She is My Bad Girl

Engine snarls and crowd screams ripped through the mountain air. Headlights slashed across the dark road, illuminating three motorcycles locked in a high-speed battle, leading the other riders at the front line.

"Hey!! Jude! Leo!! Fighting!" Scarlett’s voice cut through the noise.

She stood at the cliff's edge, a fierce silhouette against the chaotic backdrop. Beside her, Nate and Sid were statues of tension, their clenched fists and focused stares saying everything their voices didn't.

On the asphalt, Jude led with calm precision. Troy of the Blackfang Crew clung to his back tire, a menacing shadow. Leo Wolfe hovered in third, a patient predator. The gap between them was invisible, mere inches at a hundred kilometers an hour. The air was thick with the stink of burning rubber and exhaust.

Final lap. The crowd's roar fused into a single, beastly sound. Scarlett stopped leaning casually against Jude’s bike and stood straight, her playful mask gone. This was everything.

They hit the last corner—a hairpin turn with a sheer drop. As Jude leaned his bike into the curve, Troy swerved. Not to pass, but to crush. Metal shrieked against metal.

"He's cheating!" Scarlett exploded, her body coiling. She saw Jude’s bike lurch, the back tire skidding toward the edge. A fall here wasn't onto grass; it was into darkness.

Sid and Nate surged forward.

"I'll break his legs!" Nate cursed, all charm gone from his eyes.

On the track, Leo saw it. His lazy gaze sharpened into something deadly. He didn't hesitate. He wrenched the throttle, his bike leaping forward into the impossible space between his friend and his enemy. It was a suicide move.

In one brutal motion, he became a battering ram, slamming his body into Troy. The cheat jerked his handlebars in shock, his bike fishtailing wildly as he fought for control, veering toward the rocky wall. It was the only opening they needed.

Seizing the moment, Leo and Jude shot forward as one. They left Troy in a cloud of their dust, crossing the finish line side-by-side. A single, quick glance passed between them—a silent language of trust forged in fire.

Scarlett and the others were on them instantly, a wave of fierce pride.

"I knew it!" Scarlett said, slapping their shoulders, her anger replaced by blazing triumph.

The celebration was short-lived. Troy skidded to a halt, his face a twisted mask of humiliation. His gang members radiated pure hatred, the air crackling with the promise of a fight.

Ignoring them, Scarlett strode straight to Troy. The crowd parted for her. She stopped so close he could feel her breath.

"The money. Now." Her voice was flat, final.

Troy’s eyes burned, but he was beaten. He shoved a thick envelope into her hand. The moment it touched her skin, her arm moved. PLAKK The slap echoed, sharp and definitive.

"For trying to put my friend in the hospital," she said, her voice icy.

He staggered back, clutching his face. Humiliation became pure rage.

"You b*tch!" he roared, shoving her back so hard she stumbled.

In a heartbeat, the world split. Blackfang members formed a wall around Scarlett. A second later, Jude, Leo, Nate, and Sid were at her side, an unbreakable line. The two gangs stood nose-to-nose, a breath away from explosion. Scarlett didn't flinch, her eyes locked on Troy’s in a silent dare.

It was Troy who broke. A memory of a past, painful defeat flickered in his eyes. He held up a hand, stopping his crew.

"You'll pay for this later," he spat, shouldering past her as he left.

Scarlett just rolled her eyes.

"At least he paid," she muttered to Leo, who gave a grim smirk.

As the Blackfangs vanished, the atmosphere shifted completely. A group of girls who had been watching from the sidelines immediately swarmed the male members of Angel-Devil, their voices rising in excited giggles. They circled Jude, Leo, and Nate, completely ignoring Scarlett, who stood back with an amused smirk.

"Nate, can I take a picture with you?" one girl asked, offering her brightest smile.

Nate looked down at her, a dazzling but utterly empty smile on his own face.

"Don't smile in front of me," he said, his voice a low, practiced purr. "It makes me want to kiss you. Don't cry in front of me, because I'll want to hug you." And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving the girl simultaneously mesmerized and without her picture.

Sid watched the entire exchange, his face a comical picture of annoyance and jealousy.

"Yah, Nate Jones! Must you always be so... you?" he grumbled.

Scarlett and the others burst out laughing at his expression.

"He's just jealous because his fans are... well, non-existent," Nate quipped, slinging an arm around a fuming Sid.

The girls around them were still swooning.

"Oh my god... he's so cool..." one whispered, her friends nodding in agreement.

"He smiled at me! Wow... he smiled at me!" another shrieked excitedly.

"Unfortunately, we failed to take pictures with him..." her friend added with a sigh.

Sid, overhearing their conversation, saw his chance. He quickly straightened his jacket, put on what he believed was a "cool" smile, and approached the group. He struck a pose, ready for his moment in the spotlight.

The girls glanced at him, then back at each other.

"Is he with them?" one asked, confused. Without another word, they turned and walked away, leaving Sid standing alone, his pose crumbling into one of utter deflation.

"Yah! Rude!" he cursed under his breath, which only made Scarlett, Jude, and Leo laugh even harder. ---

Their next stop was a pulsating nightclub in the city's heart. They owned the space, moving through the crowd with the easy authority that came from Leo’s unspoken underworld ties and the winnings in Scarlett’s pocket. Inside, the bass was a physical force. They danced, they drank, they lost themselves in the strobe lights and the noise.

Inevitably, Nate found the stage. When the music shifted, he took the mic. The club quieted. And then he sang. It wasn't his playful, flirty self. This was raw, soulful, a voice that held pain and beauty in the same note. For those few minutes, even Scarlett watched, a rare, soft smile touching her lips as her friend poured his heart out.

Emboldened, Sid tried to mimic Nate’s earlier line on a group of girls.

"Don't smile in front of me because I want to kiss you..." he said, striking a pose.

The girls stared blankly.

"What's wrong with him?" one asked, and they walked off, leaving him deflated.

WHACK!

"Yowch!" Sid yelped, clutching his head where Scarlett had hit him.

"Stop. It's annoying and it doesn't suit you," she ordered.

The tall boy instantly shrank, his bravado vanishing. He knew better than to argue when her temper flashed.

Later, as the music faded to a dull throb, Scarlett reappeared, her face pale with sleepiness.

"Hey, guys! Let's go. I want to sleep."

"Alright, let's roll!" Leo said, easily wrapping an arm around her shoulders to guide her out. The others fell in step, a united front even in retreat.

They spilled out into the cool, quiet street. The silence was a shock after the club's chaos.

And then they saw it.

Their exit was blocked. Not by a few people, but by a horde. Twenty-five, maybe thirty male students stood waiting, armed with wooden bats and metal pipes. At their front stood Troy Vance, a fresh, dark bruise blooming on his cheek where Scarlett had hit him.

"Ah, what is this?" Scarlett cursed, all sleepiness gone in an instant.

Leo’s arm slipped from her shoulders. His posture straightened, his body coiling into a fighter's stance. The other three boys shifted subtly, forming a protective half-circle around her.

"Well, Troy," Scarlett said, her voice dropping into that cold, deadly tone they all knew. "Why can't you stop bothering us? Looks like you really want me to break your leg, huh?"

Troy’s smile was a cruel slash in the dim light.

"Let's see who will be the one entering the hospital tonight."

Scarlett didn't even blink. She glanced back at her four friends, one by one. A slow, wicked smirk spread across her lips—a look that relished the coming violence.

"How annoying," she sighed, as if he'd just suggested a tedious chore. "It looks like we have to beat every five people in a row." She cracked her own knuckles, a small, sharp sound. "Let's make this fast."

Behind her, four pairs of eyes answered with identical, grim smiles. In unison, they cracked their knuckles—a series of pops that echoed like gunshots in the tense silence.

The five of them stood ready, a single, unified force against the coming storm. The night was about to get much, much louder. ---

The air in the dimly lit surveillance van was stale, thick with the smell of cold coffee and relentless focus. Shane Carter’s eyes, hawk-like and unblinking, were fixed on the grainy video feed on his screen. It showed the back entrance of a nondescript office building—the kind of place that housed shell companies and men with too many secrets.

“Target is on the move,” Shane’s voice was a low gravel, barely a whisper in the confined space. He didn’t need to raise it; his partner, the eager rookie Marcus Choi, was hanging on his every word.

“Copy that, Chief Carter.” Marcus leaned in, his youthful face tight with concentration.

On the screen, a man emerged—broad-shouldered, moving with the fluid, balanced gait of a trained fighter. A low-level enforcer Shane recognized from his own days in the underground fighting rings. A man who had always been suspiciously close to Sebastian Hartman, Shane’s old rival and his mother’s killer, before Hartman’s mysterious death.