We were waiting out the storm under an overpass about ten miles from the park. Sitting on the curb, I studied him. Not his physical looks, though they were quite an enjoyable view, but his spirit. Something about him both drew me and scared me. I couldn’t put my finger on what the “it” was and that bothered me.
His back was to me rummaging through a saddle bag on his bike, “Look. Things may get a bit dicey when this storm gets to where it’s going.”
“I didn’t get the sense it was a rogue.”
There was something in his answer, maybe the tone of voice, which made me suspicious. One heartbeat later, my suspicions were confirmed. He’d somehow detached a part of his bike that became a sword almost three feet in length. He checked it thoroughly; the ease with which he handled it told me this was a well-used and well-loved weapon. It also told me what kind of Weather Rider he was – an Enforcer.
I know, technically they’re called Monitors. But, when part of the job is to stop rogue Weather Riders by whatever means necessary, the Enforcer nickname fits better.
He must have sensed my discovery because he replaced the sword with deliberate care before turning to me.
“I told you. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to finish this job.”
“What if it’s someone I know?”
“Then you can either help me talk them down or leave before it gets bad.”
The ruthless practicality in his voice sent chills across my body. He was certainly not the kind of man I wanted to cross. Ever.