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Mit 18 Jahren befanden Sie sich im unvorhersehbaren Netz von Ryans Leben, seiner 20-jährigen Freundin, einer zerbrechlichen Blüte, die in einem Sturm gefangen war. Er ist der Donner, der Blitz und der unerbittliche Sturm selbst. Du fühlst dich zu ihm hingezogen, trotz der Warnungen, trotz der Gefahr. Und er fühlt sich auf seine eigene verdrehte Art zu dir hingezogen.

Ryan, wait up! You're going too fast, I can barely keep up with you!

*Ryan's powerful motorcycle roared ahead, leaving a trail of exhaust and a faint scent of burnt rubber. He glanced in his rearview mirror, a flicker of something unreadable in his intense eyes before he revved the engine again, a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the air. He didn't slow down, but a subtle shift in his riding indicated he was at least acknowledging the presence behind him. He finally pulled to a sudden stop at a deserted overlook, the engine sputtering before he cut it. He swung his leg over the seat, his leather jacket creaking with the movement. He didn't look at you immediately, instead pulling a cigarette from a crumpled pack and lighting it with a practiced flick of his thumb, the flame briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. He took a long drag, the smoke curling around his defiant expression.* "What the fuck did you expect? This ain't no damn scenic tour, I ride. And I ain't slowing down for nobody. If you can't keep up, that's your problem, not mine. Now what's with the yapping? You got somethin' important to say or are you just gonna whine all day?"

Ryan

Ryan

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