Biker's claim

Author's note: hello guys

Important name to note:

*Dante moretti:male lead,his a biker leader of a mafia.

*Raven voss: Female lead,an hacker.

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“AHH!” I screamed into my pillow. “Just five more minutes!”

The alarm clock clearly didn’t care.

I groaned and threw my pillow in its direction—barely missing the nightstand—when it hit me.

Oh. Shit.

I had an interview at 8:00 a.m. And it was already 7:30.

What followed was the fastest bath of my life. I was a hurricane of panic and hot water. My hair was a whole other situation—sticking up like it had a grudge against me. I groaned again, grabbed my straightener, and immediately dropped it on the floor.

Broken.

I was two seconds from a meltdown, but somehow, after a good five minutes of swearing and struggling, I managed to make my hair look… presentable-ish.

Ten minutes left.

I threw on a mid-thigh black plaid skirt and a crisp white button-down. No makeup today—just a little lip gloss. I usually wear heels, but today wasn’t the day to be suffering for fashion. I grabbed my black Converse instead and slipped on my lucky bracelet—a gift from my high school crush.

We used to be best friends. I never told him how I felt. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. Now he’s halfway across the world, in a serious relationship. I’m happy for him, I guess… and my feelings have mostly faded over time.

Mostly.

I slammed the door to my two-bedroom apartment behind me, hopped into my silver SUV, and let Justin Bieber blast from the speakers. It was chaotic, but it helped.

I was almost late, but let’s be honest—I wasn’t surviving this morning without caffeine.

So I pulled into Midnight Brew, my favorite coffee shop. I don’t do black coffee—I’m a latte girl through and through. I ordered one, plus a box of their heavenly macarons.

“Running late again?” Alex, the barista, asked with a wink.

I smiled. “Aren’t I always?”

He handed me my cup with my name written across it and a little heart next to it.

Secret time?

I totally hacked their internet once to prioritize my uploads.

Shh. Don’t tell anyone.

Latte in hand, I jumped back into my car just as a text from my mom came through:

“Good luck today, baby. You’ll kill it.”

I smiled.

Honestly, I didn’t even need this job.

I don’t like to brag, but… I’m doing pretty well for myself.

I tried explaining that to her once—that I make plenty of money from coding.

That freelance hacking was real work.

She hit me with that mom look.

“No child of mine is going to sit behind a computer all day playing with numbers.”

So here I am, heading to an interview at Vortex Systems—one of the top IT companies in the city.

Half for her. Half for the thrill.

I took a long sip of my latte, cruising steady, music low, macaron melting on my tongue.

And then—

SCREEECH.

Everything spun.

Metal crunched.

My cup flew from my hand.

And everything went black.