Held Hostage by the Ruthless Rider

Fear!

Nothing amplified the senses like fear did.

On a normal day, Sienna had thought nothing of this garage, but right now, with her whole body pressed against a wall and her eyes darting, searching for any sign of movement, the smell of motor oil and gasoline was extreme in the air. And it was suffocating, too. The floor was wet with something, the trail of it leading towards a group of parked motorbikes. There were about ten bikes in a row, more than half of them were covered with old cloth, others had plastic covers over them.

Sienna’s heart pounded against her chest as she hid behind a pile of worn-out tires. Tightly pressed into her sweaty palm was a key. It was her lifeline; the only way she could escape out of this damned place. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to go back, that this was a suicide mission and she might as well have shot a bullet through her own head. But there was no turning back now.

She needed that bike.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the garage and Sienna tensed up. Laughter followed and echoed through the garage—deep voices and she listened. They had probably started drinking, judging from the obvious high spirits they were in and that was good.

Sienna took a silent step forward and felt her elbow hit something. A glass bottle near the edge of a crate started to fall and her eyes widened. Without thinking, she grabbed it fast, just before it could hit the ground.

“Shit, shit,” she whispered to herself as she held onto the bottle like it was a bomb about to detonate. Sienna stood still because the place had suddenly grown eerily quiet.

Just then someone spoke and it was followed by another round of laughter.

Letting out a slow breath, Sienna shifted and bent to drop the bottle on the ground; for now she was still safe—then clink! The mouth of the bottle touched her ring.

Sienna froze. From where she was crouched, she could see the silhouette of three men by the garage’s entrance and one had turned his head, and was looking around. Sienna pressed herself against the crate, her heart beating fast.

The man looked for a moment, then laughed at something his friend said and turned away.

Enough of the hiding; she was either going to do this now, or just abort the mission—which was not an option.

Sienna crept forward, eyes trained on the men ahead of her. Soon enough, a fourth man came to view. They were all dressed in black leather and from the haze around them, they were sharing blunts. So far, they didn’t know she was here. Yet.

Her eyes shifted to the line of motorcycles.

Her target; Zayne Knight’s custom-built Ducati stood out like a king among peasants. Unlike the other bikes, this one was uncovered. Matte black, sleek, powerful, just like the arsehole who owned it.

And that was her escape.

She exhaled slowly and tiptoed forward, careful not to make a sound. Reaching the bike, she slipped the key into the ignition.

The click echoed loudly in the silence and she flinched.

No turning back now.

The Ducati roared to life beneath her, its deep roar abruptly cutting through the garage and vibrating beneath her.

The laughter behind her stopped.

“What the fuck?!”

Sienna’s chest tightened as she twisted the throttle and the bike lurched forward, tyres screeching as she drove towards the back door.

She could hear the shouts and chaos behind her as she plunged outside into the night. Engines roared to life, louder than the cuss words.

Shit.

They were chasing her.

The moment she hit the streets, the cold London air slapped her face and she gulped as it whipped back her hair.

It was past midnight, but London city was still wide awake. Bright neon lights blinked on the black, wet road. Cars moved steadily in the distance ahead of her and the Thames river reflected the streetlights.

Sienna leaned forward, gripping the handles tighter as she reached the flowing traffic and began to weave in-between black cabs and red double-deckers.

Behind her, her pursuers were gaining on her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

When she was a kid, running track, her coach used to tell her not to look back when she was running. “Eyes ahead, Sienna, don’t try to see who is gaining on you.”

But right now, she risked a glance over her shoulder—four bikers, dark helmets hiding their faces, their engines howling like wolves in the night.

And leading them?

Zayne fucking Knight.

Even with his helmet’s dark visor, she could feel his anger burning. She wasn’t sure what infuriated him more; the fact that she was escaping from him, or the fact that she was using his precious Ducati to do it.

Whichever one it was, this man was definitely going to kill her.

Sienna twisted the accelerator hard, pushing the Ducati to its limits. The bike responded instantly, shooting forward like a bullet.

The city blurred, her eyes teared up. Sienna sped past the Trafalgar Square, tearing through Covent Garden, then swinging a sharp left onto an empty side street.

Almost there.

She knew these roads like the back of her hand. If she could make it to Camden Market, it would be easier to lose them in the maze of backstreets.

But as soon as she changed direction towards the Lowfare bridge, Zayne’s voice came loud behind her.

“You’re proper fucked now, love!”

She didn’t even have time to swear before he crashed into her side.

Sienna lurched forward, the bike shook from the hit, tires slipping dangerously.

Okay, he clearly didn’t care about the Ducati as much as he did her escaping. She clenched her jaw, fighting for control. She couldn’t let him force her off the road.

But Zayne didn’t stop—

He hit her again, even harder. This time, the Ducati bounced forward and Sienna’s grip tightened. She had speed, but he had power—and backup. The roar of more bikes filled the streets. His gang was closing in on her.

“Shit,” she muttered, pushing the throttle to its limit. Her hair occasionally floated in front of her before the wind pushed it back.

Sienna swerved between two black cabs, nearly hitting a mirror. The taxi blasted its horn at her.

“Oh, shut up!”

A bus was up ahead, blocking the road. No, no, she couldn’t pause, not even for a second. She had seconds to decide. With a sharp turn, Sienna swerved into a narrow alley, barely squeezing through.

Zayne followed.

The man was like a bloodhound with a scent. She glanced back. He was right there, eyes locked on her with a devil’s grin on his face. The others were nowhere to be found, lost, but not him…he was impossible to shake off.

Sienna drove into a wider street, weaving through traffic. Then, the traffic lights switched to red.

She didn’t slow down. Cars honked, brakes screeched, but she was already past it all, her heart slamming against her ribs. Of course, Zayne didn’t stop either.

Suddenly, sirens rang out in the night.

Police.

She never thought she would ever feel relief from a police siren. She didn’t think they would help her; she was relieved, not naive. But now, with the police on alert, Zayne would have to let up. He was a wanted man after all.

They weren’t after her. Not yet. But Zayne and his gang? A pack of illegal racers speeding through London? That was enough to draw attention.

Flashing lights appeared in the distance.

She risked another glance—Zayne was still coming.

"Bloody hell," she hissed.

Think! Think! Think!

She took a sharp left turn, diving into another alley, then cut through a parking garage. The police sirens grew louder. If she hesitated, she was done.

Sienna spotted an opening—a pedestrian walkway leading to a side street. It was too tight for a bike. Without thinking, she turned the Ducati hard, making it slide. With a grunt, she jumped off the bike and braced herself for the fall. She heard the bike roar forward and crash as she ran away.

Footsteps thundered behind her—Zayne had abandoned his bike too!

“Smart girl,” he growled, closing in.

They had run into a main street now, and as her legs pumped faster, she spotted a moving cab. Sienna ran straight for it and crashed inside, slamming the door shut.

“Go! Go! Go!”

“What the— where are—”

“Just drive! Now!”

The man hesitated, but one look at her panicked face from the rearview mirror and he hit the gas.

Zayne’s fingers grabbed at the door handle just as the car slipped away. Sienna watched him, a satisfied glint in her eyes as they sped away and he, breathing hard, watched her disappear.

24 Hours Later

The comforting hum of the cafe was one of the few things Sienna had missed. It made everything feel almost normal; like how it had been before. She sat in a small booth, hood up, hands wrapped around a cup of tea. She had ditched her clothes and dyed her hair black in the bathroom of another cafe, before coming into this one. The green contacts he had worn earlier were gone too, replaced by dark brown ones.

It still didn’t feel enough though. Even as she sat here, nursing a hot cup of tea in a different town away from London, a complete stranger, she still felt like she was being watched.

Her escape had been clean. No way he could find her here.

Right?

The cafe door swung open and she didn’t need to turn around to feel his presence. A slow chill climbed up her spine. Zayne Knight had found her.

His unhurried footsteps made its way towards her, his heavy boots unusually loud. You see, the thing about fear was that it warned you of exactly where the danger was coming from.

His voice was wickedly soft behind her. “Miss me, love?”

A sick feeling came over Sienna . He had found her. How? She had escaped. She had outsmarted him. She had disappeared.

Yet, here he was.

Zayne slid into the seat across from her and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. He had that evil grin on his face, the one she had seen when he chased her through the alley. Sienna glanced behind her; his gang was not with him. That was good, right?

“Don’t even think about it.” He said, as if reading her mind. Sienna felt something cold press against her leg.

Sienna’s fingers tightened around her cup. The cafe was nearly empty—just an old man reading a newspaper in the corner, a barista lost in her phone. No one was paying attention. No one could help her.

“You’ve got speed, I’ll give you that. What makes you think you can run from me?" His voice was low and filled with amusement as if it was the funniest shit. "Shame it wasn’t enough.”

Sienna forced herself to stay calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zayne leaned in slightly, tilting his head. “Oh, that’s cute.”

His fingers drummed against the table.

“Let’s talk about my bike, shall we?”

Oh. Sienna swallowed. “I don’t have it.”

“No shit. You left it smashed in an alley.” His tone sharpened. “That Ducati? One of a kind, love. You don’t just nick something like that and stroll off.”

Sienna locked eyes with him. “Maybe next time, don’t leave the keys sitting there like an open invite.”

His lips curled into something between a smirk and a warning.

“Ballsy.”

Sienna ignored the weapon which was pressed even harder against her leg, and glanced around, planning her next move. Quick, like lightning, his hands shot forward and his fingers closed around her wrist—lightly, not rough, but enough to make her freeze.

“Don’t do that, love.”

His voice was too soft. Zayne exhaled, then leaned back, letting go of her wrist.

“You’ve got two choices, sweetheart.” He held up a single finger. “One, I call the cops. Report my bike stolen, have you arrested, and watch you struggle to explain why you wrecked a hundred-thousand-pound machine.”

Her stomach twisted. Come to think of it, he should be avoiding the police, he was the one they wanted. He was bluffing…unless…unless he had people in the force.

“Or?” she asked.

Zayne’s smirk deepened. He lifted a second finger.

“Two, you work for me.”

Sienna’s pulse tripped. “What?”

“You stole from me,” he said simply. “So, you pay it back—with time.”

Her throat went dry.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Zayne shrugged. “You know your way around an engine, yeah? My lot could use a mechanic. Consider yourself hired.”

Sienna stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

It didn’t come.

He was serious.

“I’m not working for you,” she spat.

Zayne didn’t flinch. “Then you better get comfy in a cell, ‘cause that’s where you’re headed.”

Sienna’s fingers curled into fists. This was a trap. A tight, suffocating one.

And worst of all, she had no way out.

But maybe… maybe if he knew why she stole the bike, he’d let her go.

She swallowed hard, staring at the table, before finally looking up. “I didn’t steal your bike for fun,” she said, her voice quieter. “I was running.”

“Do I look like I give a shit?”

“I was running from him, okay? I didn’t have a choice!”

Zayne eyed her. “Running from who?” Because who the hell was she so scared of that she had the audacity to steal from him?

For a moment, she hesitated. This wasn’t his business. But what other choice did she have?

“My stepfather. Marcus Reed.” If Zayne knew who Marcus was, he didn’t show it. “ He’s not a normal man,” Sienna continued, “ he runs a private security firm, but that’s just a front. He works for people—some dangerous people. And he’s been controlling my life ever since I was freaking ten!”

She was on a tirade now and there was no turning back. “He never let me leave, never let me have friends. He trained me to be ‘useful’—taught me how to fix cars, ride bikes…fight ."

Zayne looked like he was listening to a foreign podcast he hadn't subscribed to.

Sienna leaned back into the cushioned seat of her booth. "I remember it was two months before my birthday; I was turning eighteen. He brought Georgina."

Sienna looked past Zayne as the memory came back to her.

If she was expecting Zayne to ask her who Georgina was, she was going to grow a beard.

"Georgina started training me. I don't know what it was for, but I knew they were going to use me to do something bad."

"Then one day I overheard him talking to someone on the phone. The bastard was going to sell me off! So, I ran."

I stole some money, disappeared, and changed my name. But Marcus always finds me. He has people everywhere. And two nights ago, they found me. I needed to get out fast. That’s why I took your bike. Nothing personal.”

There. Her whole life in a nutshell.

Zayne leaned back and the pressure of the gun he'd held to her knee disappeared.

Thank God. She always knew the ruthless Zayne Knight had a heart.

The man suddenly started to clap; a slow, mocking clap that sent heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Well done,” he said, smirking. “That was a very convincing tale.”

Sienna’s stomach dropped.

“What?”

Zayne smirked. “I mean, really. The scared runaway act? An evil stepfather? You’re a damn good liar, sweetheart. Almost had me.”

The disbelief she felt gave way to anger. “I’m not lying!”

Zayne tilted his head. “From where I’m sitting, all I see is a thief and a con artist. I mean, the guts to steal from me. You're good. Makes sense you’d lie perfectly too.”

Sienna’s hands shook under the table. “Believe me or not,” she said, “I don’t care. I told you the truth.”

Zayne smirked. “Good. Now, here’s my truth.”

He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, then turned it toward her. A dial screen.

“Last chance,” he said. “Work for me, or I make the call to the police.”

Her throat tightened. "Didn't take you for a snitch," she said defiantly.

"You're not family. Definitely not a friend. And you stole from me."

She could try to run, but then he looked like the type of man to shoot her in a café.

She had no other choice.

With a clenched jaw, she swallowed her pride. “Fine.”

Zayne smiled like he’d just won a game.

“Smart girl.”

He stood, tossing a few bills on the table before nodding toward the door.

“Come on,” he said. “The sooner you start to pay me off, the better.”

He grabbed his keys from the table and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

She hesitated. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Outside, a black Kawasaki was parked beside a minivan and unsurprisingly, they walked towards it.

Zayne shoved a helmet in her hands before climbing the bike. Sienna just stood there.

"We don't have all day."

Sienna slipped on the helmet and snapped the straps in place. Then she climbed on the bike.

Her butt had barely made contact with the seat when the bike came to life and lurched forward. Sienna came crashing forward, slamming against Zayne's back.

"That's better, isn't it? Now hold tight."

Forty minutes later, they were pulling up to a run-down, graffiti-covered warehouse in the outskirts of London.

This wasn’t a garage. From the symbols on the wall, it was clear that this was a Hell Reapers clubhouse.

Zayne parked the bike. "Get down."

Sienna slid down and fidgeted with the helmet and when she finally got it off her head, Zayne was already almost at the club's door.

"Wait! This isn't the garage!"

Zayne stared at her wordlessly until she made her way to him. The moment they stepped inside, a bottle of beer flew right past her.

"Holy—what the…" Sienna staggered backwards only to come to a stop against Zayne's hard body behind her. He shoved her forward.

There was a thick smell of sex and smoke and alcohol in the air.

Sienna barely had the time to take in all the naked women and beastly looking men before Zayne placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her around.

“If you’re working for me, you start tonight. Get behind the bar and serve drinks.”

This was unbelievable. “I thought I’d be fixing bikes.”

He smirked. “You do what I say, no questions asked.”

"Bullshit!"

Something flashed in his eyes but Sienna glared right at him.

"Sit tight then."

Screw this man. She had half the mind to allow the police to come take her away but Marcus had eyes everywhere, including the police.

Without another word, Sienna gave Zayne a withering look before going behind the bar.

What the hell was she supposed to do with all these bottles?

"Hey, new girl." A woman appeared from nowhere. "Watch and learn."

Sienna stepped back and allowed her.

"Grab that ice bucket, she instructed Sienna and she obeyed, dropping the bucket on the counter.

Someone grabbed her hands. "Baby girl. What do we have here?"

Sienna snatched her hand away from the creepy, tattooed man who was grinning at her now.

“Feisty, feisty.”

When he reached for her again, she reacted without thinking—she grabbed one of the drinks and threw it in his face.

"What the fuck!" He roared. Sienna prepared herself, expecting him to strike back.

"Bundy," Zayne's voice cut through, "leave my new staff alone. Kenzy, give him a drink; on the house."

Bundy scowled but he let up. “Bloody hell," he said with a smirk as he slinked away, nursing a bottle of beer.

She could feel Zayne's eyes on her.