Chapter 4

The bass from the main stage had finally died down, replaced by the low, thrumming hum of the few remaining die-hards who refused to pack it in for the night. The air in the venue still tasted of spilled beer, cheap cologne, and the distinct, metallic tang of adrenaline. I sat in the corner booth, a sprawling alcove carved out from the rest of the chaotic event space, where the leather-clad bikers usually retreated to guard their territories. We were surrounded by the heavy, studded leather jackets of the others who had drifted away, leaving behind a residue of warmth and the faint, sweet scent of tobacco smoke that clung to the fabric of the seats. He was beside me, his knee pressed firmly against mine, a solid anchor in the fading noise. The motorcycle rally had been a blur of roaring engines, spinning wheels, and rowdy laughter, but now, in this quiet nook, the world had shrunk down to just the two of us. The lighting here was dim, cast by a single hanging bulb that swung slightly on its wire, casting long, dancing shadows against the concrete walls. It was intimate, raw, and undeniably ours. I looked up