GET ON MY BIKE

Everyone in the city knew Ryder Cole.

At least, they thought they did.

He was thirty-six, tall, heavily built, and intimidating enough to make strangers move aside when he walked into a room. His broad shoulders filled the worn black leather jacket he almost never took off. He had short black hair, a sharp jawline, dark eyes, and a thin scar beneath his left eye.

His motorcycle was matte black.

So was almost everything else about him.

Black jacket.

Black jeans.

Black boots.

Black gloves.

He rarely smiled.

He rarely spoke.

And whenever his motorcycle roared through the neighborhood at night, people instinctively looked away.

Rumors followed him everywhere.

Some said he had spent time in prison.

Some believed he had once ridden with a dangerous motorcycle gang.

Others whispered that he had been involved in underground fights.

Ryder never denied any of it.

Not because the rumors were true.

But because he had learned a long time ago that people were often more interested in the story they created about you than the person you actually were.

The truth was surprisingly simple.

Ryder helped people.

Quietly.

An elderly man who couldn't afford to repair his motorcycle would wake up one morning to find it fixed outside his house.

A single mother would occasionally discover grocery bags hanging from her apartment door.

A teenager whose motorcycle had broken down on the side of the road would suddenly find Ryder standing beside him, tools already in hand.

Ryder never asked for money.

He never asked for thanks.

And he never stayed long enough for anyone to discover who had helped them.

He simply rode away.

Until one rainy night.

It was almost midnight when Ryder was riding home through the city.

The rain was heavy.

The streets were nearly empty.

Then his headlights caught something unusual.

A woman.

She was standing alone beneath a broken streetlight.

She was wearing a white wedding dress.

Her hair was soaked.

One of her heels was missing.

Her bouquet had been crushed in her hands.

And she was crying.

Ryder slowed down.

The motorcycle stopped several feet away.

The woman immediately stepped backward.

She looked terrified.

Ryder removed his helmet.

"Are you okay?"

She didn't answer.

Ryder looked around.

There were no cars.

No family.

No friends.

No one searching for her.

"Where's your husband?"

The woman's face crumbled.

"He's not my husband."

Ryder frowned.

"What happened?"

She wiped her tears.

"My wedding is tomorrow."

Ryder glanced at her dress.

"Then why are you running?"

She looked down.

"Because I don't want to marry him."

Ryder stayed silent.

She finally explained.

Her father had arranged the marriage with the son of a wealthy businessman.

Her family's company was drowning in debt.

The marriage would save everything.

But she didn't love the man.

She loved someone else.

Someone her father had forbidden her to see.

"And he thinks I chose money over him," she whispered.

Ryder looked at her.

"What's his name?"

She told him.

Ryder stared down the empty road.

Then he took a spare helmet from his motorcycle and held it toward her.

"Get on."

She looked at him like he was insane.

"I don't know you."

"You don't have to."

"Where are we going?"

Ryder put his helmet back on.

"To find him."

She hesitated.

Then slowly took the helmet.

She climbed onto the motorcycle.

And Ryder disappeared into the rain.

By the next morning, the wedding was ready.

The church was decorated with hundreds of white flowers.

Luxury cars lined the street.

Guests arrived in expensive suits and elegant dresses.

The groom stood proudly at the entrance beside his family.

The bride's father smiled for photographs.

Everything looked perfect.

Until everyone heard the sound of a motorcycle.

At first, it was distant.

Then louder.

And louder.

The conversations stopped.

People turned toward the road.

A matte-black motorcycle appeared at the end of the street.

It accelerated toward the church.

Then stopped directly in front of the entrance.

The entire crowd fell silent.

Ryder stepped off.

The bride climbed down behind him.

Her father stared at her.

His expression changed from confusion to fury.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The bride looked at him.

Then at the groom.

Then at the crowd.

She took a breath.

"I'm not doing this."

Her father rushed toward her.

"You have no idea what you're throwing away!"

She shook her head.

"I know exactly what I'm choosing."

The groom stepped forward.

"You've humiliated me."

She looked at him sadly.

"I'm sorry."

Then she removed her engagement ring.

And dropped it onto the church steps.

The groom stared at it.

"You can't do this."

She looked toward the end of the street.

Her real love was standing there.

He had no idea what was happening.

But when he saw her...

he started walking toward her.

She ran.

They embraced in the middle of the street.

Her father stood frozen.

The groom was speechless.

And Ryder simply turned around.

He had done what he came to do.

He started walking back toward his motorcycle.

But the bride suddenly called after him.

"Wait!"

Ryder stopped.

She ran toward him.

"Why did you help me?"

Ryder looked at her.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small old photograph.

It showed a younger Ryder standing beside his mother.

"My mother."

The bride looked at the photograph.

Ryder continued quietly.

"She gave me a second chance."

He put the photograph away.

"So I try to do the same."

The bride hugged him.

Ryder froze.

He clearly wasn't used to affection.

Then, awkwardly, he placed one hand on her shoulder.

"Go."

She smiled.

"Thank you."

Ryder put on his helmet.

The engine roared.

And the terrifying biker everyone had spent years fearing...

rode away.

That evening, Ryder stopped at a small grocery store.

As he was leaving, he noticed a little boy sitting outside.

The boy looked upset.

Ryder stopped.

"What's wrong?"

The boy looked at him.

"My mom doesn't have enough money."

Ryder looked through the glass.

Inside, a tired woman was standing at the register, putting groceries back one by one because she couldn't afford them.

Ryder walked inside.

A few minutes later, he walked back out carrying several grocery bags.

He handed them to the boy.

The boy stared at him.

"Why are you helping us?"

Ryder shrugged.

"Someone helped me once."

The boy looked at his motorcycle.

"Are you a superhero?"

Ryder almost smiled.

"No."

He put on his helmet.

"I'm just a biker."

The motorcycle roared to life.

The boy watched him disappear into the night.

And perhaps that was the biggest secret about Ryder Cole.

The man who looked like trouble...

was usually the person running toward it when everyone else was running away.

He didn't protect people because he wanted to be called a hero.

He did it because he knew what it felt like to need someone...

and have nobody come.

So whenever the city became quiet...

and the streets became dark...

the sound of Ryder's motorcycle could still be heard somewhere in the distance.

Not because danger was coming.

Because someone, somewhere, needed help.

And Ryder was already on his way.