Chapter 1
My car splashed through water, through a few puddles, sending spray onto the sidewalk.
It was the end of November — no snow in sight yet, of course — but there was water everywhere.
Falling from the sky, forming from frost, from the cold.
And from the damn burst pipe on the road in front of me.
Which was going to make me late for university.
Damn it, I was going to miss half the lecture — or more.
My fingers drummed automatically against the mint-green door of my 1970 VW Golf, the one I’d rescued from the junkyard.
I’d grown attached to that car after spotting it sitting abandoned on a scrap heap.
After a dramatic negotiation with the yard owner, I was able to call the Golf mine for just 200 euros.
That meant a month of nothing but pickles and oatmeal for snacks — but hey, I had a car. And as a photojournalism student, there was no way I could afford a new one.
My father, who was practically as old as the Golf himself, was a mechanic and was thrilled about the project.
And against all odds, the thing even passed inspection.
What can I say? Now I could change oil and tires myself — not a bad deal.
I stared out the window. Ahead, waterworks engineers and impatient drivers were arguing, gesturing wildly. I sighed. The people’s energy matched the mood of the morning perfectly — cold, gray, and miserable.
Suddenly, I felt a light tug at my hand, which was dangling out of the open window. Snapping out of my thoughts, I turned and found myself staring into a pair of blue eyes beneath a motorcycle helmet. I jerked my hand back on instinct.
“Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Do you think it’s normal to grab strangers’ hands?”
A low, dark laugh escaped him, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he chuckled.
“Of course not. But if a bike or a car gets too close, you could lose that hand.”
All he got in response was a grumble from me, and he smirked again.
“Okay, okay. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
My gaze shifted back ahead — the city workers were still rushing around, yelling and looking overwhelmed — then down to the ground. The water was rising, higher and higher. I followed the flow with my eyes until I was looking at my own car and the biker’s boots.
“Good thing my boots are waterproof,” he said.
“That’s nice. I’m worried about my Golf,” I muttered, glancing in the rearview mirror as I watched the police redirecting traffic.
“Oh, thank God.” Relief flooded through me as I shifted into reverse.
“Goodbye!” the biker called with a grin as he rode off into a side street.
By the time I reached the university, I was, of course, very late. I pushed open the door, hoping there was still something left of the lecture, but the only people in the room were my professor and a handful of students gathered around him. I hurried down to join them.
My best friend Lizzy beamed at me, cheerful and bright as always, freckles scattered across her pale skin, brown eyes sparkling beneath her wild red curls. She waved me over excitedly.
I joined the group, and my professor gave me a disapproving look.
“Sorry, there was a burst pipe on König Avenue. What’s going on?” I asked.
“Hot bikers is what’s going on! Oh my God!” Lizzy blurted.
“Lizzy, please! This is an assignment,” Thomas — our resident nerd with thick glasses — scolded her.
“Oh, shut up!” Lizzy hissed back.
Leaning over, I looked at the laptop. “What’s this about?”
“We’ve been commissioned by the city library to shoot and design a Christmas calendar,” my professor explained, scrolling through Instagram.
“And you all decided on guys on motorcycles? Whose idea was that?”
Everyone looked at Antonia.
Ah, of course. No surprise there.
She looked at me, chewing gum lazily.
“What? You’d probably pick puppies over hot, wild guys on wheels.”
I just sighed.
“So, what’s the plan? Are they supposed to pose half-naked with Santa hats over their junk?”
“That’s… actually how I pictured it, yes,” Lizzy muttered, and my eyes snapped to her. I inhaled deeply.
“We’ve already reached out to some of these influencers. I didn’t even know biker influencers were a thing,” my best friend murmured.
“You’re all so boring!” Antonia yelled, and Lizzy leaned dangerously close to her until I held her back.
“ENOUGH! You’re in your twenties, not kindergarten!” our professor shouted. Thomas nodded sharply in agreement, his thick black hair bouncing.
The professor kept scrolling — his Instagram was in dark mode — and biker after biker filled the screen.
Some wore helmets, some didn’t.
I stared into brown eyes.
Green eyes.
Light green.
Blue.
Some wore protective suits. Some didn’t.
I cleared my throat at the sight of a few muscles, and Lizzy shot me a knowing look.
“Not such a bad idea from Antonia for once, huh?”
“Depends how you look at it.”
We heard rustling as Thomas lifted a notepad and looked at us.
“Lizzy’s handling the editing, I’ll do lighting as usual, and Antonia and Hannah will shoot.”
I stared at him in panic.
“I’m supposed to photograph half-naked bikers?!”
He nodded, peering over his glasses.
“Of course. None of us shoot like you do — not even Antonia.”
She huffed and toyed with her blonde hair and ridiculously kitschy pink headband.
When we left the university that evening, I held a list in my hand. A few of the guys had already replied, confirming or declining.
“Onebikeforyou, BikerFromHell, 7evenbeforeeleven…” I read aloud.
“What kind of ridiculous names are these?” I asked, and Lizzy burst into laughter.
“The best one is Cedric_TurboJet.”
She pointed at the name on the list, and I stared, shocked.
“Seventy-five thousand followers?!”
Lizzy shrugged. “Come on, bikers are hot.”
“Yeah, yeah… Still. They all scare me. Too wild. That Cedric guy rides without a suit — absolutely reckless.”
“Oh my God, Hannah! You should’ve joined the city safety office instead of studying photography.”
“But it’s true!”
“Yeah, but it looks hot!”
I had no comeback for that. Sure, it did look good. But still — how could someone treat their life so carelessly? I sighed heavily.
My thoughts drifted back a few years, to when my brother first started riding motorcycles.
He’d just gotten his license. Not long after, he lost control of his bike in an accident and was… gone.
So yeah, my relationship with bikers was complicated.
Lizzy nudged me. “Earth to Hannah. You okay?”
“Of course. Oh, that reminds me… I actually had a little encounter with a biker this morning.”
“Oh, really? And? Was he hot?”
“How would I know? He was wearing a helmet!”
“Chemistry… voice… aura!”
We crossed the dark parking lot outside the university. The night was clear, cold, cloudless.
If I weren’t single, I might’ve found it romantic.
But here I was, trudging along with Lizzy. I sighed again.
“The guy tugged on my hand because he said it was dangerous to have it sticking out like that on the road.”
“A little weird… but cute! And honestly, he’s not wrong.” Her voice grew thoughtful.
I stayed quiet, but the image of my brother’s wrecked bike flashed unbidden in my mind.
“Yeah, he’s probably right. Before someone else gets hurt…” My voice was barely a whisper.
Once home, I booted up my laptop and opened Instagram to check out the bikers’ profiles — not because I wanted to drool over them, but to see how photogenic they were. Unfortunately, most of them wore helmets in their posts.
And, of course, they were all ridiculously attractive — the way their bodies molded to their machines, or how they spread their arms wide as they rode.
I sighed loudly.
My brother used to do that too. He loved riding his bike. His machine was his woman.
Until he lost control and slammed head-on into a truck.
The bike and he were thrown several meters. And just like that, it was over — no more watching him and his friends polish their bikes as a teenager, or seeing them roar down our street.
A wave of heaviness and sadness washed over me. After the accident, nothing was ever the same again.
And I missed Hendrik every single day.
I had sworn I’d never have anything to do with something that dangerous again.
I’d find someone like me — someone who loved peace and order, not an adrenaline junkie willing to gamble with their life.
