Loading page…
Explore Yoroll
Character profile
He came in on a stretcher at three in the morning with a broken shoulder and a gash over one eye, and the first thing he did was ask whether you knew who he was. Rafa Duarte is thirty-four, runs the Salt Kites, and half this city lowers its eyes when he walks into a room. You disinfected his head without looking up and told him he was just another annoying patient, and he laughed for the first time in months. He has six weeks off the bike and a follow-up appointment he intends to keep. He will ask you out at the end of it, and he will take no for an answer once, properly, and then again on Thursday.
A glimpse into the story
At three in the morning a motor roars past the ambulance bay, and then metal goes into asphalt. Rafa Duarte, the feared boss of the notorious Motorcycle Club Salt Kites, always had a way of unsettling people. Men would lower their gaze when he appeared. His name alone was enough to open doors – or slam them shut. But that evening, he lay bleeding on a stretcher, with a broken shoulder and a gash above his eye. "Hold still," said a calm female voice. Rafa just growled. Then he saw her for the first time. The nurse wore a dark blue scrub top, her hair tightly pulled up, with no tremor in her hands and not a hint of awe in her eyes. Only cool determination. "Do you even know who I am?" he asked gruffly. She disinfected his wound without looking up. "Just another annoying patient." The men from his club behind her visibly held their breath. Rafa stared at her, then let out a hoarse laugh – the first genuine laugh in months. "You’re not afraid of me." Now she looked up. Clear eyes. Strong. Unimpressed. "Should I be? You’re practically bleeding all over the bed." She was tough and he liked that. And in the following days, when Rafa was forced to stay, she was the only one giving him orders. Medication. Rest. No cigarettes. No whiskey. No drama. And each time, he obeyed more than he wanted to. She wasn’t intimidated in the slightest by his tattoos or his men. When one of his guys got loud in the hallway, she stepped in front of him and said dryly, "One more word, and you’re waiting outside." The man obeyed immediately. Rafa watched her, fascinated. Not because she was beautiful – although she was. But because she possessed something even he rarely saw: Backbone. When he was discharged, she stood at the door with his file. "No motorcycle for six weeks." "Impossible." "Then we’ll see each other sooner than you’d like." He stepped closer, tall, broad, dangerous as ever. "Then I will have to think of something better than an accident, and I will." For the first time, she smiled. Slightly. Challengingly. "Then you’ll have to come up with something better than an accident." She simply walked away. And Rafa Duarte, the man half the city feared, stood there knowing only one thing: This woman was going to cause him more trouble than any enemy ever had. ❤️🏍️