles blurred into a smear of neon and streetlight. The wind tore at her hair where it escaped the helmet. Her thighs pressed against the leather of his jacket. Every twist of his hips sent sparks up her spine.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to — he owned every terrified, breathless inch of her in that moment.
She thought she knew danger — Gregory’s sharp tongue, her brother’s stories of shootouts and raids. But this — this was something else. This was a man who could put a gun to her temple and make her thank him for pulling the trigger.
She didn’t know how long they rode. A few blocks, a few lifetimes. When the bike finally slowed, they were far from downtown — industrial warehouses, graffiti-tagged fences, broken streetlights that flickered on and off like a heartbeat failing in the dark.
He cut the engine. The silence pressed against her eardrums.
She swung off the bike clumsily, legs jelly, adrenaline fizzing in her veins. She yanked the helmet off and sucked in a breath that smelled like oil, asphalt, and something else — something metallic.
Axel watched her. His helmet was still on, visor up, eyes glittering under the sickly glow of a single streetlamp.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he tipped his chin toward a battered steel door set into the side of the warehouse. Music thrummed behind it — a bass line she felt in her teeth more than heard.
“Come on,” he said again. The words weren’t rough this time. They were silk — soft, heavy, binding.
Inside, the warehouse was nothing like she’d expected. Not a dusty old storage yard — this was alive. The walls vibrated with music. People moved in packs — men in leather, women in ripped fishnets and stiletto boots. The smell of sweat and burnt rubber and spilled liquor clung to the air.
A fight was happening in the middle of the floor — two men circling, fists raised, blood on the concrete. A ring of bodies closed in, yelling, jeering, betting cash.
Axel’s hand landed on her lower back again, guiding her through the press of bodies. Everywhere they moved, people parted. Eyes tracked them — curious, wary, respectful. Or afraid.
“Who are these people?” Lena asked, trying to keep her voice steady over the roar of the crowd.
“My people,” Axel said simply.
A man stepped in front of them — big, broad, head shaved, tattoos snaking up his neck. He grinned at Axel but his eyes slid to Lena like she was a stray cat that had wandered into a wolf den.
“Boss,” he said. His voice was rough as gravel. “Didn’t know you were bringing a date.”
Axel’s smile was all teeth. “Blaze. Meet Lena.”
“Lena.” Blaze drawled her name like it was a joke only he understood. “Pretty thing. Does she bite?”
Axel didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile either. He stepped closer to Blaze, and even over the music, Lena heard his next words — low and lethal.
“Touch her, talk to her, look at her wrong — and I’ll break every bone in your hand first. Then your face. Then your spine.”
Blaze’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes lost their edge. He lifted his hands, palms up, mock surrender. “Easy, boss. Just saying hi.”
Axel steered Lena past him like nothing had happened. But she felt the tremor under his skin, the barely leashed violence simmering just beneath the leather and charm.
They climbed a narrow metal staircase to a mezzanine that overlooked the chaos below. Up here, the noise dulled to a low throb. Axel leaned against the railing, watching the fight continue — or maybe watching her watch it.
Lena hugged herself, suddenly painfully aware of how thin her dress was, how out of place she looked in this den of wolves.
“Why am I here?” she asked.
Axel didn’t look at her. “Because you needed to be.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He turned then, slowly, eyes sharp enough to peel her open. “You needed to remember what fear feels like.”
Lena’s laugh cracked in her throat. “And you think this is helping?”
Axel pushed off the railing. He was close again, so close her back pressed into cold steel. He braced a hand next to her head, leaned in until all she could see was him.
“I think you’ve spent too long pretending you’re not afraid of anything. Or anyone. Even your ex — you let him break you slow, soft, polite.” His breath ghosted across her lips. “I break things clean, Lena. And if they’re worth it, I put them back together the way I want them.”
Her mouth went dry. Her brain screamed to run. Her body stayed rooted in place, heat rolling through her like poison.
“And if I don’t want to be put back together?” she whispered.
His smile was pure sin. “Too bad.”
Below them, someone cheered as a fist connected with flesh. Blood sprayed onto concrete. The crowd roared.
Axel brushed his thumb along her jaw, a promise or a threat — maybe both.
“Stay,” he murmured. “Watch. Learn. Then decide if you want to run — or beg me to catch you again.”
- Writer
