THE HUNT BEGINS

VALERIE

The air reeked of gasoline and burnt rubber, just the way I liked it. Not because I enjoyed it—God, no—but because it reminded me of them. The Xander MC. The ruthless, arrogant group of leather-clad kings of the road who thought they were untouchable. They owned every mile they rode on, every bar they swaggered into, every whispered fear in this town.

And today, they were all gathered here.

I tightened my gloves, adjusting the snug fit of my black riding jacket, one that hugged my body just enough to draw attention but not enough to seem desperate. I’d spent weeks perfecting this look—athletic, effortless, just another biker who lived for speed. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Two years.

Two years of sleepless nights, of replaying The incident of that night, of waking up in a cold sweat picturing her face when they took everything from me. Two years of smiling politely in public while I burned inside.

And now, finally, I had my first real shot.

The Xander MC had a planned ride today—a big one. Scenic routes, packed spectators, and the kind of camaraderie these bastards fed on. I’d been following their schedules for months, memorizing every pit stop, every favorite haunt. Today, they’d be at their most arrogant. They are the most distracted.

Perfect.

I straddled my motorcycle, feeling the low rumble of the engine vibrate through me. Sleek, black, and built for speed—just like I’d wanted. No frills, no flash. Just raw power. I slid my helmet on, the tinted visor hiding my face, and kicked the stand up.

“It’s their day today,” I muttered to myself, voice hard with resolve. “And I’m about to take my first step.”

The ride to the venue was short, but my mind made it long, looping over my plan like a mantra. Get their attention. Get close to Alexander Stone. The man who led the Xander MC. The man who thought he’d never pay for what he did.

By the time I arrived, the place was alive with roaring engines and the buzz of excitement. Bikers milled around, their cuts stitched with patches of pride and reputation. Spectators lined up behind barriers, cheering as bikes revved in anticipation. I spotted them immediately—their matching leather vests, their cocky grins. And at the center of it all, like a king among peasants, was Alexander Stone.

Tall. Broad shoulders.u Dark hair slicked back. The kind of man whose presence alone commanded attention. And I hated him for it.

I kept my head down, letting my helmet hide the fire in my eyes. Not yet.

When the signal for the race came, I rolled my bike forward, blending in with the other riders. My heart pounded—not with nerves, but with something sharper. Anticipation.

The flag dropped.

I twisted the throttle, and my bike shot forward like a bullet. Wind whipped against me as I leaned low, weaving between competitors with precise, calculated movements. I wasn’t here to win. I was here to be noticed.

And I knew exactly whose notice I wanted.

Within minutes, I spotted him—Alexander, ahead of me, riding like the road was his birthright. I pushed harder, the engine screaming beneath me as I closed the gap. When I pulled up beside him, I caught the slight turn of his head, the momentary flicker of surprise.

Good.

I didn’t give him time to process it. I surged forward, forcing him to match me. And match me he did. The bastard grinned—actually grinned—as he kicked up his speed, and soon we were neck and neck, two predators battling for dominance on open asphalt.

Every time I pushed ahead, he pushed harder. Every time I cut close, he countered. It was a dance, one I intended to let him think he was leading.

The finish line came into view, and I let him take it. Barely. He crossed a split second before me, triumphant. I eased off the throttle, coasting to a stop just beyond the line as he swung his bike around to face me.

Helmet still on, I sat back on my seat, letting him come to me.

“Well, well well,” he drawled, removing his own helmet. His voice was smooth, cocky. “Hey, beautiful. Haven’t seen you around before.”

I tilted my head slightly, as if I was considering whether or not to even acknowledge him. “I don’t come out very often.”

He chuckled, eyes glinting with amusement. “You really challenged me back there. I’ve gotta commend you for that. Do you mind joining our biker club?”

Bingo.

Exactly what I wanted. But I have to keep my edge. Play the hard one.

I pretended to hesitate, then shook my head. “Not interested. I only did that for fun. I needed some air, that’s all. Besides, I have other things to do.”

That got him. His brows lifted, like I’d just told him the sky wasn’t blue.

“Hmm,” he mused, leaning slightly closer, his gaze roaming over me in appraisal. “That’s a first. I don’t take no for an answer. No one says no to me.”

I met his gaze squarely through my visor, my tone cool and dismissive. “Well, I’m saying it.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then laughed—a low, surprised sound. “Wow. I love your guts.”

“Thanks.” I swung my bike around, preparing to leave. “I’m riding back home. Thanks. I had fun.”

I didn’t wait for his response. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how perfectly he’d played into my hands. As I sped away, the grin beneath my helmet was sharp, cruel.

He’d noticed me.

Step one: complete.

“First mission well accomplished,” I whispered under my breath, voice venomous with promise. “But there's more to go. Alexander, you never know the plans I have for you.”

And as the roar of my engine swallowed the world, I felt, for the first time in two years, the thrill of being in control.

This was just the beginning.