I returned to Antwerp bar an hour later to find the table which once was filled with those dimwits were occupied by another group of patrons. I scanned through the entire facility inside out and behind the bar, they were not in sight.

"You're alright there, love?" a voice from distance called out to me. I spun around and spotted an old bloke in his early 40s sat by the corner of the counter.

"I was looking for a group of fellas sitting there before. Have you seen them?" I gestured at the table.

"Those worthless bunch of wankers? Heard what they said to you back there," he muttered. "They left half an hour ago."

'Damn it!' I cursed inside. I thanked the guy politely and walked out of the bar. I pulled out my phone from my jeans pocket and dialed up for Abs. 10 rings with no answer which sent my call straight to voicemail. I cursed again.

I placed my helmet on my head and strapped it securely. I approached my bike that I left by the pavement and hopped in, pedaling away while I swerved its handle left to right to find the right balance as it moved forward. I cycled around town with no specific direction from Princess Road down towards Moss Lane and heading up to Lloyd Street North.

Mixed emotions running through my nerves. I know they have the tendency for bar hopping but most of the times were so random that I wasn't sure where to start. My frustration grew upon Abs for not updating me on their whereabouts. For a moment, I secretly regret turning down Milla's offer to have a drink with the Scout Leaders, just to chase on something futile.

I gave up my search and decided to retreat to my flat. Picturing myself sipping a cup of tea infused with lemons while finishing off Justice League film on my laptop could nurse away the weariness for this evening.

I was passing Curry Mile when I noticed a blue Mercedes Benz-McLaren SLR drove slowly behind me without taking over. My first instinct was that I was being followed but Curry Mile is known for being congested 8.00 pm onwards, nobody could drive more than 40mph at this hour. I mustn't be paranoid at this juncture.

But as I entered Moss Lane and passed Ropemaker Court, the vehicle followed behind. My anxiety rose in fear. I steered my bike towards the junction of Heald Grove to test my initial instinct, because any non-brainer who notice the 'No-Entry' sign facing Moss Lane would understand that this is a one-way lane, allowing only for cars coming from Great Western Street at the other end to pass through Heald Grove and to enter Moss Lane. But the SLR turned left into Heald Grove as predicted.

"Shit!" I spat, pedaled harder towards the intersection of Great Western Street. But to my alarm, a black G Wagon approached from the intersection, coming in faster towards my direction. "Fuck!" I exclaimed and veered the bike back towards the SLR promptly.

I pedaled harder, faster towards the pavement on my left in an attempt to pass through SLR but I underestimated what the driver would do next. The SLR slowed down and as I approached near, the door of the driver side swung open and banged me hard. I was tossed backwards, slammed onto the pavement while my bike moved forward aimlessly before toppled to the side. I looked up to see Nick coming out from the SLR.

I quickly sensed that the G-Wagon behind me was with him, driving in closer to the pavement. Without hesitation, I forced myself up and sprinted on top of his SLR, ran over the roof of the vehicle, ignoring him shouting something about wanting to have a small talk. I unbuckled my helmet see my way clearly and chucked at him before he dodged away.

I headed back towards the Moss Lane junction. My options were to run all the way across the street towards Whitworth Park, or to turn right towards Ropemaker Court and back into Curry Mile, or to trespass into a car wash service located by the junction on my left already closed for the day. I chose the car wash service out of convenience and proximity.

Panting hard, I clambered onto its 4ft lime green walled barrier, mounted onto the 7ft retractable zinc partition behind the barrier and jumped towards the roof of its wash and rinse station while Nick and his guy followed behind with an intense speed. The station was generally just a roof and pillars with no walls. I crawled faster to the other end of the roof as my lungs heated up. I did parkour I never knew I could.

A couple of shots were fired aimlessly towards me to curb me from running. I flinched by its ear splitting sound so my landing from the roof wasn't smooth, I fell flat to the ground. I heard the sound of crack on my ribs and my knees from the impact. The pain was so indescribably agonising that I was unable to withstand it for a moment. But I mustered a push and headed towards the drying station. But my vision doubled and became unclear while cool air prickled my scorching lungs as I breathed, causing me to stumble. My pace slowed down from the pain pulsating my internal organs.

Nick was up on the roof while his guy detoured around the unenclosed facility for an easy entrance. Just as I was halfway across the facility, another shot coming from behind, aiming at the hanging 4 x 6 ft metallic fascia signs "Big Shine" attached to the awning of the drying station roof ahead 0f me. The sign swayed vigorously back and forth and I was unable to pull a break to my speed, its bottom edge swung and smacked my forehead. Loss of balance, oxygen deprived and my body throbbing pain, I tumbled to ground in defeat.

"Aye yo, asshole!" was all I could hear from the distance. The rest were all mumbling words to me. As I was slowly pushing myself back up, a few kicks landed on my torso.

Thump, thump, thump!

I recoiled, my body curled like a spooning cat, guarding my abs with both my hands as they continued pounding the toe of their shoes against any parts of my body a couple more times. The pain in my body grew intense from the new strikes to my body. I was then forcefully grasped by the collar by Nick's chaperone (not chubby Jason Statham this time) as he suspended me into the air and pinned me to the dry station wall.

"Where is your fuckin' friend now?" Nick snickered, studying my half-battered face. I was unable to utter a word, choking blood, gasping for air. "Look at you, helpless little prick. Still wanna go against me, Zahida Jafri?"

My lids perked up when he slowly mentioned my full name. How the hell? Oh, of course. A gangster like him would have access to my profile from the faculty, prospecting before hitting a mark on me.

"You wanna talk about play fair but you ain't fair either," he continued. "You came here on student visa but working illegally long hours at Curry Mile."

"Well I'm smart, I guess," I grunted.

He scoffed, raising a glock and aiming the muzzle to my face. "I'd like to see your smart ass getting away from this."

To be honest, I was freaking out when I saw a real firearm for the first time, especially when it was aiming at my face, I felt sick to the stomach. Beats of panic sweat discharged the pore of my temple as I fidgeted and squirmed from left to right until my feet finally touched the ground. But the grasps were tighter by every turn. His trusty sidekick grabbed the back of my neck to stop me from moving while Nick began to enjoy my frantic reaction.