She groans. “Everyone is passing us. They’re making fun of us.”
Indeed, a few bikes with teenagers run past. One of them veers closer, the boy riding pillion sliding up the visor of his helmet. His smirk is visible even in the rushing air.
“Nice bike,” he calls mockingly. “Want us to teach you how to ride it?”
If she weren’t sitting behind me, I would’ve gladly taught him a valuable lesson right here in the middle of the road.
Another rider pulls up on my other side. This one is older than me. “Hey, pretty boy. Did Mama gift you this bike?”
The whole group bursts out laughing.
Avira’s grip tightens fiercely around my stomach, and then she shouts. “Shut the fuck up! Mind your own business!”
Their laughter only grows louder.
“Ohhh, Mama sent a little bodyguard too!” one jeers.
Another leans closer. “Hey, little girl, if you want a real ride, come with us.”
I press my palm over her clenched fists. “Hold tight, Dove.”
With that, I twist the throttle hard. We cut through traffic in seconds. Three bikes tail us, but at ninety kilometers per hour, I maneuver smoothly between cars, leaving them struggling to keep up.
Avira’s shout rings in my ears. “Wow, this is amazing!”
I guide us toward the open race court. Here, I can give her any speed she craves without risking a collision. I push the bike harder, the engine screaming at one-twenty, the world around us reduced to a blur.
Her laughter and breathless commentary carry in the wind. But two kilometers ahead, I spot them again, three bikes lined up across the road, blocking the path.
So, they won’t let us go that easily.
I slow down, easing the bike into a smooth halt just before them. Six useless boys.
I take off my helmet, my gaze sweeping across each of their faces. It would take me three minutes to crack open each skull. But Avira is behind me and I can’t give her that trauma. A few broken bones will be enough.
I step off the bike, hand my helmet to her. “Count till fifty.”
She nods, her small hands clutching the helmet close. The tinted visor hides her face, but I don’t need to see to know that she’s nervous.
They swing their legs off their bikes and start closing in.
I tilt my head. “Start the counting, Dove.”
Her voice begins, soft but steady. “One… two… three… four…”
The tallest one charges first, his fist raised high. I catch it midair, twist, and snap his arm cleanly. The crack echoes louder than his scream as he crumbles to the ground.
Avira’s counting falters for a second, then resumes in a shocked little gasp. “Ten… eleven… twelve…”
Two more charge at me together. I duck, grab both by their collars, and slam their ribcages into each other. The impact is sharp, the sound of ribs giving way like dry sticks. Both collapse groaning.
Her voice quickens. “Twenty-two… twenty-three… twenty-four… twenty-five…”
Then her panicked cry comes through the helmet’s glass. “Zoan! Behind you!”
I already knew that one bastard was sneaking up from behind, a metal bat raised high.
Without turning, I hook his back over my shoulder and flip him clean onto the asphalt. He crashes down with a loud thud, the sound of bones snapping—at least seven—rings in the night air.
