Motive | D. Lizewski

CHAPTER SEVEN ⌖ AND IM BACK ⌖

i. KICKASS

EVERYTHING HAPPENED TOO QUICKLY. One minute, Maya was telling those guys to go to hell, and the next, Dave was standing in front of her protectively, taking hit after hit. His baton swung with surprising precision, knocking each of the men back. Maya backed into the wall, her breath caught in her throat, shocked at the sight of a random stranger throwing himself into the chaos to save her.

One of the men picked up a trashcan, charging at Dave from behind. "Aye, green dude, 12 o'clock!" Maya shouted, her voice shaky. Dave didn't have time to turn around before the garbage can slammed into his back. Maya winced, expecting him to crumple in pain. But he didn't. Instead, he absorbed the hit like it was nothing, still standing, still fighting. He kept swinging, relentless, until the men were tired and sore, clutching their bruised bodies and limping back.

"Get away from her," Dave growled, his voice deeper, more intimidating than usual. He sounded nothing like the nervous kid from school—this was someone else. Kick-Ass. One of the men quickly snatched the knife off the ground, hiding it behind his back, his eyes narrowing.

"You'd rather die for some bitch you don't even fucking know?" the man spat, his voice dripping with contempt.

The irony of it all hung in the air, and Dave's eyes darted from one man to the other, ensuring none of them made a sudden move. He scoffed, shaking his head. "And three assholes trying to assault a girl while everyone watches?" He tilted his head toward the crowd that had gathered, phones out, recording the entire scene. The reality hit the men all at once—they were caught on camera outside a diner, getting their asses handed to them by some random guy in a green costume, all because they tried to hurt a teenage girl. It didn't get much worse than that.

The man holding the knife faltered, suddenly realizing the situation had escalated beyond his control. "And you wanna know what's wrong with me?" Dave continued, his voice strong, filled with conviction. "Yeah, I'd rather die. So bring it on."

Maya's eyes widened as his words sank in. A stranger, someone she didn't know at all, was willing to die for her? It settled in slowly, like a weight pressing down on her chest. Whoever this guy was, he was different. He wasn't like anyone she'd ever met.

The men exchanged glances, panic flickering in their eyes. The one with the knife threw it to the ground and muttered something under his breath before they all scattered, disappearing into the night. The bystanders continued to film, murmuring amongst themselves as Dave stood there, his chest rising and falling heavily from the fight.

Maya stepped forward, still in disbelief. "Who... who are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Others who had been filming the incident began to filter outside, curiosity and adrenaline fueling their excitement. They gathered around, phones held high, eager to capture the moment.

Dave looked at the cameras and then back at Maya, a mixture of pride and vulnerability swirling in his chest. "I'm Kick-Ass," he announced, a hint of bravado in his voice.

Maya's eyes sparkled with inspiration. "Thank you for saving my life," she said, her voice filled with genuine appreciation.

"Anything for you," he replied, the sincerity in his words unexpected even to himself.

The crowd erupted around him, cheers and chants of "Kick-Ass! Kick-Ass!" echoing through the street. People clapped him on the back, capturing selfies, wanting to be part of this moment. For a split second, he basked in the attention, the thrill of being a hero. But then the reality hit him like a cold wave—the fame felt overwhelming, like a spotlight shining too brightly.