Bandits (34 page)

“So, what do I have here?  Oooh, I’ve hit the jackpot t
o
night, baby! A pretty, sweet smelling girl all alone. You have no choice, you know
.
You are coming with me
.
I have got plans for you, sweet thing,” he growled in her ear
.
She inhaled the smell of his putrid breath as the coarse hair on his arms scratched her neck
.
She squirmed away from him a bit as his bulging belly pushed against her back.

“Hey! Stop, dude! Let her go!” she heard a voice in the distance
.
Shoot!
she said to herself, knowing she would have to play helpless now
.
She had traced this creep for weeks, and now some goofball would-be hero would mess it up for her
.
Dang it!
she thought
.
No one must know,
she reminded herself, for no one could know what she did when she was alone
.
Great, I won’t get any information out of this creep tonight,
she grimaced
.

She felt her attacker slack up just a little, but she couldn’t resist the urge to hurt him, as she knew he had hurt others
.
She lifted her leg high and stomped down on his foot with all her might, crackling his bones on impact
.
He instantly let up his tight hold
.
She then turned precisely enough to step out of his reach
.
He yanked her long braid, a move she didn’t anticipate, but she smiled at his obvious feeling of superiority over a girl he thought was blind and helpless. She thought to herself
, I may be blind, but I am definitely not helpless, you filthy son of a bastard
.
Letting him think he had the upper hand, she allowed him to pull her back into his grasp by her hair
.
Her back was bent back like a bow, and she sensed his jaw was unprotected just above her nose
.
Not surprising. It’s always this way, she thought
.
They all get cocky in the end
.
She braced herself to head-butt her captor in the chin, hopeful that he would bite off his hanging tongue that dripped a disgus
t
ing stream of spittle on her nose.

Then, she heard it
.
The guy that yelled out in hopes of stopping the attack had run up behind the oaf that was too dumb to realize that his gig was up
.
Just then, her self-appointed savior stepped in to save the day and snatched her target for the night away by his neck. She heard him drag the scum slightly away
.
There was a grunt and rustling, and with a
thump,
the fat, smelly attacker was dealt a kick to his head after he crashed to the pav
e
ment
.
It appears the kid has some skill,
she surmised
.
He is sloppy, of course, but skillful enough to do the deed
.
She heard the boy land one last kick for good measure, and her self-imposed hero walked over to her rescue
.
Great. Now I have to play grat
e
ful
, she said to herself.

“Thanks,” she spat out most unconvincingly
.
She couldn’t help it
.
This was her first set-up for the night, and now she had to find another way to control this rage inside her and solve the mystery of the missing kids on Mars
.
It looks like another night in the training room,
she thought.
So freaking unfulfi
l
ling.
She rolled her eyes.

“I guess you are welcome,” the boy said, “but you don’t really sound too grateful.”  He tried to take her hand just as anyone would who felt like she was a poor, blind, invalid little girl. Di
s
gusted, Shamira jerked away
.
She didn’t need his help or want him here
.
All he did was disrupt her planned attack, and the last thing she needed was for him to touch or pity her
.

“I had it handled,” she said, and then started to walk t
o
ward home
.
As she headed off, the temperature changed, and it was getting late. She could always tell
.
She tried to ignore him and hoped he would get the message. The last thing she needed was a nosey tagalong
.

“You could have fooled me,” the boy pressed
.
“He had his arm around your neck!”  He then made the fatal mistake of touc
h
ing her
.
She didn’t think but only reacted as she grabbed his hand and held it steady, yet firmly before he made more than a whisper of contact
.
When people touched her, it angered her
.
Most people touched her freely, as if they had a right to simply because her eyes appeared unseeing
.
They always assumed she needed their help, but they were all mistaken
.
She didn’t need anyone’s help
.
Shamira always fought her own battles—some of which she even created because she hungered to fight
.
There was an urge inside her, something she barely controlled
.
She simmered and tried to hold it back, but it was barely at bay.

Nevertheless, he wouldn’t stop
.
He didn’t get the me
s
sage and decided to stick around
.
He moved a distance away, but she knew exactly where he was
.
She had to breathe deeply to avoid doing something they’d both regret
.
She was getting angry again, just like she always did when someone treated her like she was helpless
.
They didn’t know about this rage inside of her, this burning, the hunger for a challenge with someone deserving of justice—something she could barely hold in
.
She stood down, calmed down, and waited, relaxing enough to drop his hand
.
She knew exactly how this was going to go
.
First, there would be his concern, then his pity, and then his hand again as he tried to help
.
I don’t have time for this today
.
I am already late,
she deliberated.

“Look, don’t touch me, okay?  I don’t like it, and you don’t have the right,” she said as she moved past him to walk home.

“Hey, I’m sorry, but it’s obvious that you need somebody to walk you home,” he said as he reached out to touch her shoulder just as she knew he would
.

That’s it! The dam inside her broke
.
I was angry before, but now I’ve had enough playing with this self-righteous imitation hero!
She slid out from under his outstretched hand, smoothly ducked, and then turned around to land a solid punch to the boy’s face
.
She didn’t stop, either, but instead punched him again and again
.
He took the battering and then said gruffly, “I won’t fight you back, you know! I don’t hit girls.”

“Err! Than leave me alone! Go away! I can take care of myself! I have yet to do what I am capable of doing to hurt you! So just leave! Leave!” she wailed
.
Dismissing him, she turned away and ran all the way home
.
She ran quickly and smelled the sweet smell of manufactured air and the quiet
hum
that was Mars.

Whoever he was, she would remember him—his voice, his smell, and her dislike for him
.
How dare he pity me?
  She would teach him to pity
.
They would meet again, and when they did, she would not hold back
.
She’d make him stay out of her way.

About the Author

LM. Preston was born and raised in
Washington
,
DC
.
An avid reader, she loved to create poetry and short-stories as a young girl
.
With a thirst for knowledge she attended college at
Bowie
State
University
, and worked in the IT field as a Techie and Educator for over sixteen years
.
She started writing science fiction under the encouragement of her husband who was a Sci-Fi buff and her four kids
.
Her first published novel, Explorer X - Alpha was the beginning of her obsessive desire to write and create stories of young people who overcome unbelievable odds
.
She loves to write while on the porch watching her kids play or when she is traveling, which is another passion that encouraged her writing.

You can find out what
Lm Preston
’s up to on her blog:
http://lmpreston.blogspot.com
and new releases http://bookpartylmpreston.blogspot.com