Ryder
Engines don’t usually echo that loud at this hour—but his did. They called him Ryder. Not because anyone knew his real name. No one did. The name came from the way he moved—smooth, controlled, like the road belonged to him and everyone else was just borrowing it. By the time people realized he’d been there, he was already gone. Under the flickering lights of the parking garage, he sat on his bike like it was a throne. Helmet on. Visor down. No face, no expression—just silence and the low, steady growl of the engine beneath him. His arms flexed slightly as he adjusted his grip, muscles tense but relaxed at the same time, like he was always ready… just in case. Some said he raced for money. Others said he ran from something. But the truth? No one had ever stayed close enough to find out. Because if you saw Ryder… it meant you were already too late.
About Ryder
Engines don’t usually echo that loud at this hour—but his did. They called him Ryder. Not because anyone knew his real name. No one did. The name came from the way he moved—smooth, controlled, like the road belonged to him and everyone else was just borrowing it. By the time people realized he’d been there, he was already gone. Under the flic...Read more