The tips of my fingers were raw, the skin peeling from the friction of wire-stripping. The warehouse air tasted like rusted iron and stale sweat, a heavy weight pressing into my lungs until I could barely draw a full breath. Behind me, the digital timer on the brick of C4 flickered a steady, mocking crimson—02:00.

I’d screwed up the sequencing. My pulse hammered against my throat, a frantic, trapped bird. If I didn't bypass the secondary sensor now, my father wouldn't just be disappointed; he’d be burying what was left of his only daughter in a closed casket.

"Damn it, work," I hissed, my voice cracking. I jammed the copper lead into the terminal, but my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Just cut it. No, if I cut it, the mercury switch trips. God, I’m going to die in a pile of Senator Xenro’s illegal scrap metal.

The heavy steel door at the end of the corridor didn't just open—ini exploded inward. The sound of a high-displacement engine roared through the hollow space, a guttural, predatory growl that vibrated in my teeth. A single headlight sliced through the gloom, blinding me.

The bike didn't slow down. It skidded, the tires screaming against the concrete, kicking up a cloud of acrid white smoke.

I reached for the glock tucked into my waistband, but my palm was too slick with sweat. The gun slid, clattering onto the floor and skittering away into the shadows.

"Don't move, Valerio," a voice low-timbered and dangerous cut through the dying echoes of the engine.

I squinted through the haze. A man stepped off the machine, his silhouette massive against the glowing red taillight. He wore a scuffed leather vest, no shirt underneath, and arms covered in ink that looked like moving shadows in the dim light.

Rhett Valerian. The King of the Riders. The man my father had told me to shoot on sight.

I need to run. Now. But the bomb—if I leave it, the whole block goes up.

"Get back!" I shouted, my voice sounding pathetic even to my own ears. I lunged for the detonator, my fingers inches from the manual override.

Before I could touch it, a hand clamped around my wrist like a vice. Rhett was faster than any human had a right to be. He jerked me back, his grip bruising the bone, and slammed me against the cold, damp brick wall.

The impact knocked the wind out of me. My vision swam with black spots. I looked up, and he was right there—inches away. He smelled like hot asphalt, expensive tobacco, and a sharp metallic scent that wasn't quite blood but felt just as violent.

"Trying to blow up my territory, princess?" he growled.

He’s going to kill me. He should kill me. Why am I looking at his mouth?

"It's not... it's not yours," I wheezed, trying to knee him in the groin.

He blocked me effortlessly, pinning my legs with his own. He was a wall of heat and muscle, his chest pressing into mine until I could feel the frantic thud of his heart—or maybe it was mine. I couldn't tell anymore.

"You missed a wire," he said, his eyes flicking to the C4. "The blue one. You touch that, and we’re both pink mist in five seconds."

His face was shadowed, but his eyes caught the red glow of the timer. They were dark, intense, and filled with a weird, twisted recognition that made my stomach flip. He didn't look like a man about to die. He looked like a man who had finally found something he’d been hunting for a decade.

"Let me go," I whispered, my heart racing for a completely different reason now. "I can fix it."

"You’ve fixed enough," he muttered. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against mine. His breath was warm, a stark contrast to the freezing warehouse air. "I should let you blow. It’d save me a lot of trouble."

He’s right. I’m a Valerio. He’s a Rider. We’re supposed to be ash by now.

I looked at the timer. 00:45.

My panic surged. "Rhett, please. My brother... Xenro has my brother. If this warehouse doesn't go, he dies."

It was a lie, or at least a half-truth, but it was the only card I had. I watched his expression, looking for a crack, a sign of the mercy people said didn't exist in the Valerian bloodline.

Rhett’s grip on my wrists tightened for a second, then he abruptly let go. He didn't back away, though. He reached past my head, his fingers steady as he grabbed a small pocket knife from his vest.

"Move," he commanded.

I didn't run. I stayed frozen, trapped between the wall and his massive frame as he leaned over the bomb.

What am I doing? I should bolt while he’s distracted. I should take the bike and get out.

Instead, I watched him. His movements were precise, almost surgical. He wasn't just a thug on a bike; he knew exactly how the Valerio tech worked. He sliced through a casing, twisted two wires, and the frantic ticking of the timer stopped.

The silence that followed was deafening. 00:12 frozen in red.

"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a thread. "Why save me?"

Rhett turned back to me. The intensity in his gaze was suffocating. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, a touch so light it made me shiver. It was the first time in years someone had touched me without wanting to hurt me, and it terrified me more than the explosion would have.

"I didn't do it for you," he lied, his voice dropping to a rasp.

He leaned in, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from mine. I could feel the electricity between us, a dangerous, volatile spark that was more explosive than the C4 behind him. I should have pushed him. I should have screamed.

Instead, I tilted my head back, my eyes fluttering shut, waiting for the collision.

He didn't kiss me. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"You have the same eyes," he whispered, his voice sounding hollow, haunted. "The same damn eyes as the girl I pulled out of the fire fifteen years ago."

My blood turned to ice. The fire. The night the Valerio-Valerian peace treaty turned into a massacre.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, my voice shaking.

"Liar," he snapped. He shoved me toward his bike. "Get on. Now."

"No! I'm not going anywhere with you."

"The Shadow Ops are three minutes out, Elara. You stay here, they don't arrest you—they erase you. You want to see your brother again? Move your ass."

I looked at the door, then back at the man who was supposed to be my sworn enemy. My family would call this treason. The Riders would call it a death sentence.

I'm choosing the devil I know.

I scrambled onto the back of the Bloodhound, my hands tentatively reaching for his waist.

"Tighter," he growled, grabbing my arms and wrapping them around his torso. His skin was hot, his muscles tensing under my touch. "Don't let go, or you're dead."

He kicked the engine over, the roar echoing like a war cry. As we tore out of the warehouse and into the neon-soaked rain of Aurelium City, I looked back once.

The black SUVs of Senator Xenro’s Shadow Ops were already swarming the perimeter.

I had just escaped a bomb only to jump onto the back of a living one.

Rhett didn't head for the neutral zone. He steered the bike toward the old industrial district—the heart of the Valerian territory. I was a prisoner, a prize, or a ghost.

He pulled the bike into a darkened garage, the heavy shutters slamming down behind us before the engine even died. He hopped off, leaving me trembling on the leather seat.

"Why do you look like the girl I saved 15 years ago?" he demanded, looming over me in the shadows.

I stayed silent, the truth a jagged stone in my throat.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his voice a low, lethal promise.

"Answer me, or I'll hand you back to the Senator myself."

My stomach twisted into a knot of cold lead, the bile rising in the back of my throat.

The steel shutter behind us was still vibrating from the impact of Rhett’s fist, locked tight.

He stepped into my space, his chest a wall of scarred skin and heat, cutting off the oxygen before I could even scream.

"Answer me!" Rhett’s voice was a jagged blade.

"I don't owe you anything," I snapped, though my knees felt like water. "Fifteen years is a lifetime. People change. Families kill each other. That's the Aurelium way, isn't it?"

I'm going to die. He’s going to realize I’m the one who designed the trigger that killed his mother and he’s going to snap my neck right here next to his chrome-plated toy.

Rhett’s hand shot out, his fingers hooking into the collar of my leather jacket. He jerked me forward, forcing me onto my tiptoes. I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the sheer, unadulterated hatred fighting with something else—something that looked like a man starving for a ghost.

"You're a Valerio," he hissed. "Your blood is poison. I should have let that timer hit zero."

"Then why didn't you?" I spat, finding a spark of courage in the sheer hopelessness of it all. "Why pull me onto your bike? Why bring me here?"

The silence in the garage was thick, smelling of old oil and the aroma of exhaust that wasn't wangi at all. He didn't answer. He just stared, his grip tightening until I could barely breathe.

Suddenly, a tiny, dancing spark of light caught the edge of my vision.

It was a ruby-red dot. It flickered across the oil-stained floor, climbed up the tire of his bike, and settled right in the center of my chest.

Sniper.

My heart stopped. The Ghost Snipers. Xenro’s elite cleanup crew. They didn't miss, and they didn't take prisoners.

"Rhett," I whispered, my voice disappearing.

"Don't try to play me, Elara," he growled, unaware of the light.

"Rhett, look!" I grabbed his forearms, my fingers digging into his tattoos.

He followed my gaze down. The red dot was steady now, burning a hole into the fabric of my jacket, right over my heart.

"Shit," Rhett cursed.

He didn't hesitate. He didn't push me away to save himself. He did the one thing a Valerian should never do for a Valerio. He grabbed me by the waist and hauled me into his body, spinning us around so his back slammed against a heavy tool cabinet.

The impact knocked the air out of my lungs. My face was buried in the crook of his neck, the scent of hot skin and salt overwhelming me. I could feel the vibration of his growl in his chest.

Why is he holding me? He’s using himself as a shield. This is insane.

"Stay down!" he barked.

A suppressed thwip echoed through the garage. A bullet shattered the windshield of his bike, spraying glass across my hair. Another hit the metal shutter, the clang ringing in my ears like a funeral bell.

"They're inside the vents," Rhett muttered, his breath hot against my ear. "Xenro wants you dead so bad he’s willing to risk a war with the Riders to do it."

"He doesn't want me dead," I wheezed, my head spinning. "He wants the blueprints. The micro-bombs. I'm the only one who can arm the Seraph Project."

Rhett pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine. "You built that shit for him?"

"I had to! He has Adrian!"

"You're a fool," he spat, but he didn't let go. His hand stayed firm on the small of my back, holding me against him as if I were the only thing keeping him grounded.

I hate him. I hate that he’s right. I hate that I’m shaking and he’s the only thing stopping me from falling apart.

"We can't stay here," I said, my voice rising in panic. "The shutters won't hold if they bring in the heavy stuff."

"I know."

Rhett looked around the garage, his jaw tight. I could see the gears turning—the ruthless calculation of a man who lived and breathed street warfare. He looked at the back door, then at the row of custom bikes.

"The tunnel," he said. "There’s an old maintenance shaft under the floorboards. Leads to the sewers."

"The sewers? You've got to be kidding."

"You want to stay and be a target? Fine by me."

He shoved me toward the back of the garage, but as he did, the red dot moved. It left my chest. It skipped over the floor and climbed up his leather vest.

It settled squarely on his forehead.

"Rhett, move!" I screamed.

I lunged forward, not thinking about the rivalry or the years of blood between our families. I shoved him with everything I had, my palms hitting his hard chest.

What am I doing? If he dies, I’m free. If he dies, I can run.

But I didn't want him to die.

We tumbled to the floor just as a third shot whistled through the space where his head had been a second ago. It punched a hole through a stack of tires, the rubber hissing as it deflated.

We were a tangle of limbs on the greasy floor. Rhett was on top of me, his weight crushing me, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and fury.

"You saved me," he said, the words sounding like a confession.

"I'm just... I need you to get the door open," I lied, my voice cracking. "I can't do it alone."

He didn't move. He stared at me, his face so close I could see the scar running through his eyebrow. He looked at my lips, and for a second, the world outside—the snipers, the war, the bombs—ceased to exist.

Kiss me. Kill me. Just do something.

"You're a nightmare, Elara Valerio," he whispered.

He scrambled up, pulling me with him. He kicked aside a heavy rug, revealing a rusted iron hatch. He yanked it open, the smell of damp rot wafting up.

"Jump," he commanded.

"No way—"

"Jump, or I'll throw you!"

I looked at the hatch, then at the red dots now swarming the walls like angry hornets. I jumped.

The fall was short, but I landed in ankle-deep, freezing water. I cried out as the cold hit my skin, my boots soaking through instantly. Above me, Rhett dropped down and slammed the hatch shut, locking it from the inside.

It was pitch black. The only sound was the drip of water and our ragged breathing.

"Rhett?" I reached out, my hand hitting his wet leather vest.

"I'm here."

His hand found mine in the dark. His fingers were rough, calloused, but they closed around my hand with a terrifying strength. He didn't let go.

"We're deep in the vents now," he said. "Even Xenro’s tech can't track us through three feet of reinforced concrete and lead lining."

"Where are we going?"

"To the only place left," he said. "The Valerian Hive. My territory. My rules."

I'm walking into the lion's den. If the Riders see me, they'll tear me apart before he can even explain.

"They'll kill me, Rhett. Your men... they know my face."

"Not if you're with me," he said, his voice dropping to a low, possessive rumble. "I'll tell them you're my high-value asset. My pet engineer."

Pet. The word stung, but it was better than 'corpse'.

We trudged through the muck for what felt like hours, the silence between us heavy with things we couldn't say. Every time I slipped, his grip on my hand tightened. He was the only thing keeping me from drowning in the dark.

"Why me?" I asked, the question finally breaking out. "Why save the girl from the fire? Why save me tonight?"

We reached a ladder leading up. Rhett stopped, his silhouette barely visible in the faint light filtering from a grate above. He turned to me, his hand moving from my wrist to the back of my neck, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin there.

"Because you're the only thing in this city that still burns bright, Elara," he whispered. "And I've always had a thing for fire."

He pulled me toward the ladder, but as he reached for the first rung, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, the screen illuminating his face.

His expression went from intense to deathly pale.

"What is it?" I asked, my heart hammering.

He turned the screen toward me. It was a live feed.

My father’s mansion was in flames. And there, standing in the middle of the driveway, was Adrian—but he wasn't a hostage anymore. He was wearing a Shadow Ops uniform, a cold, empty look in his eyes, holding a detonator in his hand.

The red dot on my chest hadn't been a kill order.

It was a tracking beacon, and I had just led the enemy's new weapon straight to the heart of the Riders' secret tunnels.