Finally, my feet could move. I jumped up, turning around to run just as the man with the knife reached the end of the alley. I didn’t know where I was running to. I just had to run.

 

Why had I come here? Nothing was worth this! My life flashed before my eyes as I ran down the dark street. This was a residential area. I should have turned in the direction I’d come from. There were people there. Here there were only boarded up houses and locked doors. No one came out at night. Even if they heard a girl screaming for help. Maybe especially if they heard it.

 

What would my parents do when they found out? They’d probably blame themselves for letting me do something like this, even though they didn’t know I was coming here. It would kill them. I was sorry to put them through the pain.

 

My days of running cross country paid off, even though they were years earlier. My feet flew over the concrete. If only there was a passing car or pedestrian! But no one, no one at all. There were lights up ahead, and I knew it was a major intersection. Someone would help me there. There might even be a cop car parked at the corner. I prayed there was.

 

I heard my pursuer behind me, but he wasn’t very close. I just had to keep up my pace.

 

I still held my camera, its weight heavier the usual in my hand. What had I seen? I couldn’t take the time to think about it as I fled in terror.

 

My foot got caught up in a broken bit of pavement, and I stumbled, almost going down. I caught myself before falling and kept going, but I was slower now. He was catching up to me.

 

My hat had fallen off at some point, and I felt my ponytail swinging behind me. That ponytail was what did me in. He caught hold of it, yanking me back.

 

At first, all I felt was pain. Searing pain in my scalp. My head was jerked back and I lost balance. More pain as I fell to the ground. A crashing sound. My camera. The overriding feeling of terror.

 

It all happened at once. I was on my ass, crawling backward to escape the knife-wielding maniac who loomed over me.

 

“What’d you see?” he snarled.

 

I blinked up at him. There was a street lamp just over his head, casting his face in shadow. My hands skittered over bits of broken glass and jagged shards of concrete as I backed away from him.

 

“N-nothing,” I stuttered, my eyes darting around. Wouldn’t someone see us?

 

“Nothing? You always scream at nothing?”

 

“I had tripped,” I said. “I tripped and fell.”

 

“Try again.” He kicked at my leg—not hard, just enough to frighten me even more.

 

“I swear!”

 

“So if I look at this camera of yours, I won’t find any pictures of me on there?” He kicked the now broken camera with the toe of his boot. He wouldn’t find anything on there now.

 

“I swear you won’t,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. The camera was toast. He wouldn’t know what to do with it. I couldn’t feel worried about the camera, or upset that it broke. I’d never use it again anyway. I was about to die.

 

He came closer, about to crouch down. I flinched back, covering my face with my arm. I was too scared to scream. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to die.

 

Then I heard a grunt and a surprised cry. I opened my eyes to find a second man, one who hadn’t been anywhere near us before. He was fighting with my attacker.

 

I curled into a ball, still too scared to move. I wanted to run, to scream for help, but I couldn’t. All I could do was stare at what was happening in front of me.

 

My attacker swung at him, but the blow was easily blocked. My “savior,” or whoever he was, was a head taller and much more muscular. I saw his biceps ripple as he rained one punch after another. Now the man who’d followed me looked much weaker. Anyone could look strong when they were menacing a woman, I guessed.

 

They were both wearing leather vests, with different patches covering the back. The one the attacker wore had a picture of a wolf and said Vicious Wolves. The other had a motorcycle and said Fury Riders. Gang members. Jesus, what had I gotten myself into? Some sort of gang war?

 

I bit my lip, watching them fight, hearing my attacker’s grunts as the other man made contact with his face, his stomach. Blood poured from his mouth. He was staggering on his feet, unwilling to go down, but hardly able to stand. One eye was swollen shut. I was sure I’d throw up from either fear or disgust. It was an ugly scene.

 

Then he went down. But the other man, the Fury Rider, wasn’t finished. I crawled further away, still too shaky to stand. I didn’t want to see what would happen next, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off them. I watched in fascinated horror as the Fury Rider kicked the Vicious Wolf in the ribs. When the bloodied man rolled onto his side, curling up defensively, the Fury Rider kicked him in the back. My kidneys nearly hurt for him.

 

The man on the ground stopped moving. The man on his feet was clearly tired out, or tired of fighting someone who was no longer fighting back. He stopped kicking, towering over his foe with his fists clenched. Breathing heavily, but not hurt in the least. I couldn’t remember seeing my attacker land a single blow.

 

Conflicting emotions rushed through me in the span of a few seconds. Horror at what I’d seen. Relief at being saved—if that was what I was. And a strange sort of victorious feeling that made me want to jump to my feet and pump my fists. That son of a bitch had gotten what he deserved.

 

My eyes flickered down to him, then up again to the man who’d beaten him. I was breathless, grateful to him and afraid of him. My dark savior.

 

He looked at me, our eyes meeting for the first time. I had been an afterthought to him, I realized. He wasn’t fighting for me, so much as he was fighting an old fight. I remembered the conflicting patches. They were from opposite sides. If I was the prize, if the Fury Rider was trying to save me, he could have done that with one or two blows. The pummeling was personal.

 

His eyes were dark, but it could have been the shadow in which he stood. Still, I felt an electricity in them. It flowed from him into me. I’d been breathless already, but he nearly made my heart stop. I froze again, this time because I was taken aback by him. He had a strong presence. He would have been intimidating even if I hadn’t just watched him beat a man nearly to death.

 

We were connected through our eyes until he looked away. He then looked around, as if just remembering that we out on the street. He looked back at me.

 

“Come on.” He extended a hand down to me.

 

“What?”

 

“Come on!”

 

No way was I going with him. I had no idea who he was or what he wanted with me. He might not have saved me at all; he might have been out to hurt me, just the way the man on the ground had been.

 

“I just want to go home!”

 

He glanced at the ground, then at me. “Right now, you need to get out of here and go anywhere else. You have to come with me. Now. Before they find you.”

 

“Who?”

 

“I’ll tell you, just come now.” He was pissed now, and not taking no for an answer.

 

It was either wait here to die or go with him. I could go under my own power or let him drag me bodily. I swiped the broken camera from the ground and gave him my other hand so he could pull me to my feet.

 

I wanted to ask who he was but was too afraid to speak. I wanted to know where he was planning to take me. Wherever it was couldn’t be worse than the trash-strewn street I could have lost my life on.

 

I had to jump over the body of the man who’d nearly attacked me. He wasn’t moving. I wondered vaguely whether he was still alive—and I knew I didn’t care.

 

He had stabbed and maybe killed someone, and could easily have killed me. I wished I had the time to hit him myself, but I was being dragged away by my savior…who seemed just as dangerous as the man on the ground.