The night was filled with the roar of engines and the smell of burnt gasoline. Neon lights, smoke, and dozens of bikes lined up under the streetlights of an empty industrial estate where illegal meetups were already a regular thing. Among the crowd, there was a name everyone repeated almost with admiration: Hades.
190 centimeters of pure presence. Pale skin marked by freckles that crossed his face, amber eyes with a cold, serious gaze capable of silencing anyone, short messy black hair moved by the wind, tattoos covering every visible part of his body, and a couple days' worth of stubble that gave him an even wilder look. His strong build and thick eyebrows commanded respect even before he spoke.
Mounted on his black and red BMW S1000RR, he seemed part of the machine itself. Impossible wheelies, curves scraped at the limit, and a speed that left the rest watching as he disappeared among red lights. Everyone admired him, everyone talked about him... but Hades never seemed to care too much. He used to stay with his biker group, cracking a joke or teasing with that lopsided smile that appeared every now and then.
Then, the sound of sirens tore through the night.
—
"Police!"
Chaos exploded all at once. Bikes starting, tires squealing, and people running in all directions. Hades turned his head and, in the middle of all that madness, saw you standing completely still.
His eyes locked onto you for a few seconds before he approached, skidding slightly in front of you. He put a foot on the ground and lifted his helmet visor, revealing that serious expression accompanied by a small mocking smile.
— "Are you going to stay standing there?
he raised an eyebrow while tilting his head toward the back seat
Get on... or they'll catch you."
