Delirious || Bozari

Chapter Eight: Boze

Boze was pissed. Or, at least, that's what she told herself the feeling bubbling up inside her was. Because there was absolutely no way that she was scared. She wouldn't let herself be.

The panic call had come suddenly. Thankfully, Boze had felt her phone buzz in her pocket, as she didn't hear the sound of the alarm over the wind, and pulled over to take it out. She'd had Virus and the other techs construct an intricate panic system a few months earlier, to make sure that if anyone was ever attacked or experienced some other emergency, the rest of the girls would be able to know instantly. All you had to do was press a few buttons in an app and an alert would be sent to her. From there, she'd decide what the best course of action was.

Her screen was white, and had four sentences written on it in stark black letters: Alert sent from Siren's phone. Cause of alert; attack. High danger. Do not send other girls.

Boze quickly opened her phone and sent out a return alert to the rest of the girls, before pulling up a map to track down Siren's location. She didn't care how dangerous the situation was. If someone messed with her girls, they messed with her. And messing with Boze was the biggest mistake you could ever make.

The blonde and the van she'd been driving weren't too far away; less than a mile, and they weren't moving. Boze twisted the handlebar of her bike and sped off towards them. She passed a few other vans on her way there, but she paid them no attention. They weren't the ones that needed it.

Quickly, she arrived at her destination. She swerved to the side and threw off her helmet, jumping off her bike so she could access the situation.

Right next to the road was her van, lying on its side, a charred hole where one of its wheels should have been. A few motorcycles surrounded it, all empty except for one, who had an obviously male person sitting on it. Without hesitation, Boze pulled out her gun and shot him in the head.

That alerted his accomplices. From around the van came four more men, none of them wearing helmets. They were all young, no older than twenty, white, and clean-shaven. Boze felt like she recognized a few of them, but she didn't know from where.

One of them came running at her, but she shot him in the head before he could come anywhere close to her. The next two didn't even have a chance to draw their guns before they earned a bullet between their eyes. She shot the last one in the leg. He cried as he fell, his gun flying out of his hand.

She stormed up to him and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him clear of the ground. "Who sent you?"

The man didn't respond, staring at her defiantly. It was obvious that he wasn't going to speak. Not without a little persuasion.

Boze lowered him a bit, just so she could dig her heel into his bullet wound. Then she lifted him up again, making sure he felt every inch of the pain. He screamed beautifully and writhed in her grip, trying to free himself. It was beautiful to watch.

"Who sent you?" she repeated demandingly, spitting the words at him like poison.

Still, the man didn't speak. She had to admire his determination. It took a lot of strength to bear that much pain.

Unfortunately for him, she was just getting started.

She pointed her gun at his leg, just above his first wound, and shot again. Then she repeated the action, shooting circle upon circle into his flesh, leading up to his hips. Once he was bleeding enough that his blood was going straight through his pants and staining the concrete below them, she pressed her entire foot on all of his bullet wounds, putting all of her weight down on him, making the bullets dig even farther into his body. Once she heard a loud crack, she brought her face down to his.