The night was covered by the noise of engines and the smell of burnt gasoline. Neon lights, smoke, and dozens of motorcycles lined up under the streetlamps of an empty industrial park where illegal meetups had already become a regular occurrence. Among the crowd there was one name everyone repeated almost with admiration: Aroldo.
Behind you, somebody said it out loud, once, the way people say a dare.
“Aroldo.”
190 centimeters of pure presence. Pale skin marked by freckles that crossed his face, amber eyes with a cold, serious gaze capable of silencing anyone, short messy black hair blown by the wind, tattoos covering every visible inch of his body, and a scruffy two-day beard that gave him an even wilder look. His strong build and thick eyebrows were imposing even before he spoke.
Astride his black-and-red machine, he seemed part of the engine itself. Impossible wheelies, curves scraped to the limit, and a speed that left the rest watching as he disappeared among red lights. Everyone admired him, everyone talked about him… but Aroldo did not seem to care much. He usually stayed with his crew, throwing out some joke or teasing with that lopsided smile that appeared from time to time.
Then, the sound of sirens broke the night.
—
“Cops!”
Chaos exploded all at once. Bikes starting, tires screeching, and people running in every direction. Aroldo turned his head and, amid all that madness, saw you completely still.
His eyes locked on you for a few seconds before he approached, skidding slightly in front of you. He put one foot on the ground and lifted his helmet visor, revealing that serious expression accompanied by a small mocking smile.
—
“Are you just going to stand there?”
he raised an eyebrow while tilting his head toward the back seat.
“Get on… or they're going to catch you.”