Nick and his guy detoured around the unenclosed facility for an easy entrance. Just as I was running halfway across, another shot came from behind, aiming at the hanging 4 x 6ft 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.

I tried to get myself back up but 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 their foot against any parts of my body a couple more times. The pain from the kicking was intense and I coughed up blood a little.

I was forcefully grabbed 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.

"Look at you, helpless little prick. Still wanna go against me, Zahida Jafri?" Nick snickered, studying my half-battered face.

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.

"Well I'm indomitable, I guess," I quipped.

He scoffed, raising a glock and aimed its muzzle to my face. "I'd like to see your indomitable 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 held at my face. I felt sick to the stomach, beats of panic sweat discharged from the pore of my temple as I fidgeted and squirmed from left to right to feel the ground beneath me. But his trusty sidekick grabbed the back of my neck to stop me from moving while Nick enjoyed seeing my defeat.

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 tell, and split. For a brief moment, I felt the tension around my neck and my shoulders was loosened up from the 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 their guns 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 anxiously. "What the hell happened?! I literally almost died in there! My heart literally just explodes!"

That was all I could remember from my half-conscious memory before I was taken to MRI moments later by a kind Samaritan. And I got to know that my bike was broken.