BAD HEROINES

She was alone in the wide and gloomy room, one wall had a large, seamless mirror. She couldn’t see through it, but she knew someone was watching from the other side. Her short brown hair tied up in a messy bun, and she wore a black jumpsuit that hugged her slender frame. Her mind drifted to the night before—the casino, the thrill of the game, and her growing stack of chips. She’d been on a winning streak, right until the fire broke out. People panicked, rushing for the exits, and she had barely escaped in time. Now, here she was. A knock on her door this morning, a polite but firm request to come in for questioning. She heard footsteps outside. Her light brown eyes flicked to the door as it opened. A woman entered, carrying herself with a calm confidence that filled the room. She had shoulder-length honey-blonde hair, and piercing grey eyes. This was Detective Rochelle—the one who’d brought her in. Rochelle put a laptop on the table and sat down casually across from her. Rochel

By evening, Lian found himself in one of the most famous nightclubs in Vegas. It wasn’t his kind of place, at least in now days but with his current company, he had no choice. He didn’t have time for luxury or relaxation—he needed money. But the girl hanging onto his arm wasn’t taking "no" for an answer. That’s why he’d been avoiding her for the last three months. Her name? Celine Drayton. Inside, the thumping music made the walls vibrate. Lian made his way to a chair and ordered a drink as soon as he sat down. "You don’t want to dance with me?" Celine asked with accusation. "Or is it that you don’t want me anymore?" She crossed her arms, "If this is about money, I can give you more. But don’t you dare keep working those disgusting part-time jobs. I can’t stand to see my man suffering." Lian stared at her, stunned. He took a long gulp of his drink, letting the alcohol blur the sharp edges of their toxic relationship. He remembered when he’d met her—back when he worked for her fam

The vast field was packed with more than twenty motorbikes lined up in perfect rows, their engines purring in anticipation. Lian stood among the crowd, blending in yet separate. The thrill of the race had always been his escape from the chaos of life. After everything that had happened, this was the only place he could think of to distract himself. These street races were always illegal, which made the nightfall the perfect time to gather. Lian had been a regular for years, always borrowing a bike from his friend Rogan. As one of the best racers, his reputation preceded him, and while most of the others had partners clinging to them, Lian always preferred to ride solo. The solitude helped him focus. Besides, Celine’s brother had originally brought him into the gang because of his skills with bikes. As he checked the bike’s gears, a soft yet confident voice caught him off guard. "Mind if I ride with you?" He turned, ready to brush her off like he did with most girls who tried t

The rider, clad in a sleek black jumpsuit and reflective helmet, moved with the assured grace of someone who knew she was in control. Even without seeing her face, Lian could sense it—it was a woman. One look at the customized bike and the way she dressed, he had a good guess who it might be. He smiled faintly, though wariness lingered behind his eyes. The woman reached out, handing him a spare helmet without a word. A flicker of recognition sparked within him, and without hesitation, he grabbed it, slipping it on before hopping behind her. She revved the engine, and the bike shot forward, leaving Jake and his men scrambling to their car, cursing as they tried in vain to catch up. Within seconds, the city blurred around them as she wove through traffic effortlessly, the wind whipping past them. By the time they reached the outskirts, Jake and his crew were nothing more than a memory. The bike skidded to a stop outside a quiet restaurant, and Lian dismounted, still reeling from

Her eyes fluttered briefly before snapping open, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She scanned the unfamiliar room, her gaze locking onto the IV tube attached to her hand. She was in a hospital gown. The last thing she remembered was being in that hotel room—a trap, she realized now, expertly set. Her brow furrowed. Whoever was behind it hadn’t wanted to kill her right away. They wanted her alive for something worse. But who was it? The thought gnawed at her, an uneasy feeling tightening in her chest. She wasn’t afraid of him but the uncertainty unsettled her. She had to leave. Now. She tried to move but a sharp pain shot through her stomach, forcing a grimace. Pulling the gown aside, she saw the bandage. Of course, she thought. But if she fell into that man’s hands, this wound would be the least of her concerns. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself out of bed. She pulled the IV as she sat up, blood dripping to the floor. She ignored it, staggering toward the window, one hand