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.