Pay For My Bike

Aria’s POV

The ringleader's glare sharpened. Her lips curled into a sneer as she jerked her chin toward her minions.

“Who the hell is this brat?”

The taller minion shrugged. “Never seen her before. Must be new.”

The ringleader’s gaze flicked over me slowly, then her mouth pulled into a smile—mocking, predatory.

“Well, well…” she drawled. “A fresh little lamb. You’ve got guts walking into a wolf’s den like that.”

She stepped closer, heels clicking with menace. “What’s your name, brat?”

“Aria,” I said simply.

Not Lane. Never Lane. Not here.

The last thing I wanted was anyone knowing I shared blood with Bianca and Celeste. If I could erase that connection from existence, I would.

The ringleader tilted her head. “Aria, huh?”

Her smile widened.

“I’ll be generous. Since you’re new, I’ll spare you for that little outburst. Consider it a one-time pass.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Spare me?”

That earned a few quiet gasps from the others watching.

I took a step forward, ignoring the wide-eyed Omega still trembling behind me.

“Whatever power you think you have here,” I said coldly, “it doesn’t give you the right to torture the people under you. Being stronger doesn’t mean being cruel.”

The smile slipped from her face.

Laughter bubbled from her throat, sharp and unamused. Then it stopped, just as suddenly.

She stepped right into my space, eyes gleaming.

“You really think you're brave, don’t you?” she whispered, voice like a blade.

“You think that little speech made you special?”

I didn’t answer.

She didn’t like that.

“I gave you a chance to come to your senses,” she snapped. “But you just signed your death sentence.”

The ringleader stared at me for a long second—like she was trying to decide whether to rip my throat out or simply blacklist me from the rest of school life.

Then she turned on her heel without another word.

Her minions lingered a moment longer, both of them shooting me synchronized death glares like they’d rehearsed it. Then they followed her out, heads held high.

The room was silent.

Everyone else stared at me like I’d just murdered someone in broad daylight. Not a single person moved to check on the girl who’d been beaten—or me. The message was clear:

I’d broken the code.

I’d challenged the system.

And now, I was radioactive.

I turned to the trembling girl behind me and offered her a hand. “You okay?”

She looked at my hand like it was a weapon, then scrambled to her feet on her own, brushing past me without a word.

Ouch.

But I didn’t blame her.

Not everyone is able to fight back.

**

The sun had dipped low, casting a golden-orange glow across the courtyard as I made my way back toward the parking lot. My legs ached, my head throbbed, and I was one sarcastic comment away from a full-blown scream.

All I wanted was to get on my bike and ride away from this hellhole of a day.

But when I turned the corner, my heart dropped.

No. Freaking. Way.

There, in the middle of the lot, was an expensive black car—sleek, arrogant, and unapologetically parked directly on top of my bicycle.

Crushed.

Flattened like a sad little pancake.

The front tire had bent completely sideways, the frame twisted, handlebars mangled under the pressure of the car’s weight.

For a long second, I just stood there, staring. Processing.

Then I dropped my bag and stomped over.

I balled my fist, ready to punch the shiny hood—only to freeze.

Nope. No money to fix that.

I settled for kicking the tire—not too hard, but hard enough to make myself feel a bit better.

“This day just keeps getting better,” I muttered, running a hand down my face.

“Whoa there, tiger. Planning to fight the tire next?”

The voice came from behind me—lazy, amused, and laced with humor.

I turned and saw him.

Tall. Shoulder-length blonde hair in a messy tumble that looked like it had never seen a brush—or maybe had, but violently refused it. His amber eyes sparkled with mischief, like he lived for chaos and found mine particularly entertaining.

He was chewing on a toothpick, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like he owned the entire lot and had no idea what rules were.

“Let me guess,” he grinned. “You’re lost. Or mad at a car. Or both.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is this your car?”

He looked at the crushed bike under it, then back at me with a slow blink. “Define ‘yours.’ Like, I drive it, or I just found it and claimed it with my bad decisions?”

I crossed my arms. “Did you or did you not park that shiny display on top of my bicycle?”

He walked over, leaned to get a better look at the wreckage, then whistled low. “Damn. That bike didn’t stand a chance.”

“Thanks for the observation,” I snapped. “Really insightful.”

He straightened and shrugged. “Okay, okay. That one’s on me. But to be fair… the bike was parked in the wrong spot.”

“It was a perfectly valid parking spot.”

“For vehicles, yeah. Not your two-wheeled tin skeleton.”

I resisted the urge to hurl my shoe at him.

He grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself.

“Tell you what,” he said, walking toward the driver’s side. “I’ll move the car, and maybe if I’m feeling generous, I’ll buy you a new one. Or a scooter. Or—hear me out—a segway. Real power move.”

I stared at him, deadpan. “You’re actually insane.”

Caspian let out a loud, carefree laugh, tossing his head back like I’d just delivered the punchline of a particularly excellent joke.

“This is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with an Omega that didn’t involve them stammering or running off,” he said, clearly amused. “You’re kind of fun.”

“Glad I could brighten your privileged day,” I muttered, arms still crossed.

He wiped under one eye, as if fake-crying from laughter, then grinned. “What’s your name, mystery girl?”

I raised a brow. “Not telling you.”

His lips twitched. “Playing hard to get?”

“Playing leave me alone and pay for my bike,” I shot back. “It’s crushed. You owe me.”

Caspian blinked, then tilted his head slightly, as if trying to process that I was serious.

“Oh. Wait—wait, you’re not joking?”

“No,” I said flatly.

His grin widened again. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

I gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “Loud, obnoxious, flirts like it’s a sport… one of the Apex brats?”

“Ouch,” he said, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. “You wound me, truly. But still not enough to make me hand over my credit chip.”

“You ran over my property.”

He smirked. “You parked your property where it shouldn’t have been.”

“You parked your car like an unsupervised toddler with a license.”

“Oof. Alright, alright, here—deal.” He held up a finger. “You manage to get your mangled little bike out from under my car... I’ll pay for it.”

I stared at him. “You’re serious?”

He shrugged, cocky. “Deadly. If you can lift the car or move it without scratching it—hell, I’ll even throw in lunch.”

My lips curled slowly. “Oh, I’ll lift it.”

That got his attention.

“Oh?” he said, brows rising with a gleam in his eyes.

“But I’m not doing it for free,” I added. “You’re paying for the bike and tipping me for labor. I’m a rare kind of Omega, remember?”

He whistled low. “I like you.”

I walked past him toward the front of the car, brushing my sleeves up. “Good. You’re about to like me even more—after you pay me.”

Caspian leaned back against the driver’s side with his arms crossed, watching with fascination, like I was his favorite new TV show.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured.

I crouched beside the front bumper, placed my hands beneath the fender—and tightened my grip.

Time to show this smug Apex idiot what happened when you underestimated the girl who refused to be stepped on.

Just as I was about to lift, a cold voice sliced through the airy

“Why are you wasting your breath on an Omega, Caspian?”