"Yeah! All we said was her bike looked cool. Tried to say hi. And now she's screaming and carrying on like we're rapists! You've all been working all day—who doesn't just want to get home? But no, Princess here has to make a scene! Wasting everybody's time!"
Roger piled on:
"Out here riding a motorcycle in the middle of the night—who knows what she does for a living! We didn't complain about her cruising around bothering people, and she has the nerve to turn it around on us!"
The moment they finished, car windows around us finally rolled down.
I thought help was coming.
Instead, every man who leaned out had his anger aimed straight at me.
"Hey, sweetheart, the guy talked to you. That's it. Was all this really necessary? It's the middle of the night and you're blocking the road—some of us need to get home. Move!"
"Exactly! Dressed like that on a motorcycle—you wanted people to look. Cut the innocent act. You're out here causing a scene on purpose!"
"Are you insane? I've been working all damn day and now I have to sit here watching your little drama?"
"The guy touched you once. What, you lose a piece of yourself? Move the bike! I want to go home!"
"This is what women are like now—can't take a joke. Two words and suddenly it's harassment. You really think you're that special?"
Each line landed like a sledgehammer, one after another, pounding me flat.
My blood went cold all at once—fingertips, palms, everything shaking.
I was the one who'd been assaulted. I was the victim. So how did it end up being my fault?
Ervin watched the crowd turn on me and his grin stretched wider.
He reached for my helmet again:
"See? Everybody here thinks you're out of your mind. Drop the act. Us guys paying attention to you? That's doing you a favor."
Rodney grabbed my wrist and yanked it hard toward him:
"Don't bite the hand that feeds you! Pull this shit again and we'll drag you off that bike right here—let every single person get a good long look at what kind of trash you are!"
Roger's hand went to my zipper again and pulled it down even further.
Three seconds left on the red.
I stared at the three faces in front of me and only one thought was left in my head:
Run.
The instant the light turned green, I twisted the throttle all the way. The motorcycle shot forward like an arrow.
Roger, still gripping me, stumbled and nearly fell. He chased after me, cursing:
"You bitch! Stop right there!"