chapter 8
I drop my schoolbag, quickly change my clothes, and run straight to his room. But it’s empty. I rush downstairs in search of Mama.
She’s in the study, speaking with the AI assistant.
“Mama, where is Zoan?” I blurt, interrupting her.
She pauses the AI and looks at me. “When did you come back?”
Standing from her chair, she steps toward me with a smile. “First eat something. Zo was in the garage.”
“I’ll eat later! First, I want to see his new bike.”
Mama chuckles, shaking her head. “His new bike is only built for one person, so you won’t get any rides on it.”
I shake my head quickly. “No, Mama. He promised me last night that I’ll be the first person to sit on it.”
Mama sighs. “Alright, you can go and see. But come back fast.”
I nod eagerly and dash out of the mansion toward the garage on the left side. Its gate is open, that means he’s inside.
I step in and spot him immediately. My eyes light up, and I run toward him and his black bike.
“It’s so cool!” I exclaim, circling it like it’s some magical creature.
My hand runs over the seat. “But Mama said it doesn’t have a backseat.”
“I just attached one,” he says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
I almost jump out of excitement. “That means we can go on a ride!”
He nods.
After putting the tools and equipment back in their places, he stands in front of me. “Did you eat?”
I shake my head.
“First, we’ll eat. I’ll change my clothes, and then we’ll go for a ride.”
I pout, crossing my arms. “Can’t we just go now?”
I’ve never sat on a bike before. I’ve been waiting for this ride since last night, and the anticipation is bubbling inside me like fireworks.
He shakes his head firmly. “No, Dove. First you will eat, only then we’ll go out.”
Zloban (17 years old)
I double-check the buckle of her helmet.
It would be a lie to say I want her sitting behind me on this bike.
Just the thought of her falling, of even a single scratch on her skin, is enough to keep me from letting her near any motorcycle.
But she’s been waiting for this ride since last night, her excitement is overflowing. Denying her would only break her heart.
I start the engine. The deep growl vibrates through the garage, and immediately, her small arms wrap tightly around my waist. I roll the bike forward slowly, keeping the speed steady at barely twenty kilometers per hour.
She leans her head sideways, peeking at the speedometer. “Zoan, this is slower than a bicycle. What are you doing?”
Once we descend the hill, I twist the throttle slightly, letting the bike run at forty. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t bring myself to go faster.
She digs her fingers into my stomach, or at least tries to. My muscles are too hard for her little pinch to have any effect.
She groans. “Everyone is passing us. They’re making fun of us.”
Indeed, a few bikes with teenagers run past. One of them veers closer, the boy riding pillion sliding up the visor of his helmet. His smirk is visible even in the rushing air.
“Nice bike,” he calls mockingly. “Want us to teach you how to ride it?”
If she weren’t sitting behind me, I would’ve gladly taught him a valuable lesson right here in the middle of the road.
Another rider pulls up on my other side. This one is older than me. “Hey, pretty boy. Did Mama gift you this bike?”
The whole group bursts out laughing.
Avira’s grip tightens fiercely around my stomach, and then she shouts. “Shut the fuck up! Mind your own business!”
Their laughter only grows louder.
“Ohhh, Mama sent a little bodyguard too!” one jeers.
Another leans closer. “Hey, little girl, if you want a real ride, come with us.”
I press my palm over her clenched fists. “Hold tight, Dove.”
With that, I twist the throttle hard. We cut through traffic in seconds. Three bikes tail us, but at ninety kilometers per hour, I maneuver smoothly between cars, leaving them struggling to keep up.
Avira’s shout rings in my ears. “Wow, this is amazing!”
I guide us toward the open race court. Here, I can give her any speed she craves without risking a collision. I push the bike harder, the engine screaming at one-twenty, the world around us reduced to a blur.
Her laughter and breathless commentary carry in the wind. But two kilometers ahead, I spot them again, three bikes lined up across the road, blocking the path.
So, they won’t let us go that easily.
I slow down, easing the bike into a smooth halt just before them. Six useless boys.
I take off my helmet, my gaze sweeping across each of their faces. It would take me three minutes to crack open each skull. But Avira is behind me and I can’t give her that trauma. A few broken bones will be enough.
I step off the bike, hand my helmet to her. “Count till fifty.”
She nods, her small hands clutching the helmet close. The tinted visor hides her face, but I don’t need to see to know that she’s nervous.
They swing their legs off their bikes and start closing in.
I tilt my head. “Start the counting, Dove.”
Her voice begins, soft but steady. “One… two… three… four…”
The tallest one charges first, his fist raised high. I catch it midair, twist, and snap his arm cleanly. The crack echoes louder than his scream as he crumbles to the ground.
Avira’s counting falters for a second, then resumes in a shocked little gasp. “Ten… eleven… twelve…”
Two more charge at me together. I duck, grab both by their collars, and slam their ribcages into each other. The impact is sharp, the sound of ribs giving way like dry sticks. Both collapse groaning.
Her voice quickens. “Twenty-two… twenty-three… twenty-four… twenty-five…”
Then her panicked cry comes through the helmet’s glass. “Zoan! Behind you!”
I already knew that one bastard was sneaking up from behind, a metal bat raised high.
Without turning, I hook his back over my shoulder and flip him clean onto the asphalt. He crashes down with a loud thud, the sound of bones snapping—at least seven—rings in the night air.
“Keep counting, Dove.”
Her startled voice resumes. “Twenty-seven… twenty-eight… twenty-nine…”
That’s why I made her count, so I could track her emotional state every second.
The two remaining ones glance at their fallen comrades. In the next moment, they jump onto their bikes and tear off.
Cowards.
I survey the broken bodies groaning and writhing on the road. Then I turn back, walking toward my bike.
Avira sits frozen, helmet tilted slightly down. I remove it gently, wanting to see her face. As expected, her wide eyes are blown with shock.
I cup her face in my palms. “Forget whatever you saw today.”
Her eyes flicker. “Are they going to die?”
I shake my head. “No. They’ll just spend a few weeks in the hospital.”
Her small hands rise, pushing mine aside. She inspects my knuckles. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head again. “Let’s go home.”
She nods quietly.
I slide the helmet back over her head, making sure it’s secure before pulling mine on. One last glance at her, and I start the engine.
Tonight was the first and last time she ever had to witness something like this.