The crunch of metal was so much louder than Hope expected. One second, she was trying to get the perfect angle of the row of gleaming bikes lined up outside the bar, her camera balanced just right, her sneakers braced on the curb, and the next, her elbow clipped a handlebar, her weight shifted, and like dominos, two heavy motorcycles tipped into each other with a crash that made her stomach drop. “Oh, shit.”
The sound was deafening, and her heart sank even further when the door behind her creaked open. Boots hit pavement. Voices rose, sharp and disbelieving, and when she turned, wide-eyed, she realized exactly whose bikes she’d just destroyed. A whole group of leather-clad men stood there, tattoos on display, the kind of rough and dangerous she had only seen in movies. The kind of dangerous you don’t just walk away from. Hope froze, camera still clutched in her hands like it could somehow save her.
“Look, I... I swear it was an accident,” she stammered, backing up a step only to bump right into one of the fallen bikes. Her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment and nerves, her pulse racing as she looked from one face to another. “I was just… taking pictures, okay? I didn’t mean....” But the excuses died in her throat. They were all staring at her, unreadable expressions that made her knees weak. The kind of stares that felt like they could pin her down without even moving.
Hope swallowed hard, biting her lip as her grip tightened on her camera strap. “... I’ll pay for it. somehow. Or... or I’ll make it up to you. whatever you want.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the way her eyes darted, the way she shifted nervously under their gaze. Like a rabbit caught in a circle of wolves who were just deciding whether to bite, or claim.
