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All I know is girls like her don’t walk in and try to buy handguns, especially with a fake ID, unless they’re in trouble.
And something has come over, something…paternal, that tells me I have to protect this little one. She can’t be much over five feet tall, if at all, and the thought of a man, or anyone for that matter, making her feel unsafe or threatening her has me filled with rage.
I grit my teeth at the thought alone and visions of strangling whoever it is who’s put her in this mental state, fill my head.
A few minutes later we’re crossing the state line, showing me she’s not only beautiful but she’s smart…despite her error in judgment.
In her state, you have to be twenty-one to buy a handgun, while in mine you only need to be eighteen, which tells me she’s likely not even old enough to buy a beer, yet she wants to buy a form of self-protection that could end someone’s life.
Well I know one thing for certain, I’m going to end the life of whoever pushed her to her limit, the prick who made her feel so unsafe she came up with this plan. This isn’t a spur of the moment thing, this is premeditated. The thought of her actually carrying this out and going to jail as a consequence has my bike swerving as I nearly puke in my helmet.
A girl like that in prison wouldn’t last long.
Protect her. Keep her safe. Be her…Daddy.
A feeling of weightlessness hits me so hard I nearly dump the bike right on the highway this time, but thanks to a lifetime of riding, I get it straightened out. That word, this feeling that I’ve never felt before, has a grip over me so hard I don’t even understand it. It’s like something that’s been buried inside me for a lifetime has fina
lly woken up, been called from a lifetime of hibernation.
For the first time in my life, I know my purpose, and I know exactly who that purpose revolves around.
It all makes sense…until she pulls off the highway a few minutes later, drives down a street, and parks in front of a house I know all too well.
This can’t be happening.
2
Dylan
My neck muscles go limp and my head dives forward for about the hundredth time, but I catch myself and jerk my head back.
I literally can’t believe I’m still here, six hours later sitting on my Ducati parked at an angle just down the street so I avoid detection. Covertly parked next to some bushes to stalk a house, something I’ve ever done before. But I don’t have to remind myself that a girl like her, and specifically this girl, isn’t like anyone I’ve ever seen before.
I need to know more about her, to understand what drove her to try and buy a gun. Then take care of all her problems for her. And when I’m done I’m going to sit her on my lap and kiss the top of her head and tell her that everything’s going to be okay, because it is. I’m going to make sure of it.
Just as the thought goes through my mind a scream rips through the night air. Adrenaline shoots through me and I’m off my bike instantly, running to the big fence that keeps her palatial estate separated from the real world, but not me.
Grabbing one of the pillars at the front gate I climb up and over the approximately ten foot wall, my parkour skills from my youth coming back to me despite my much larger size these days.
As I sprint to the front of the house my blood runs cold. The sound of a gunshot.
I thought I was already at top speed, but I find another gear…just before I hear another round unload from the chamber, a second shot fired.
I grab the doorknob of the front door and unsurprisingly it’s unlocked. The wealthy always think they’re safe in their ivory towers, but the last few seconds have shown that to be anything but true.
The second I step into the entryway I see him, the man I hate more than any other in the world. I don’t stop, running straight at him and then coming off my feet I unload, drilling him in the side as I take him down like a professional linebacker in the NFL.
By design, his body takes the impact of our fall and as soon as we’re on the ground I get him wrapped up in a chokehold, flipping him over so I can survey the room.
And the first thing I see is her, standing there holding a gun in her little hands that are shaking so hard the gun it flailing every which way.
“Is this piece of shit trying to hurt you?” I growl, ready to choke the life out of him.
The girl, the same one from my shop, just stands there in a daze. Her lack of an answer only causes me to squeeze my forearm around his neck even tighter.
Her eyes are glossed over, she’s clearly in shock. I need to put an end to him and an end to whatever pain he’s caused her in the process. And finally get my revenge on this lowlife abuser of power, privilege, and position.
“Don’t kill him,” she says nervously, her teeth chattering as if she’s locked in a freezer despite the house being warm. “Let him go,” she says unsteadily.
