I glanced back to the little boy who was beside his mother. He was crying, this time looking at the baby on the ground. But he couldn’t touch it. He couldn’t fucking touch it.
Then he looked up at me. He looked up at me and held out his arms. His face was pleading. His mother was shot, but he held up his arms for me.
Pain rushed through my head and my hands balled into fists at my side. The boy was screaming, still holding his hands out. The baby was still on the ground, crying. Then the boy moved. He started crawling toward me. His dark eyes look up at me, but I was rooted to the spot. He was crawling to me, wanting me to hold him… to touch him.
No, no, no… He was getting closer, still I couldn’t move.
His screams got louder. The baby’s fucking screams got louder.
The screams were filling my head to bursting. They were poisoning my head. The boy came closer still.
I had to move. I had to get the fuck away.
Then the boy stopped at my feet.
He reached out. He almost touched my leg. Then feeling the rage take hold, I roared, “NO!”
The boy fell back in shock. I turned. Hush and Cowboy were running my way. They ran past me and I saw the Hush pick up the boy. I saw Cowboy pick up the baby. They gave them to a woman on the street; she was speaking into a cell.
The screams were getting louder in my head, screams I couldn’t stop. The baby’s screams. The boy’s screams… fuck, they were his screams… In my head, they were his screams!
“Stop!” I yelled, as AK and Viking rushed toward me.
When they reached me, AK held his hands up. "Flame, fuck,” was all he could say.
My eyes snapped up. “I need blood,” I growled. “I need to kill.”
“They went north,” Viking informed. I heard the sound of a bike racing away down the road. I didn’t hesitate to fucking move.
I ran to my bike. In seconds I was cutting up road, AK and Viking racing behind. I heard the truck, I heard AK calling my name, but I didn’t slow down. I had to kill the fuckers. I had to kill the fuckers that shot the woman. That made the boy cry. That made the baby scream.
Throat tense, I screamed as I burned more gas. And then I could see them. Two bikes up ahead. Two dirt bikes. Two white men on cheap shitty dirt bikes—the shooters.
I accelerated as we left the town limits, nothing but farmland came into view. No cars were on the road. There was nothing but me and the dead men riding ahead. The dead men I was closing in on. The ones that would pay for the screaming.
I was closing in. The men rode side by side. One of the men looked back. They tried to increase their speed, but I was faster.
My Harley closed in. I maneuvered to run beside the cunts. Their faces were filled with fear as they saw me run parallel to them. The look on their faces turned my blood to molten lava, scalding my veins. And I needed it out. I needed the flames to get out.
I needed to kill.
Lifting my leg, I kicked out, hitting the front wheel of the bike closest to me. The bike fell away, smashing it into the cunt on his right, both of them crashing into the roadside ditch.
The pricks screamed as they crashed onto the long grass. I slowed my Harley and, chasing back, brought it to a stop. The bastards were crawling, trying to get away. All I could see was red. Reaching into my belt, I pulled out my two favorite knives and closed in for the kill.
My nostrils flared. My skin was prickling with the urge to rip the fuckers apart. To sink my blade into their flesh. To watch the blood spill on the ground.
I smiled in excitement, my arm muscles straining, holding my knives. They had broken bones from the crash. They couldn’t get away. They were mine to kill. Their lives were mine to take.
They panicked as they saw me approach. I licked along the edge of my knife, tasting the tinny flavor of steel in my mouth. My dick got hard. Got hard just imagining stabbing into their flesh. Hearing them scream. Hearing them scream like the little boy. The little baby.