His Biker Girl, Her Biker Prince.

TESSA.

College is supposed to be the best years of your life. For me, it feels like prison, just without the orange jumpsuit.

Every class is the same. Professors who think they’re gods, students who act like they’re auditioning for reality TV, and me, stuck in the middle wondering how the hell I ended up here. I didn’t come to Westbridge College to make friends or wave pompoms at football games. I came because it was far enough from home that my mother couldn’t breathe down my neck every second.

Not that it’s been much better here.

Take last week, for example. Business Ethics, Monday morning, and I was already late. I slipped into the back row wearing a short skirt, a cropped top, and my favorite black boots that click way too loudly on the tile. Half the class turned their heads, and I swear I could feel the judgment dripping off them like cheap perfume.

Professor Grant paused mid-sentence, pushed his glasses up, and let his eyes crawl down my legs in a way that made my skin crawl. He coughed, pretended to adjust his tie, then went back to lecturing about integrity, which was hilarious coming from him.

The girls in the front row whispered, smirking behind their manicures, probably calling me every name they could think of. I didn’t care. I crossed my legs, leaned back in my chair, and smiled like I owned the room. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nothing drives people crazier than confidence.

Still, it was exhausting. The fake smiles, the stares, the silent competition. College was supposed to feel like freedom, but to me, it was just another cage.

Then I met Nova.

It was after class, when I was heading out, still annoyed at Professor Grant’s hungry eyes. I heard someone behind me mutter, “Creep.”

I turned, and there she was, dark hair, black eyeliner, ripped jeans, and the kind of don’t-mess-with-me energy you can feel from across the hall.

“You saw that too?” I asked, adjusting my bag.

“Hard not to,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Guy practically drooled on his tie.”

I laughed, for real this time. Most people would’ve just whispered or pretended not to notice. She didn’t care. She said it loud enough for anyone to hear. That was the moment I knew Nova wasn’t like the others.

We started walking together after that, sitting next to each other in lectures, comparing sarcastic notes about how ridiculous everything was. She didn’t ask about my past, didn’t pry about why I liked riding my bike instead of going to sorority mixers. She told me she rides too. That was the first time I felt my heart race in weeks.

Now I’m sitting in class, counting the seconds until the clock hits freedom. Finally, the professor says, “Class is over. Submit the project before next week.”

The room explodes with noise.

Nova leans over, sliding her books into her bag. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“If it’s not food, I’m not interested.”

She smirks. “Better. I’m taking you to my father’s MC. Big race tonight.”

I whip my head toward her, eyebrows up. “Wait, you’re telling me your dad runs an MC and you’re just dropping this on me now?”

She shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I’m telling you now. So you're in, or not?”

“Hell yes,” I say without hesitation.

She grins and taps her fingers together like she’s clocking it in. “That’s what I thought.”

“What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at ten.”

I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Great.”

Hours later, Nova and I step into the world she’s been hiding from me.

Engines roar, smoke curls into the night, and the sharp smell of gasoline burns in my nose. The Serpents’ clubhouse sits behind us, lit with neon and lined with parked Harleys gleaming under streetlights.

I lean closer to Nova, my eyes wide as I take it all in. “This place is fire,” I murmured, adrenaline already humming under my skin. “The bikes, the noise, the energy… I could live in a world like this.”

Nova snorts, nudging me with her shoulder. “You’re crazy. This isn’t some school club. These guys don’t play games.”

“I’m not scared of them.” My lips tug into a grin, my gaze roaming to the leather cuts and roaring bikes. “If I ever get the chance, I’d join something like this in a heartbeat.”

Nova gives me a look, half-amused, half-worried. “Careful what you wish for, girl. Around here, chances come with blood.”

But I don’t back down. I keep staring at the line of engines revving at the strip, my pulse racing with theirs. I feel like I’m standing exactly where I belong.

Out front, two lines of bikers rev their engines, tires squealing as the crowd cheers. It’s almost midnight, the hour when chaos feels alive.

A girl in ripped denim shorts and a leather vest strutted to the front, a red bandana tied around her wrist. She lifted her arm high, hips cocked like she owned the road. The crowd leaned in, waiting.

“Three!” she shouted, voice carrying over the roar of engines.

“Two!”

“One!” Her arm slashed down. “GO!”

The bikes shoot forward like bullets. The sound is deafening, pure thunder ripping down the strip. I watch, adrenaline buzzing in my veins as the racers disappear into the night and then return, headlights slicing through smoke.

The first one across the line is impossible to miss, his bike matte black with blood-red serpent fangs painted across the tank, his cut marked with the Serpents’ logo.

The crowd erupts. Everyone’s chanting his name.

“Who is that?” I ask Nova, my eyes still glued to the rider as he pulls off his helmet, shaking out dark hair damp with sweat.

“My older brother,” she says casually.

I whip around. “You have a brother?”

“Three,” she says. “That one’s the youngest. You must’ve seen him on campus.”

I stare a little longer. “Nope. But the way he’s standing like he just conquered the world, I’d bet he’s full of himself.”

Nova smirks. “Which biker isn’t?”

The rider’s gaze sweeps the crowd. It lingers on Nova first, then locks on me. His smirk stretches slowly, cocky, and deliberately. He starts walking our way, each step screaming authority.

“You’re late,” he says to Nova, eyes still fixed on me.

“I showed up right before the race started,” she replies.

He finally turns his attention fully on me. That smirk widens, like he’s already figured me out with the way I rolled my eyes.

“Attitude, huh?” he says. Then, to Nova, but never breaking eye contact with me, he adds, “Who’s the little princess you dragged here?”

“Coming from an ass,” I shot back instantly.

The crowd laughs, but his eyes darken. Instead of backing off, he steps closer, invading my space. Then he does the one thing I didn’t expect, he lifts his hand and drags a finger along my cheek, slow and deliberate, like I’m just another girl who’s supposed to melt under his touch.

“Cute,” he says, voice low and seductive. “Girls like you always pretend you don’t want it. Until you do.”

That was it.

In one motion, I flip his wrist off my face, kick my boot heel back for balance, and pull the knife from the side of my boot. The blade flashes under the floodlight as I drag it across his cheek, just enough to leave a sharp, shallow line.

The world goes silent.

He stumbles back, touching the thin streak of blood on his face. His cocky smirk is gone, replaced with shock, then something darker.

Every Serpent around us stares. Some mouths hang open. Nova’s eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t say a word.

I tuck the knife back into my boot, my eyes never leaving his. “Try that again,” I say evenly, “and I won’t miss.”

The cut isn’t deep, just a scratch. But it’s enough. Enough to show I’m not like the girls he toys with. Enough to make him remember me.

And judging by the fire in his eyes, he will.