The light December rain pattered against the visor of her helmet as Valentina accelerated through the wet streets of Brooklyn, the Ducati Monster roaring between her legs like a living beast. The neon lights from bars and clubs reflected in the puddles on the asphalt, painting everything in shades of red, blue, and violet. She wore her leather jacket open just enough to feel the cold air against her skin, the tight black top accentuating every curve as she weaved between taxis.

In her head, the previous night was still spinning.

Fuck, Chloe...

The girl had been gorgeous: short blonde hair, nervous green eyes, lips that trembled a little the first time Valentina kissed her against the wall of her loft. They’d spent hours tangled in the sheets, Chloe moaning her name as Val pushed her to the edge again and again with expert fingers and a relentless tongue. It had been intense, raw—exactly how Valentina liked it.

And then, this morning, a casual message: “It was amazing, Val, but... I have a boyfriend. I just wanted to try it, you know? Curiosity.”

Valentina let out a dry laugh inside her helmet. Curiosity. Sure. Another straight girl who wanted a walk on the wild side before running back to her comfort zone. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Fuck you, sweetheart. Enjoy your straight boyfriend and your mediocre orgasms.

It didn’t hurt. Not really. Valentina Rossi didn’t fall in love with girls who played at being bisexual for one night. She was single by choice, and she liked it that way: free, no strings, no need to explain to anyone why she got home at five in the morning smelling like gasoline and sex.

She twisted the throttle as she turned toward Williamsburg. Tonight’s party was in a converted warehouse—one of those underground raves with great music, strobe lights, and plenty of girls who knew exactly what they wanted. Maybe she’d find someone interesting. Someone who didn’t need to “try” anything. Someone who looked at her the way she looked at them: with direct hunger, no apologies.

Though... she sighed mentally as she slowed down approaching the venue, she also had work. Sometimes she helped behind the bar when the owner—an old friend from the racing scene—was short-staffed. Tonight was one of those nights. A couple of hours serving drinks, taking cash, keeping an eye out so no one got too out of line.

But afterward... afterward I’m all mine. And whoever dares.

She parked the bike in the side alley, yanked off her helmet, and shook out her rain-damp hair. The pink and silver streaks gleamed under the light of a nearby neon sign. She glanced at herself in the mirror for a second: intense amber eyes, lips painted dark red, a dangerous half-smile.

Yeah. Tonight I deserve some real fun.

She stowed the helmet under the seat, adjusted her jacket, and walked toward the entrance with that sway in her hips that turned more than a few heads. The music was already thumping from inside, deep and heavy, like a heartbeat.

Valentina Rossi walked into the party ready to forget names that weren’t worth remembering... and maybe find one that was.

---

The Ducati roared through the nearly empty streets of Williamsburg when Valentina spotted the flashing lights in the distance: red, blue, white. They weren’t police yet. They were the hazard lights of a car flipped on its side in the middle of the intersection, the roof crushed against the wet asphalt. Black smoke poured from the engine, and a little farther away, another vehicle with a smashed front end seemed to have been the culprit... but it was gone. The driver had fled.

Son of a bitch.

Valentina braked hard, twisted the handlebars, and parked the bike on the curb with a sharp motion. She ripped off her helmet, left it dangling from the mirror, and ran toward the wrecked car. The smell of burned rubber and gasoline hit her nose.

The driver’s door was dented, but the broken window gave a clear view inside. There she was: a girl alone, still buckled in, head resting against the headrest. She had a small cut on her forehead with a thin trickle of blood running down, but she was breathing. Conscious. Eyes open, staring straight ahead, as if shock had frozen her in place.

Valentina crouched by the shattered window.

“Hey, can you hear me? I’m Val. Don’t move—I’m getting you out of there.”

The girl didn’t answer, just looked at her. But those eyes... damn. Even in the middle of the chaos, even with the blood and smoke, Valentina felt a stab in her chest. She was stunning. She couldn’t help thinking it, though now wasn’t the time.

Carefully, Valentina opened the door from the outside—it screeched in protest—and reached for the seatbelt. She unbuckled it with quick fingers, used to mechanisms under pressure.

“Easy, breathe slow. There you go.”

She placed a hand on the girl’s back to help her out little by little. The girl let herself be guided, no resistance, but she didn’t speak either. Just a slight tremble in her shoulders. When she was finally standing on the sidewalk, Valentina held her a second longer than necessary, making sure she wouldn’t faint.

She pulled her phone from the inside pocket of her jacket.

“I’m calling emergency services, okay?”

She dialed 911, gave the exact location, described the accident and the hit-and-run vehicle as best she could from the quick glimpse she’d caught while passing. She hung up when they confirmed police and ambulance were on the way.

She pocketed the phone and looked at the girl again. The cut on her forehead was still bleeding a little; Valentina pulled a clean handkerchief from her back pocket and pressed it gently against the wound.

“Here, hold this. It’s not deep, but better to keep it from staining more.”

Silence. The girl obeyed, pressing the handkerchief to her skin, but didn’t say a word. She just watched Valentina with that quiet intensity that made her nervous in a way she wasn’t used to.

Sirens were already audible in the distance.

Valentina ran a hand through her damp hair, took a deep breath, and decided to go for it.

“Look... tonight I’m working at a spot two streets over. A warehouse turned into a club. I’m bartending for a few hours—nothing fancy. After that... I’ll stick around a bit longer.”

She paused, looking straight into her eyes.

“If you feel like some company once they let you go from all this... come by. Ask for Val behind the bar. I’ll be there.”

She gave her that half-smile, the one that usually worked even when she didn’t mean it to.

“You don’t have to say anything now. Just... if you want.”

The ambulance lights were already illuminating the corner. Valentina stepped back to give the paramedics space, but she didn’t take her eyes off her for a second longer than she had to.

Come on, gorgeous. Tonight could end up a lot better than it started.