Tethered in the Dark - A Love Story

The Biker

I landed hard on my backside, mud squelching beneath me, rain plastering my hair to my face. My sandals slipped, sending sharp shivers up my legs, and I tried to scramble upright, but my soaked dress clung to me like a trap. The three men who had been following me didn’t hesitate—they closed in with grins twisted by cruelty, faces scarred, tattoos gleaming wetly in the lightning.

Panic ripped through me. I had nowhere to go. My legs barely obeyed me in the slick mud. One of the men reached for me, and I flinched, heart hammering so violently it felt like it would burst. Then a fist smashed into the first man’s jaw. He staggered, cursing, and I froze.

He was there—already. Tall, armored, helmet visor gleaming in the storm, standing between me and them. Before I could even think, he bent down, gripping my arms, and pulled me behind him. I clutched his waist, shivering violently, trying to disappear into the protection he offered.

The remaining two men hesitated, but only for a second. One swung a fist, another lunged toward me, but he moved like a shadow—fast, fluid, precise. He blocked, struck, and twisted, each movement calculated to keep me safe. Mud and rain sprayed everywhere, but I didn’t care. I was pressed tightly behind him, trembling, teeth chattering, heart thrumming in my ears.

I couldn’t even speak. Fear had stolen my voice. Every step in the slick mud was a struggle, but he kept me upright, tucked against him, completely shielding me. Lightning flashed, illuminating the attackers’ scarred faces and drunken sneers. One swung a chain wildly; he intercepted it with a solid forearm, shoving the man back into the mud.

I pressed closer instinctively. My soaked dress was shredded, clinging uncomfortably, and I was shaking so hard I thought I might collapse. He pivoted, delivering a quick series of strikes that sent one man staggering backward, another crashing into the wet ground. My breath caught in my throat; I had never been so helpless.

The storm screamed around us. Rain sliced sideways into my eyes, wind tore at my hair, and thunder rolled above. My arms wrapped tightly around his waist, holding on for dear life. I didn’t know who he was, didn’t know if I could trust him, but I clung anyway. My mind could only think one thing: stay alive.

Another lunge. Another attack. He twisted, dodged, and blocked, moving like a force of nature. One of the men swung a broken branch; he intercepted, shoving him back. My legs slipped again in the mud, but he caught me, keeping me pressed behind him. I shivered violently, body trembling from cold, terror, and adrenaline all at once.

I barely noticed the flashes of lightning now, only the pounding of my heart and the chaotic movements around us. My head spun, and I felt utterly powerless, completely dependent on him. Every instinct screamed to stay pressed against him, to trust him enough to survive.

The remaining men staggered, some slipping in the mud, some swiping wildly, frustrated by his skill. I could feel their rage, their greed, their cruelty, and I shrank closer, clinging desperately. My teeth chattered, arms wrapped so tightly I thought I might leave bruises on myself.

One of the men lunged with a jagged pipe, swinging toward me. I froze, terror ripping through me. He reacted instantly, shoving the man aside and pressing me even closer. I gasped, shivering violently, rain pouring down my face. My heart felt like it was about to explode in my chest.

The fight continued, chaotic and relentless. He moved with lethal precision, striking, blocking, and keeping me hidden behind him. Every move was deliberate, keeping the men at bay. I clung tighter, shivering, soaked, and terrified, unable to do anything but trust him.

Lightning split the sky again, illuminating the muddy chaos: the scarred, tattooed faces of the men; his unwavering, armored stance; and me, trapped, shivering, utterly helpless.

Another man lunged directly at me. I froze, panic gripping every fiber of my body. He raised a fist, ready, and in that moment the world seemed to hold its breath. My soaked body pressed against him, rain blurring everything around us, the men closing in, every sound amplified by the storm—the splashing mud, the crashing rain, the grunts of the attackers.

And then, in a heartbeat, everything froze mid-chaos. My hands clung to his waist, my legs trembling violently, the storm roaring overhead. I could only think one thing: survive. Somehow, stay alive.

And yet, I had no idea who he was, or what would happen next.

I pressed myself tighter against him as he swung at the third man, mud flying in every direction. The rain pelted us both, and my soaked hair clung to my cheeks, stinging in the wind. My chest heaved from fear and adrenaline.

Then I saw it—a glint in the rain. One of the men, scarred face twisted in fury, was pulling a knife from his belt, advancing toward him. My stomach lurched. I couldn’t just stand here. I had to do something.

I glanced around desperately and noticed a cluster of river stones at the foot of a gnarled tree. Wet and smooth, but solid. I bent quickly, shoving a few into my small hands.

“Wait—what are you doing?” he barked without turning, blocking a swing with a forearm, the knife flashing dangerously close to his side.

“I—I can help!” I yelled, throwing a stone at one of the men lunging toward him. The rock pinged off a shoulder, and he cursed.

He grabbed my wrist mid-motion, his grip firm but not painful. “Are you serious? Go and hide—or stay behind me.”

“I want to help!” I said, teeth chattering, holding more stones in my soaked hands.

He swerved his body to deflect another strike and shot me a glance, visor gleaming. “Okay, help—by staying behind me.”

I fumbled the stones but held them tight. “But they have weapons! What if something happens to you?”

He laughed—brief, dry, without humor—as he ducked under a swing, twisting his attacker off balance. “Thank you for your concern,” he said, “but I’ll be okay. Let me focus on fighting.”

I swallowed, adrenaline mixing with fear. I stayed pressed against his back as he moved fluidly, parrying a knife thrust with one arm and grabbing the man’s shoulder to slam him into the mud. Rain slicked over both of us, water and mud coating our clothes, but I could see the raw strength in his movements, the precision in every strike.

Another man swung at him with a heavy stick. He twisted, letting the stick sail past, then grabbed the man’s wrist and shoved him into the trunk of a tree. My stomach twisted with each blow. I couldn’t just sit there. I picked up a few more stones, throwing them with as much force as I could muster, aiming at the men who weren’t engaging him directly. One hit a shoulder, another bounced off a shin, and I felt a flicker of satisfaction as they staggered back.

“Careful!” he shouted, diving to deflect the knife again. “You’re not aiming well in this rain—stay tight behind me!”

“I’m trying!” I yelled, gripping the last stones, watching him fend off the attackers, sweat—or maybe rain—mixing with the mud streaking his arms. My hands were numb, shaking violently, but I couldn’t stop.

“Good! Just keep low, behind me. That’s helping.” He twisted to land a heavy punch on one man’s jaw, sending him sprawling. The others hesitated for the briefest second, enough for me to duck behind him and toss another stone, hitting a shoulder.

He shot me a glance over his shoulder, visor glinting in the lightning. “You see? You’re helping without getting yourself killed!”

I nodded frantically, heart hammering, and grabbed another handful of stones. I could feel him moving constantly, shielding me, every step calculated to keep me behind him while fending off the attackers. My fear mingled with a strange surge of hope—I wasn’t completely helpless. Not while he was here.

Then, I saw it again—the knife glinting under the lightning. One of the men had circled, aiming straight for him. My hand shot out instinctively, throwing the stones I had left, hoping they would distract him, and maybe, just maybe, keep him safe.

He grunted, twisting his torso, striking another man away, and muttered, “I mean it—behind me!” But there was a note of something softer under the roughness, an acknowledgment that I was trying. I swallowed, shivering violently, and stayed pressed tight, feeling the mud and rain soak through my clothes as he continued the brutal, relentless fight.

The storm raged around us, wind whipping, rain blinding, thunder cracking somewhere in the distance. I couldn’t see his face, but every movement, every strike, told me he would not let anything happen to me. I pressed closer, gripping stones tightly, throwing when I could, but mostly trusting him to keep us alive.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the clearing, and I caught a glimpse of the knife arcing toward him again. My chest froze, hands gripping his waist like my life depended on it—which it did. Rain pounded down, mud splattered, and the three men were advancing relentlessly, their snarls cutting through the storm. He spun to block the strike, and I felt the force of it shudder through his body, my heart lurching. There was no time to think, no room to breathe—only the deafening roar of the storm and the terrifying certainty that if he faltered, even for a second, we were both finished.