"Double bourbon, neat," she told the bartender, sliding a crumpled bill across the wood. "Rough night, Jade?" "Best one yet," she smirked.
An hour later, a local hotshot tried to challenge her to a street race for "pinks"—titles to their bikes. The crowd gathered under the flickering streetlights of the industrial district. Jade didn't trash talk; she just tightened her leather gloves and kicked the starter. Trait - Bad Girl Life
The engine of Jade’s vintage Harley roared, a defiant snarl that cut through the sleepy silence of the suburbs. She didn’t belong here—between the manicured lawns and the white picket fences—and she knew it. It was written in the grease under her fingernails and the faded ink of the serpent coiled around her forearm. "Double bourbon, neat," she told the bartender, sliding