Dewey
“Say you’re sorry and we’ll let you go,” said Bottle above him.
Is he a fucking idiot? Can’t he see I’ve been gagged? Dewey let out a muffled yell of indignation. How on earth could he apologize with a gag in his mouth and tape all over it. These biker bozos really were fuckin’ dumb.
When were they going to untie him? This was all a bunch of bullshit. Karen would tell them to let him go in a minute, surely. Why were they trying to scare him like this? They were all bastards.
Dewey halted his failing attempts at yelling. An idea had begun to form in his mind, and it was a good one, he could feel it. He had a plan. A new plan, a better plan, a plan that would make these fuckers wish they had been burned alive or sent to jail. Shit, they’d regret the day they ever dared try to fuck around with Dewey Roland Finkelstein.
As the engine roars started he didn’t notice. His mind was working furiously. Just as soon as they let him go he’d start to put his plan into action.
As the motorcycles peeled away they couldn’t see the secret grin on Dewey’s face. These fuckers aren’t going to know wh—