Page 4 of Throttle

They need someone to avenge them. And that’s us.

Ohio is notorious for human trafficking. Sure, we can wait for the cops to bring these sick bastards down. But it’s like waiting for paint to dry. We have our own resources. That's when we step in. We take justice into our own hands and occasionally the feds choose to turn a blind eye.

Sometimes.

Nightfall brings me face-to-face with a despicable scum bag. With Chain and Bullet as spectators, I strike the nasty bastard's jaw with a powerful blow.

There’s nothing I enjoy more than beating the piss out of someone who deserves it.

“P-Please. I’m sorry, man, it wasn’t me. I swear,” low life stutters, begging and pleading.

“No?” I bend down to his level as he lies there like a sack of shit on the ground. “Then who was it? It seemed to me that you were getting too close to an innocent kid from where we were standing. In fact, that disgusts me to the point where I could shoot you right now.”

"I was being nice," he coughs, blood splattering onto my boot.

Motherfucker.

“Being nice?” I laugh in disgust. “How does it feel to know you won’t be leaving here alive tonight?”

This is a test. Chain wants to ensure I can cut it before he patches me in. I've been prospecting long enough. It's time for me to become a member of the Steel Valley Chains and handle the big boy stuff. Nothing excites me more than taking down the bad guys, and this is easy.

As I lift the breathing insect by his throat, my muscles flex and burn. “You’re gonna wish you were never born when I get done with you.”

The fear in his eyes is enough to quench my bloodthirsty hunger.

Almost.

As I leave the abandoned shed, I wipe my knuckles clean of his blood before going back to our bikes. I cast a final glance before throwing my lighter. Flames engulf the gasoline covered wood within seconds and I can’t help but smile. We don’t always take lives. Unless it’s sick fucks like these. Then we have no problem doing it. I promised to make a positive impact on the world, and this was my chance.

This was my way.

Surrounded by the heat of the fire, I brush away a small droplet of sweat from my forehead.

“You did great, son.” Chain squeezes my shoulder, and I pretend it’s my father praising me for the job well done. But the thought of him brings a bitter taste to my mouth. I haven't seen my parents since I turned eighteen and I prefer it to stay that way.

“You good? First one’s always the hardest. And I can’t promise there won’t be more.”

More killings. More blood on our hands.

I grin at the father figure holding my shoulder. “I’ve never been more ready.”

Chain doesn’t smile, only nods. “All right, we better roll out.”

We start our Harleys, and I steal one last glimpse at the falling-apart shed. With the crackling of the wood, it’s soothing and therapeutic.

When we arrive at the clubhouse, Angel, our lone female member, is sauntering up with a killer expression.

I dismount from my bike and remove some ash from my leather cut. “What? The heavens weren’t good to you tonight?”

She looks like shit, and that’s impossible.

“Fuck you, Throttle. I’m not in the mood.” She stomps inside the club with a pair of sexy looking stripper heels.

I would have pursued her if she wasn't in the same circle, but she is, and I view her as family. A sister with one hell of an attitude.

Within the clubhouse, the music is blaring, and people are chatting. It’s home. I don't experience the same feeling anywhere else. And after tonight, I needed a damn drink.

I make a direct path to the bar, aware it's the new bartender's first shift. How on Earth did this woman agree to work in a biker club? Our rap in town isn't the best.

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