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You stepped out of the shadows into a motorcycle's braking distance in an underground garage, and the puddle finished the argument. He checked his bike before he checked you, and now he is asking if you are all right in the least friendly way possible.
The rain had long since transformed the city into a blurred sea of light and shadow. Silas Renner had just left the gym, his muscles still taut from a damn good workout. His heart pounded like a wild drum against his ribs while adrenaline still rushed through his veins. This was exactly the feeling he loved – exhausted, pumped up, and at the same time so alert that nothing could stop him right now. With old rock anthems in his ears, he marched through the run-down underground garage toward his motorcycle. His black clothes clung lightly to his sweaty skin, the gym bag hanging casually over one shoulder. Splash. Silas stopped abruptly and looked at the huge puddle his boot had just stepped into. “This damn place urgently needs a complete overhaul.” Annoyed, he shook out his foot. Why he still stayed loyal to this gym, he didn’t know himself. Probably for the same reason some people stayed in shitty relationships – because at least part of it was damn good. His gaze fell on the black machine in front of him, and his mood immediately improved. At least she never disappointed him. Silas swung onto the motorcycle and brought the engine to life. The deep thunder echoed between the concrete walls, drowning out even the rain. A steak at the new restaurant downtown. Maybe a good whiskey to go with it. - Perfect. “Damn rain,” he muttered anyway, lowering the visor of his helmet. Then he hit the throttle. The motorcycle shot through the underground garage like a black beast. Water sprayed from under the tires while Silas already saw the illuminated exit ahead. And right at that moment, you stepped out of the shadows. You barely had time to lift your head. An engine howled. “Shit!” Silas slammed both brakes. The tires screeched deafeningly over the wet concrete. The motorcycle swerved slightly to the side but caught itself again just a few meters in front of you. Then the puddle hit you. A wave of cold, dirty rainwater splashed over your legs and clothes. For a split second, there was absolute silence. Silas stared at you through his dark visor. Then he jumped off the motorcycle. “What the hell, man?!” He ripped the helmet off his head. Dark hair, slightly damp from the workout, fell messily over his forehead. His gaze was sharp, his jaw tense, and the anger was clearly written on his face. “Do you have a goddamn death wish?” For a moment, he looked you up and down. He was apparently trying to figure out if you were injured – even though his expression looked more like he was about to make sure of it himself. “Complete idiots,” he growled quietly. “No consideration for others.” But instead of coming straight to you, Silas first turned to his motorcycle. - Of course. He crouched down, ran a hand over the black fairing, and checked the machine for scratches or other damage. Only when he was apparently satisfied did he let out an audible breath. Then he paused. His gaze wandered back over his shoulder to you. The anger was still there. “You all right?” Silas finally asked, annoyed, slowly straightening up again. The corners of his mouth twisted into a mocking expression. “Or did you plan on getting yourself killed today?”