RoninMaximus Presents: My Boring, Shitty Life 17
Riley is just starting out in life, he's still in high school and starting to find himself. He's prospecting for a motorcycle club, wearing his grandfather's legacy cut, has a dragon tattoo, started building relationships with the women around him, and gotten into a few fights. Things will continue heat up bit by bit and as always, all characters mentioned are over the age of eighteen. This is a work of fiction.
The night following the lingerie party, I was helping the club at the local fair grounds again. It had been a quiet, family friendly night, and I was enjoying showing the little kids our motorcycles. Throughout the event I saw a bunch of faces that I recognized, my dad on a date with some unknown woman, my school nurse, a couple coaches from school, our new principal, and of course Brett and his entourage. Roxie and Martin were there, along with Heather, Heather Sinclaire, Michelle, and a few of Brett's goons. I noted that Bianca was nowhere around and idly wondered about that, but kept myself busy for the night by helping the club.
Shortly after the official closing time, as everyone packed up, I broke away from the club to go and find a porta-john. They were off in a secluded corner, and the generators running the lights in that area had already been cut off. Finishing my business, I was using the foot pump mechanism to wash my hands when I heard a scream.
It was a brief sound, clipped, and as I looked around, nobody else seemed to be nearby for me to ask if they'd heard it too. Investigating halfheartedly, I thought maybe I had heard wrong, but I came upon a back entrance for one of the 'scary' rides and saw that a lock wasn't bolted, even though all the other doors were.
I turned away, figuring I would let a staff member know, but stopped short when I heard another yelp, closer this time, and followed by a short slapping noise. There was no mistaking that the voice was female, and all the lights were off for the ride, so there was no reason for anyone to be inside. I sent a quick text to Twit and Crybaby, telling them I'd be right back but I was over by the restrooms.
I opened the door slowly, not wanting to announce my presence if anything actually WAS wrong, and crept inside slowly. Turning the first corner, I felt two things. Relief, that I had trusted my gut, and rage, as I saw what was happening in the small room.
My eyes fell on the pale girl's. She was desperate, pleading, and disheveled. Her arms were secured in front of her by a belt, and stretched fully over the table she was bent over. Another belt stretched her jaw open, but something must've been stashed behind it, because her pleading was muffled. She was terrified when she caught sight of me, a newcomer to this clearly horrible event. Tears fell down her scrunched up face as the man behind her thrust himself into her from behind, his hands digging into her hips roughly.
The facts weren't known to me at the time, but I thought that it could possibly, maybe, be a consensual encounter. Her eyes begged to differ, and I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I walked away without knowing. Consensual or otherwise, I couldn't sit idly by, and from what I knew about Heather Sinclaire, she wasn't the casual BDSM encounter type, and this guy was at least twenty years older than us.
He was fat, balding, and frog-like in his appearance. All the makings of your classic carnival degenerate, complete with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and the stench of alcohol pouring off of him.
I had seen enough, and stepped forward to confront the man and get Heather Sinclaire away from the situation. That's when I saw the baseball bat swing in front of my face.
I woke up groggily, not knowing why my head hurt so much, and couldn't identify where I was. Everything was dark, my head was ringing, and I was alone. I knew I was indoors, but there was no light pointing me to an exit, so I spent a few minutes wandering around aimlessly, searching for a light switch or a door I could use.
I found a door first. As I opened it, the moonlight from above lit the area up perfectly, making everything seem so much brighter than that horrible dark room. Horrible?
My eyes fell on a couple guys loading something heavy and wrapped in a tarp into a truck nearby. The first one was tall and lean, with a long white beard and a mess of curly salt and pepper hair. The second guy was short and fat, balding and slimy. He reminded me of a frog.
Our eyes met and everything came flooding back to me. I knew in an instant what they were loading into that truck, and they knew that I knew. I took off in another direction, running out of sight as soon as I saw the skinny guy pull out a pistol. I sprinted towards my bike, and shouted for Twit and Crybaby.
They looked up at me curiously, seeing me bloodied up and running around like a madman waving my hands. They started their bikes up before I even reached them. "911! Call everyone! Get them on the roads looking for that Ford!" I yelled at them, taking off and following the passing truck, maintaining a good hundred yard distance. "They've got a girl they were raping! Hit me with a bat! They've got a gun!"
Twit and Crybaby fell in behind me and together we pursued the truck. Crybaby gave the news over the phone and kept someone on the line providing real-time updates as we went.
The truck came up on a bunch of bikers blocking off the road in just a matter of minutes. Guns drawn, and daring the two men to make the wrong move.
I parked behind the truck and discovered that my tail had gotten bigger. Rhett nodded, as he parked next to the president of our rival MC behind me. I guess kidnapping a local was seen as common cause in the MC world.
I came up to the truck bed, covered, and locked, before walking up to the driver's side window and growling through it. "Keys! Now!" I said, keeping an eye on the gun sitting on the dash.
I watched as the skinny guy fumbled in doing as I told. The idiot tried to push they keys straight through the glass before figuring out that he'd have to lower it. He cracked it just enough to drop them out onto the ground, but I stared patiently at him in response. He looked scared, and rightfully so, as I looked down intently and then back up at him, still holding out my hand. Twit joined the passenger on the other side. "Both of you, get the fuck out! Now!" He told them, his shotgun aiming into the cab.
Bodies shaking, the two men climbed out. I stepped back, giving the skinny guy just enough room and kept my hand outstretched. He got the picture.
As soon as he knelt down to retrieve the keys, I kicked his shoulder and pinned him to the truck before grabbing the truck door and slamming it on his head repeatedly.
Over on the other side, I heard Twit giving the frog man a makeover of his own, but I was focused. Every whimper, crunch, crack, and smush was music to my ears. I didn't feel bad when he crumbled to the ground. I kicked him as he lay there, my head and heart pounding, but still I pressed onward.
I stopped when his whimpering stopped, then stepped on his bloody face as I retrieved the keys from the ground.
Heather Sinclaire had never looked so beautiful as the moment I realized she was still alive. I clutched her to my chest, waiting for Bear to bring my/his old truck around. We cried together, her hanging on to me desperately, as we were driven to the hospital.
The police questioned me at the hospital, then again with my dad and a lawyer present at the police station. They warned me about acting like a vigilante, and my lawyer answered that my actions were only in defense of the victim. "You should be thanking my client. Not pestering him with accusations."
The detective nodded, holding up his hands. "You're not wrong, and everyone here knows he did a good thing. We just don't want him getting himself hurt-"
"Regardless, either produce a charge or we're leaving." My lawyer replied.
We left soon after.
Rhett held a Pow Wow the next day, getting input from the other senior club members, and then shaking his head 'no' when they came out. I wasn't allowed to be a full member yet.
I saw on the news that one of the rapists had died in the hospital, but the doctors were able to revive him. Too bad.
Heather Sinclaire was absent at school, which didn't come as a surprise. Darcy told me I should probably go see her at home to make sure she was okay, but I shut her down.
