No. You’re not a quitter.

⚠️ warning ⚠️

The following scene involves violent retribution and the self-defense **** of the evil old prick. There is no sex within this chapter!

======================

This is a very long day. As evening finally comes, his earnings make him so happy he’s half drunk as you sit next to him, sucking his cock. He slowly drifts into a half-sleep.

That’s when you attack. You plan on punching him and taking him down, before tying him up and leaving with all the money he made off of you. You know just how to hit, your brother showed you the attack often enough. After all, he is an instructor for martial arts.

Except it fails. The truth of it is, your brother is the martial arts experts. After years of judo, you’ve become relatively proficient, but you never wished to learn offensive capabilities. All you ever cared about was defense… and showing off to your few friends.

The old guy intercepts your hit. He grabs your arm and hits you hard in the face. You feel your lip rupture again. He slaps you, hard, again and again, yelling and threatening you, shaking you. You feel dizzy, but the pain helps you focus. He punches you hard in the chest, between the breasts, before kicking your hard in the belly. You realize you’re not pregnant enough that he’d care, assuming he doesn’t just kill you outright in his drunken rage. You need to react. You first curl in a fœtal position, protecting your head. The hits are painful, but you realize he is not strong enough to actually break bones. You will end up covered in bruises, but you will live… if you make it out of here alive. As he relents and turns around to pick something up, you pounce. You realize he picked up a horse whip.

“- You stupid bitch need to learn to respect your betters. I am going to punish you so hard you’ll keep marks your whole life.”

You understand, well enough, that he’s in a blind rage and doesn’t actually control his actions well enough to guarantee he won’t kill you. You brace yourself for the coming attack. This is what you trained for years for. Self-defense.

O-Soto-Gari! Except the old man doesn’t end up on the ground, winded. He somehow falls onto the soft mattress he uses to fuck “his prone bone bitches”, as he mentioned during the night. He gets back up and charges back at you, even angrier.

Years of judo haven’t proved very useful, but the hunting knife hanging from the wall suddenly is.

With one swift motion, you grab the knife, swiftly unsheath it and plunge it one-handed through his unprotected throat. He tries to shake you, he hits you with the whip, he tries to wrestle control of the weapon as the gash in his neck bleeds. Your body hurts, and you feel no remorse. You are fighting for your life. His resistance flounders, and he finally dies.

You drop on the floor crying. You let your nerves calm down, and then you shower. Your body hurts still. A good search reveals somehow better clothing, an ill-fitting female leather biker suit. It’s pretty bad, but you know tou won’t get anything better. After a long shower and some medical attention to yourself, you dress, and sort out everything you need. Money is plentiful. The old ass actually made three thousand dollars with yours today, and he was sitting on double that.

You also find a Glock gun with ammunition stored in a box. You pick that up, glad for the hours spent listening to your father’s passionate explanations about weapons.

You keep the cleaned up knife and get a small hatchet. You throw all of that in a dirty backpack, emptying the **** it contains on the floor. Some food, water bottles… and a set of keys.

You realize you can’t drive. It’s irrelevant though, you need to torch this place once you’ve made sure you are ready.

As you walk around the mobile home, tense as a piano string, you notice the motorbike. Harley Davidson. You soon realize you can drive this, unless someone asks to check your driving license. It’s your best bet, really.

You end up pushing the old fart’s truck right next to the home, turning the gas on his stove on, and putting a blanket half on top of that. As you drive away on his ride, flames start coming out the windows, until several explosions ring into the growing distance. The gas canister… the truck… reserve canisters… and probably some extra for the power generator.

You never look back.