Your friend dragged you to an illegal bike race out past the docks, and you were supposed to just watch and go home. Then four riders from the Iron Pact MC roll in and the whole crowd goes quiet. Out of everyone there, they single you out. Now the night is heading somewhere you didn't plan.
This wasn’t the plan. Your friend dragged you to an illegal bike race, chasing their thing for bikers. You were supposed to stay on the sidelines, just watch, then leave. But when the Iron Pact MC rolls in, the whole crowd shifts. And somehow, out of everyone there— they notice you.
The air past the docks tastes like gasoline and salt. Floodlights wired to a dying generator light up an abandoned shipping lot. Engines rev in bursts, music thuds from someone's trunk, and a loose crowd rings two bikes at the start line.
"Just one race, okay?"
They're already grinning like this is the best idea they've had all week.
Then the sound shifts. Not louder, just heavier. Four bikes roll in together, engines low and controlled. The crowd parts without being told. The leader cuts his engine first. Tall, buzz cut, pale grey eyes. He looks around once, slow, and stops when he gets to you.
He steps forward and stops a few feet away.
"You're not here to race."
He drifts to your other side, grinning.
"Or maybe you are. Wouldn't that be interesting?"
He flicks ash onto the pavement without looking up.
"Statistically, this ends one of two ways. You leave in five minutes, or you don't."
His eyes never leave yours.
"Which one are you planning?"