Bad Boy Biker

The One That Burned First

Three days into her new life, and Duke was everywhere. When he wasn't physically present—taking his coffee at the same booth each morning, eyes tracking her movements—he was haunting the town itself. The garage he owned on Fifth Street. The roadhouse where the Riot Kings gathered on weekends. The memories embedded in every corner of Riverdale.

Valentina wiped down tables after the lunch rush, her muscles aching from the unaccustomed work. Her soft hands had quickly roughened, nails broken and cuticles raw.

The bell jangled and she looked up, tensing at the sight of Duke. Alone this time.

"We're closed," she lied, though they weren't for another hour.

Duke ignored her, sliding into his usual booth. "Coffee."

Valentina didn't move. "I'm not serving you."

"Yes, you are." His dark eyes held hers. "Because you need this job, and Hank wouldn't like you turning away paying customers."

She hated that he was right. Hated even more how her body reacted to his voice, deep and commanding, sending unwanted heat through her veins.

She poured his coffee with more force than necessary, sloshing some onto the table.

"Careful, Valentine," he said, his mouth curving. "Your perfect manners are slipping."

"Stop calling me that."

"Why? It's your name."

"Not anymore."

Duke leaned back, studying her. "Right. You became someone else when you left. Valentina Porter. The society wife."

She stiffened. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough." He took a slow sip of coffee. "I know you ran when things got hard. I know you traded your soul for a platinum card and a mansion."

"And what did you trade yours for?" she shot back, gesturing to his cut. "That leather jacket and a reputation that makes people cross the street when they see you coming?"

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "At least I stayed true to who I am."

"And who's that, Duke? The town bad boy? The rebel without a cause? How's that working out for you?"

His hand snapped out, fingers circling her wrist in a grip just shy of painful. "Don't push me, Valentine. Not when you're the one who left without a goddamn word."

The touch sent electricity through her arm. She pulled away as if burned. "You didn't fight for me."

He laughed, a harsh sound with no humor. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?"

Before she could answer, Sandy called from the kitchen. "Val, order up!"

Valentina backed away, grateful for the interruption. She spent the rest of her shift avoiding Duke's eyes, though she felt them on her constantly.

When he finally left, he dropped a twenty on the table for a three-dollar coffee.

"I don't want your money," she said, trying to hand it back.

Duke pushed her hand away, his fingers brushing hers. "It's a tip, Valentine. For services rendered."

The double meaning hung between them, heavy with memories of other services, other times. Her cheeks heated despite herself.

"Go to hell, Duke."

His smile was slow, knowing. "Already there, sweetheart. Have been since you left."

After her shift, Valentina walked back to Mack's in the fading light. Her room felt smaller each day, the walls closing in. But it was better than the alternative—going home to a husband who never really saw her and a sister who saw too much.

She showered and changed, then lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Ten years fell away in an instant, and suddenly she was eighteen again, lying in Duke's arms the night before she left Riverdale forever.

---

The old water tower loomed against the starlit sky. Beneath it, sprawled on a blanket, Valentina curled against Duke's bare chest, their bodies cooling in the summer night. His heartbeat thundered under her ear, strong and steady like everything about him.

"I got accepted," she whispered. "To Berkeley."

Duke's body tensed beneath hers. "California?"

"It's a full scholarship." She traced patterns on his skin, not meeting his eyes. "I have to go."

His hand stilled in her hair. "When were you going to tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

Duke sat up, forcing her to do the same. His eyes, usually warm when they looked at her, had gone cold. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

The word hung between them, a grenade with the pin pulled.

"Tomorrow," he repeated. "And you're just telling me now."

"I didn't know how—"

"Bullshit." Duke stood, pulling on his jeans with angry movements. "You've known for weeks. You just didn't have the guts to tell me."

Tears filled her eyes. "I was scared."

"Of what? Of me?" His voice rose. "Have I ever given you reason to be afraid of me, Valentine?"

"No! I was scared of asking you to come with me. Scared you'd say no. Scared you'd say yes and then resent me for taking you away from everything you know."

Duke laughed bitterly. "So you made the decision for both of us. Nice."

"Duke, please—"

"Please what? Please understand why you're running away? Please forgive you for lying to me for weeks?"

She stood too, clutching the blanket around her naked body. "I'm not running away. I'm running toward something. A future. A life beyond this town."

"A life without me in it." His voice dropped, the anger giving way to something worse—defeat.

"It doesn't have to be." She reached for him, but he stepped back. "You could come. Or we could try long-distance. Or—"

"Or nothing." Duke's jaw tightened. "You've made your choice, Valentine. You choose a life where you don't have to be ashamed of your boyfriend. Where you can forget you ever slummed it with a guy like me."

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair." He pulled on his shirt, then grabbed his jacket. "Have a nice life in California, Valentine. I hope it's everything you dreamed of."

He walked away, leaving her clutching the blanket, tears streaming down her face.

"Duke!" she called after him. "Please! I love you!"

He paused, half-turning. For one breathless moment, she thought he'd come back. But then he kept walking, disappearing into the darkness without looking back.

The next morning, she left for California. No goodbyes. No closure. Just a hole in her heart that she spent the next decade trying to fill with all the wrong things.

---

A knock jolted Valentina from the memory. She sat up, disoriented, surprised to find her cheeks wet. She wiped them quickly, crossing to the door.

"Who is it?"

"Me." Duke's voice, rough through the thin wood.

Her heart stumbled. "What do you want?"

"Open the door, Valentine."

Against her better judgment, she did.

Duke filled the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the hall light. He looked at her tear-stained face, and something in his expression shifted.

"You remembered." It wasn't a question.

"Remembered what?"

"The night you left."

Valentina crossed her arms. "What do you want, Duke?"

He stepped forward, forcing her to back up or be touched by him. She chose to back up.

"I want to know why you're really here." His eyes searched hers. "And don't give me some bullshit about visiting family. Your parents moved away years ago."

"I needed a change."

"Try again."

She sighed, suddenly exhausted. "What does it matter to you? We're strangers now."

"Are we?" Duke moved closer, invading her space. "Because your body still responds to mine exactly the same way it did ten years ago."

Heat bloomed in her chest, spreading outward. "That's just muscle memory."

"Is it?" His hand rose, hovering near her cheek without touching. "Is that why you're trembling right now?"

"I'm not—" But she was, and they both knew it.

Duke's hand dropped. "When you're ready to tell me the truth about why you're back, you know where to find me."

He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "And Valentine? Don't make me wait another ten years."

The door closed behind him, leaving her alone with memories that burned hotter than ever.