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When they finally realized I bore down with singular intent, they scattered with screams. Although, one guy nodded and yelled, “And you shall know they are death by the steel wolf that they ride.”
Not the exact quote but I liked it.
Skinny turned out to be a runner. I gladly chased, bumping the bike over the gravel lining the path the rail bisected. When he veered into the woods, I remained close behind, humping over rutted ground, the roots only partially submerged.
Eventually, Skinny flipped around and got caught in the beams of light. He screamed, “Don’t hurt me.”
Until he asked, I actually didn’t know what I would do. Might not have a choice as the bike appeared in charge. It stopped advancing a few feet from Skinny, who backed into a tree.
“Fuck off!” he yelled, crossing his arms over his eyes to block out my headlights.
“The same way you fucked off the night you beat on a woman?” A feminist would be pleased to be treated like a man, but at the same time, what they’d attempted to do? That was a shame mostly reserved for women.
“What are you talking about?”
I used my feet to scoot forward, rolling the bike closer and getting grim satisfaction at watching him try to merge with the tree. I didn’t stop until my front tire pressed against him, drawing a pathetic whimper.
A part of me understood I shouldn’t revel in his fear.
A more primal part loved it.
“I’m offended you don’t remember. You’re the fucker who held me down so his buddy could hurt me,” I stated.
“I don’t know who—” He tried to lie, and my bike took offense, growling into Skinny’s trembling body.
“I’m sorry!” he squeaked. “I didn’t mean to. But when Joey gets an idea in his head, it’s easier to just go along.”
“Easier? Your friend Joey is a rapist,” I hissed.
“But I’m not. And I’m doing my best to make better choices.”
“Says the guy who is high right now.”
“Because I’m weak. It’s not my fault. It’s the drugs.” He bobbed his head as if that excused his behavior.
It didn’t in my world. “Hurting innocent people is wrong.” I pressed forward with the bike.
“You’re hurting me,” he whimpered.
“You’re not innocent.”
“Please,” he blubbered, but it was the scent of piss that woke me from the madness.
What the fuck was I doing, terrorizing this man? Who gave me permission to punish him?
He did when he victimized me.
I ignored that voice to ask, “What’s your name?”
“Sawyer.”
“Sawyer what?” I snapped.
“Kyle Sawyer.”
“Well, Kyle Sawyer, enjoy your last hour of freedom.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked as I began to wheel away.
