Then for a moment, I looked over his shoulder and noticed a few passersby caught us making a scene and stopped to spectate. Some of them panicked and hurried away, some already had their smartphones set on camera, recording the moment. Assholes!

"Hey, python." I confronted Nick. "If you don't want this to go viral, be a sweetheart and don't pull that trigger, will ya?"

Immediately, Nick's triumphant face drained, flabbergasted by my words. He understood completely that behind them a crowd of onlookers were watching us. His frustration turned to anger shown when the gun he held quivered in his hand but his face exhibited impassiveness. Then the shuddering stopped.

Nick ordered his chaperone to pull up his scarf for a cover up and to release me. He did as told and split. For a brief moment, I felt the strain around my neck and my shoulders were lifted off as I was freed from his grip. I dropped all four onto the tarmac, sucked in cold fresh air and coughed heavily. I could see my breath vaporized into vague smoke of clouds as I respire.

I strained my neck to look up at Nick's downcast gaze drilling into me with warning eyes as if to say 'Congratulations, you're in my satnav.' He pulled his houndstooth printed neck warmer up to the bridge of his nose and pulled up the hood of his white Real Madrid jacket to cover his head before turning to leave the scene.

The vision was all blurry from the bruises on my head and body that I wasn't able to make up the cause of the panic cry from the crowd that was watching. My take was Nick or his guy must have scared the crowds by waving the gun at them.

I limped my way out from the scene but some concerned onlookers rushed towards me to help.

"Oh my god! Are you alright?!" one of them shrill at me in anxiety. "What the hell happened?! I literally almost died in there! My heart literally just explodes!"

That was all I could remember before I was taken to MRI where I was greeted by the same A&E nurse. And my bike was broken.