Episode 1 - The Exploitation That Started It All

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."

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