VALERIE

The air reeked of gasoline and burnt rubber, just the way I liked it. Not because I enjoyed it-God, no-but because it reminded me of them. The Xander MC. The ruthless, arrogant group of leather-clad kings of the road who thought they were untouchable. They owned every mile they rode on, every bar they swaggered into, every whispered fear in this town.

And today, they were all gathered here.

I tightened my gloves, adjusting the snug fit of my black riding jacket, one that hugged my body just enough to draw attention but not enough to seem desperate. I'd spent weeks perfecting this look-athletic, effortless, just another biker who lived for speed. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

Two years.

Two years of sleepless nights, of replaying The incident of that night, of waking up in a cold sweat picturing her face when they took everything from me. Two years of smiling politely in public while I burned inside.

And now, finally, I had my first real shot.

The Xander MC had a planned ride today-a big one. Scenic routes, packed spectators, and the kind of camaraderie these bastards fed on. I'd been following their schedules for months, memorizing every pit stop, every favorite haunt. Today, they'd be at their most arrogant. They are the most distracted.

Perfect.

I straddled my motorcycle, feeling the low rumble of the engine vibrate through me. Sleek, black, and built for speed-just like I'd wanted. No frills, no flash. Just raw power. I slid my helmet on, the tinted visor hiding my face, and kicked the stand up.

"It's their day today," I muttered to myself, voice hard with resolve. "And I'm about to take my first step."

The ride to the venue was short, but my mind made it long, looping over my plan like a mantra. Get their attention. Get close to Alexander Stone. The man who led the Xander MC. The man who thought he'd never pay for what he did.

By the time I arrived, the place was alive with roaring engines and the buzz of excitement. Bikers milled around, their cuts stitched with patches of pride and reputation. Spectators lined up behind barriers, cheering as bikes revved in anticipation. I spotted them immediately-their matching leather vests, their cocky grins. And at the center of it all, like a king among peasants, was Alexander Stone.

Tall. Broad shoulders.u Dark hair slicked back. The kind of man whose presence alone commanded attention. And I hated him for it.

I kept my head down, letting my helmet hide the fire in my eyes. Not yet.

When the signal for the race came, I rolled my bike forward, blending in with the other riders. My heart pounded-not with nerves, but with something sharper. Anticipation.

The flag dropped.

I twisted the throttle, and my bike shot forward like a bullet. Wind whipped against me as I leaned low, weaving between competitors with precise, calculated movements. I wasn't here to win. I was here to be noticed.

And I knew exactly whose notice I wanted.

Within minutes, I spotted him-Alexander, ahead of me, riding like the road was his birthright. I pushed harder, the engine screaming beneath me as I closed the gap. When I pulled up beside him, I caught the slight turn of his head, the momentary flicker of surprise.

Good.

I didn't give him time to process it. I surged forward, forcing him to match me. And match me he did. The bastard grinned-actually grinned-as he kicked up his speed, and soon we were neck and neck, two predators battling for dominance on open asphalt.

Every time I pushed ahead, he pushed harder. Every time I cut close, he countered. It was a dance, one I intended to let him think he was leading.

The finish line came into view, and I let him take it. Barely. He crossed a split second before me, triumphant. I eased off the throttle, coasting to a stop just beyond the line as he swung his bike around to face me.

Helmet still on, I sat back on my seat, letting him come to me.

"Well, well well," he drawled, removing his own helmet. His voice was smooth, cocky. "Hey, beautiful. Haven't seen you around before."

I tilted my head slightly, as if I was considering whether or not to even acknowledge him. "I don't come out very often."

He chuckled, eyes glinting with amusement. "You really challenged me back there. I've gotta commend you for that. Do you mind joining our biker club?"

Bingo.

Exactly what I wanted. But I have to keep my edge. Play the hard one.

I pretended to hesitate, then shook my head. "Not interested. I only did that for fun. I needed some air, that's all. Besides, I have other things to do."

That got him. His brows lifted, like I'd just told him the sky wasn't blue.

"Hmm," he mused, leaning slightly closer, his gaze roaming over me in appraisal. "That's a first. I don't take no for an answer. No one says no to me."

I met his gaze squarely through my visor, my tone cool and dismissive. "Well, I'm saying it."

He stared at me for a long moment, then laughed-a low, surprised sound. "Wow. I love your guts."

"Thanks." I swung my bike around, preparing to leave. "I'm riding back home. Thanks. I had fun."

I didn't wait for his response. Didn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how perfectly he'd played into my hands. As I sped away, the grin beneath my helmet was sharp, cruel.

He'd noticed me.

Step one: complete.

"First mission well accomplished," I whispered under my breath, voice venomous with promise. "But there's more to go. Alexander, you never know the plans I have for you."

And as the roar of my engine swallowed the world, I felt, for the first time in two years, the thrill of being in control.

This was just the beginning.

ALEXANDER

The crowd around the arena was still buzzing from the race when I leaned back against my bike, smirking at the memory of her sharp tongue. Not many people dared to tell me no. But some pretty biker had. And she didn't even flinch when she did it.

"So much guts," I muttered under my breath, half to myself, half to the night air. "She's got fire."

I turned to Jerry, who was lounging on his bike, chewing gum like he had nothing better to do. "Jerry, come here."

He raised a brow but walked over. "What's up, boss?"

"I need more details about this lady," I said, keeping my voice even but firm.

Jerry's lips curved into a grin. "Knew it. I saw the way you were looking at her. Haven't seen you this curious about a woman in a while."

I shot him a look that wiped the smirk right off his face. "Don't make assumptions. She's got skills. And guts. I want to know who I'm dealing with before I decide anything. Got it?"

He put up his hands in mock surrender. "Sure, boss. Feedback coming soon."

"Good."

The guys from the club were still celebrating the ride, laughing, drinking, the kind of rowdy energy we always had after a successful meet. But my mind wasn't on the party. It was on her.

Who the hell was she really?

By the time the night started winding down, Jerry was back. He tossed a folder on the table in front of me. "Basic info," he said. "Name's Valerie Quinn. Age twenty-eight. A lawyer-badass one, too. Recently won a high-profile case. Sent the ex-president's son to jail for fraud and assault. Got the guy twenty years behind bars. She's making headlines in the legal world."

I opened the folder, scanning the pages. A photo of her stared back at me-professional, serious, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, eyes sharp. It was a stark contrast to the woman I'd raced earlier today, her hair loose, her eyes blazing with challenge, her lips curving with confidence.

"She's no joke," Jerry continued. "Lives in the city center. Works at Harper & Associates-family law firm. Rumor is, she's the brains keeping the firm alive. And... uh, she's single. No record of relationships in the last two years, at least nothing public."

I leaned back in my chair, tapping a finger against my chin. "A lawyer who just took down a politician's son. That's gutsy. Could be useful for us."

Jerry grinned. "Told you. She's not looking bad either. A face like that and brains to match? She's a catch."

I gave him a pointed look. "She's not a catch. She's a potential asset. Don't mix the two."

"Right, right. Asset. Got it."

I ignored his teasing tone, flipping the folder closed. My mind was already working a dozen steps ahead. If I could get Valerie on our side, it would mean more than just legal protection for the club. It would mean having someone who knew how to fight battles where fists couldn't reach-in courtrooms, in negotiations, in the shadows where reputations were built or destroyed.

And I always got what I wanted.

"Jerry," I said, my voice low but firm.

"Yeah?"

"Her work location. Tomorrow morning, I'm paying her a visit."

His brows shot up. "Personally?"

"Yes."

"Boss, don't you think that's... a bit much? She doesn't know us. Doesn't know you. Might take it the wrong way."

I smiled slowly. "Then I'll make sure she takes it the right way. I'm Alexander Stone. I have everything at my fingertips-even Miss Valerie Quinn. She just doesn't know it yet."

The next morning, I dressed sharp-not my usual leather jacket and boots, but a tailored grey suit that fit like it was made for me. First impressions mattered, especially with someone like her. She struck me as the kind of woman who respected power when it walked through the door.

Pulling up outside Harper & Associates, I killed the engine of my black Harley and swung off. Heads turned as I walked through the glass doors of the pristine law firm lobby, my presence drawing attention even before I said a word.

The receptionist looked up, startled by my sudden appearance. "Good morning, sir. Do you have an appointment?"

"No," I said smoothly, flashing her a disarming smile. "But I think Valerie Quinn will want to see me."

She hesitated, then picked up the phone. A few seconds later, she nodded. "She'll see you now. Second floor, office at the end of the hall."

Perfect.

I walked down the hall, my footsteps measured, confident. When I reached her office, I paused for a second, then knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in," came her voice-cool, professional.

I pushed the door open. She was sitting behind a sleek wooden desk, papers neatly stacked in front of her, a laptop open. She looked up, and for a moment, I caught the flicker of recognition in her eyes.

"You," she said, surprise coloring her tone.

"Me," I replied, letting a small smile curve my lips. "Alexander Stone. We met yesterday-on the track."

Her brows arched, and she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "And what brings a biker club president to a law office this morning?"

Straight to the point. I liked that.

"I'm here," I said, "because I think you're exactly what I need."

She laughed softly, not out of amusement, but in disbelief. "What do you need? We barely exchanged ten words yesterday."

"True," I said, stepping further into the room. "But I saw enough to know you've got guts. And it interests me."

Her eyes narrowed. "Flattery won't get you anywhere here, Mr. Stone. I'm busy, so if this is some kind of recruitment pitch for your club-"

"It's more than that," I interrupted gently, but firmly. "I want you to consider working with us. Not as a member-unless you want to-but as our legal counsel. We're expanding. We need someone with your... tenacity."

She tilted her head, studying me. "And why would I, a successful lawyer with a thriving firm, want to get involved with a motorcycle club? Enlighten me."

I met her gaze steadily. "Because we're not just a club. We're a family. A network. And when we move, we move like a storm. You could be part of that-or you could stay in this office, fighting cases one at a time, while the world outside changes without you."

For a moment, silence hung between us. She tapped her pen against the desk, thoughtful.

"You're bold," she finally said. "I'll give you that. But I don't make decisions like this on impulse. You want me on your side? Prove I can trust you. Prove I won't regret it."

I smiled slowly, sensing the opening I needed. "Fair enough. Give me one week. I'll show you exactly why you won't."

She didn't agree outright, but she didn't throw me out either. And that was enough for me.

As I left her office, I felt that familiar rush of satisfaction. Valerie Quinn might think she's playing hard to get, but she's already on my radar. And when I set my sights on something... I never miss it.

VALERIE

I watch as Alexander walks out of my office with that confidence stride of his, the same one that made people either trust him or despise him instantly. I never knew my plans would start to work this fast. It almost feels too easy-like fate itself is giving me the rope to hang him with.

I have him exactly where I want him.

Just a little more effort from him, just a tiny push in the direction I want, and then-then I'll give in, let him believe he's winning, before I destroy everything he holds dear.

"Valerie, don't stress," I muttered to myself with a cold smirk. "That bingo is yours."

A low laugh escaped my lips, quiet enough that no one in the building would hear. My coworkers probably think I'm still a diligent lawyer who doesn't joke around. If only they knew the fire burning beneath this calm exterior.

The rest of the day drifted by in a blur of reviewing documents and responding to client emails. On the surface, I was the perfect professional, but in my mind, every case I handled, every sentence I read, led me back to one man-Alexander Stone.

When the office finally emptied, I gathered my things slowly, savoring the quiet. There's something about leaving an office after hours, when the lights are dimmed and the world feels still, that makes plotting revenge even sweeter. I locked the door behind me and stepped into the cool evening air.

I decided I couldn't go straight home-not tonight. My head was too full of plans, calculations, and the image of my sister, Vera, lying motionless in that stiff bed. My chest tightened as the memory flashed in my mind-her pale face, her fingers limp in mine, the machines keeping her alive humming in the background.

Two years.

Two long, merciless years since that night.

Two years since Alexander Stone and his biker gang tore my world apart, leaving my twin sister fighting for her life and me clawing at every scrap of justice I could find. If I stop now, if I let my resolve falter even for a moment, then what was all this pain for?

I pushed the thought down before it could drown me and headed to a small café down the street. It wasn't fancy, but it was quiet enough for me to think.

The place smelled faintly of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries. I slid into a corner booth, ordered a cappuccino and a slice of cheesecake, and set my bag beside me. As I waited, I pulled out my journal-the one that had become my lifeline over the years. Its black leather cover was worn from constant use, and on the very first page, in bold capital letters, was a single name written with more pressure than any other word on the page:

ALEXANDER STONE.

I traced the letters with my fingertip, a ritual that steadied me. This wasn't just about revenge anymore; this was about survival. About making sure no one like him ever had the power to destroy someone like Vera-or me-again.

I flipped through the pages, reviewing each step of my plan. Every detail was there, every move calculated. I didn't leave room for error, but still, I couldn't stop myself from whispering softly, "What if she never wakes up?"

The thought came unbidden, sharp as a knife to the heart. My throat tightened, and I clenched my fists under the table.

"No," I hissed under my breath. "She will wake up. She has to."

My phone vibrated suddenly, startling me out of my spiraling thoughts. I'd been ignoring notifications all day, but maybe it was time to face reality outside of this obsession. I reached into my bag to retrieve it.

That's when it happened.

My journal slipped from the bag and landed on the floor with a soft thud.

"Damn it," I muttered, bending to pick it up-but before my fingers could touch it, another hand got there first.

I froze.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze, my pulse quickening as my eyes met his.

Alexander Stone.

What the hell?

My stomach dropped, and for a split second, I wondered if I was hallucinating.

"What the heck?" I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. "Are you stalking me now?"

He grinned, that infuriating, careless grin that made me want to claw his face off. "Nope," he said lightly, like running into me here was the most natural thing in the world.

I shot to my feet, my hand outstretched toward him. "Give me my journal."

He didn't move.

Instead, he held it just out of my reach, like a tall boy teasing a younger sibling. His eyes glittered with mischief, clearly enjoying my frustration.

"Alexander," I warned, my tone low and dangerous. "That's private."

"I can see that," he replied with a maddening shrug. "But I bet it's just a list of all the people you want to send straight to jail, huh?" He chuckled like it was a harmless joke.

I didn't laugh.

"Give. It. Back."

He tilted his head, studying the journal like it was some kind of puzzle, and then slowly, deliberately, he flipped it open.

My blood turned to ice.

"Let's see who's next on the list..."

His voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the first page.

Then his expression changed.

Gone was the teasing smile, replaced by something unreadable-shock, maybe, disbelief.

He lifted his gaze to me, his jaw tightening.

"Me?" he said softly, almost as if he couldn't believe it.

"Alexander Stone," he read aloud, his voice laced with incredulity as his eyes bored into mine.

"Why exactly is my name written in this journal?" he asked, his tone sharp enough to make me quiver.

The air between us grew thick, charged with unspoken truths. He stared at me in stunned silence, like the world had just tilted off its axis.

And I... I didn't look away.