Standing there was a towering figure—a 6-foot-4 Hells Angel, clad in leather and tattoos, the embodiment of everything society taught her to fear.
His presence was intimidating, but in that moment, Sarah felt a strange sense of safety.
The biker’s eyes narrowed as he assessed her, and for a heartbeat, the world outside faded away.
“Please, help me,” she gasped, her voice trembling.
Before he could respond, the elevator jolted to a halt.
The doors rattled as her ex-boyfriend reached them, his hand thrusting forward in an attempt to pry them open.
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