Looking in his rear-view mirror, Jim noticed a gtoup of half a dozen motorcyclists in leathers riding Harley-Davidsons, who were rapidly catching up with them. "Shit" he said. "I think the local Hells Angels may have taken an interest in us."
"Perhaps they will just overtake us and go on their way," Sharon suggested.
But that wasn't what happened. Two of the bikes overtook their car and then slowed down, while another took up station on their offside. As the bikers ahead of them continued to slow and then pulled up, Jim was left with nowhere to go and had to stop too. One of the riders dismounted, came over to the driver's window and tapped on it. He looked to be almost seven feet tall and heavily built. Jim wound the window down. "We don't want any trouble," he said, aware of how weak it sounded.
The biker pushed up the tinted visor on his helmet, and Jim and Sharon both gasped. A green and decidedly non-human face had been revealed. "That's good," he said in a harsh and very deep voice. "We don't want any trouble either. So just hand over your nymphet and we'll be on our way."
Jim hadn't expected a goblin - if that was what the cresture was - to have such an extensive vocabulary. "What's a nymphet?"
"I am not a nymphet," Sharon - who knew what the word meant - protested. "And I'm not his for him to hand over. I don't belong to anyone."
"Well you belong to us now. So get out of the car. I have a spare helmet that you can use. You'll be riding pillion."
"No."
"Very well. We won't harm you. Someone imbued with magic like you is too valuable to damage. But if you won't get out of the car, then I will tear off your companions's limbs one at a time until you agree to come with us."
Jim let out a squeak.
Mon Jul 29 11:45:23 2024