It felt like his eyes were boring into me, even from a distance, but the helmet obscured his face to know for sure.
I grabbed Elliot’s hand, squeezing it hard as my heart rate spiked. My gut screamed something was wrong. “Is the motorcycle following us?” I whispered.
Elliot glanced back, his eyes widening before he whipped back around, picking up his pace. “I doubt it. Why would a motorcycle be following us?” he said, trying to sound calm, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
We walked faster, but the engine’s roar persisted, growing louder and closer. My grip on Elliot’s hand tightened, sweat forming on my palm.
Each step felt heavier, the darkness around us thickening, pulling us into its suffocating embrace. The eerie shadows between broken streetlights making my skin crawl.
I glanced back. The motorcycle came closer now, its engine rumbling like a predator stalking its prey.
“Elliot,” I whispered. “He’s definitely following us.”
Elliot didn’t respond, but he picked up his pace again. His hand shook in mine, and I realized he felt as scared as I did.
So much for his assurances about nothing bad happening to me. We barely made it two blocks before it was clear we were being hunted.
Every hair on my body stood on end, screaming danger. The road split, and Elliot pulled me to the left. The city sounds faded, drowned out by the motorcycle’s roar.
“We need to get out of here,” I said, trembling. “Now.”
Elliot nodded, finally matching my urgency. We started jogging, but the motorcycle’s engine revved, the sound sending another jolt of fear through me.
It was too close.
Without warning, the motorcycle roared past us, cutting us off near an alley. He skidded to a halt, the tires screeching, blocking our path as my breath hitched.
The rider stayed silent, cocking his head as if amused by our fear. We could try to run, but the motorcycle would easily catch up.
We were trapped, with no clear way out.
Three
Regan
Istayed glued to the pavement, weighing the pros and cons of running.
The bike kept idling, the little lights underneath clicking off as the rider stood up. Black boots, black jeans, a black jacket, and black helmet. There wasn’t one thing on him which stood out, and without the sound of the bike idling, I didn’t know if I would notice him standing within five feet of me.
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing tattooed hands and forearms that flexed as he moved.
The glint of metal caught my eye as he raised a gun, my stomach plummeting. “Give me your wallet,” he demanded, nodding toward Elliot.
I froze, clutching my bag, debating if I would give it up or fight him for it. My life was in this bag, but I wasn’t sure how to fight off a man with a gun.
As I hesitated, torn between surrendering or fighting back. Elliot made his choice. He dropped my hand and spun on his heel, running back the way we had come.
He ran.
Hefuckingran. Fast, too.
He made it down the block before I could even process what happened.
He had run off and left me there alone on an empty street with a violent man and a gun.
So much for not letting anything happen to me.
The rider turned back, his face still obscured by the helmet, but I felt the weight of his gaze on me. His head tilted slightly, scrutinizing me with an almost predatory curiosity. Slowly, the gun lowered, as he lifted his shirt, revealing the edge of a dark tattoo snaking across his skin. The gun disappeared into his waistband, and when he reached up, I instinctively flinched, expecting the worst. Instead, he only pulled off his helmet.
