The Outcast MC - Reaper # 1

Chapter 22

As I weave through traffic, the sound of blaring horns accompanies the blond-haired biker's reckless disregard for traffic lights. Meanwhile, I catch the attention of both pedestrians and the police, armed to the teeth as if I were planning to storm the Kremlin and slap Putin on the back of his head. A smile crosses my face as my mind wanders, connecting thoughts in a stream of consciousness. Thoughts of Putin lead me to think of poutine, a traditional Quebecois dish, and then to my grandmother Sylvie and my grandparents.

I quickly decipher his intentions as I see him heading towards the highway, aiming to distance himself from me and cross the state line. It amuses me to think that he believes I'll simply let him go once he crosses that imaginary line on the map, as if some invisible barrier would shield him from my jurisdiction. But my jurisdiction knows no boundaries except for the lid on his coffin.

Two police cars trail closely behind me, their sirens blaring as they run my license plate. They won't be disappointed to find that the cars belong to a member of the former Commander-in-Chief's family, the one who had an orange complexion. My foot presses on the accelerator, matching the movement of my hand as I navigate the drag lane, picking up speed to smoothly merge into traffic.

As I effortlessly maneuver through traffic, seamlessly blending in with the bustling surroundings, some onlookers are left wondering if I appeared out of thin air, only to disappear again with a simple lane change. All they can recall witnessing are the elegant curves of a woman, with a firearm strapped across my back. Mr. Blond continues his frantic race towards South Carolina, and I refuse to let him slip away, just like the pursuing police cars. However, due to regulations on high-speed chases, the police can only trail behind as the distance between us grows.

A local media helicopter joins the scene, interrupting regular programming to provide live updates on the unfolding chase. Initially, they may have mistaken the police cars for chasing me, but it becomes clear that I am the one relentlessly pursuing the car several meters ahead. Speculation runs rampant as the viewers realize the unique dynamics of the chase. Perhaps the cameraman zooms in on my back, revealing the impact marks from the earlier attack or catching a glimpse of my bulletproof vest, potentially hinting at my law enforcement affiliation.

Undoubtedly, internet searches for the Sig Sauer Cross, the gun I carry, will surge, along with inquiries about the Kawasaki Ninja ZX-10R, my trusty motorcycle. It's free advertising for the individuals who sold me these items, and I can only imagine the excitement and anxiety they must be experiencing.

"Come on, my beauty," I whisper to my motorcycle, a sense of exhilaration coursing through me. "Let's go!"

As I continue to pursue Mr. Blond, my determination unwavering, I know that his hope of escaping is merely an illusion. The atrocities he has committed against Vanessa and potentially other women make him deserving of a punishment far more severe than chemical castration. I've decided to take matters into my own hands, performing a self-administered operation that will ensure he never harms anyone again. With the presence of a doctor in my life, I feel confident that this procedure will be swift and without the need for anesthesia.

My speed increases, the roar of the engine filling my ears, and I can sense his growing frustration and panic as I close in on him. The reporters in the helicopter above relay the escalating chase to their audience, while the police cars trailing me come to a stop, blocking the flow of traffic. Suddenly, I notice Mr. Blond's car veering erratically, prompting me to ease off the throttle and apply the brakes. There are two possible explanations for his behavior.

Either a road harrow has been deployed ahead, obstructing the road, with a line of armed police officers waiting beyond it, or a convoy of police cars is rapidly approaching from the opposite direction. Unfortunately, there is no exit on our side of the road, as we passed it a couple of kilometers ago.