Smut & Filth. Chapter fifteen.

"Stand And Deliver".

The illuminated display on the front of the bus had read “Aeroport”, even she could translate that. Now she sat and watched, stony faced, as the French countryside scrolled by outside.

Half a dozen other passengers were on the bus, all sitting together close to the front and chatting between themselves. She’d chosen a seat further back, as far from anyone else as she could get. She wasn’t currently a fan of social interaction.

Or people.

Or dirty, lying bastards.

The sound of a motorcycle pricked her ears and she saw the helmets of a rider and pillion sweep past the windows on the far side of the bus.

Turning her attention back to the scenery, she allowed her head to settle against the glass and heard the urgent parping of a horn up ahead.

Toward the front of the bus the passengers seated there were craning their necks to better see something ahead. The driver was shouting and gesticulating wildly at someone or something through the door. She rose to her feet, her interest piqued.

The passenger on the motorcycle was waving his arms at the driver, urging him to pull over, but the driver was having none of it.

The pitch of the motorcycle’s engine increased as it accelerated, pulling in front of the bus. Suddenly, she felt herself falling forward over the back of the seat in front of her as the driver of the bus slammed on the brakes, an action necessitated by the rapidly decelerating motorcycle in front of him.

Dazed and confused, she righted herself. The doors at the front of the bus opened and a man wearing a motorcycle helmet climbed aboard, exchanging frantic words with the driver.

What on Earth was going on, she wondered. Some kind of modern-day highwayman? Was the perfect fucking weekend about to be rounded off by being robbed of her jewelry?

Absolutely fucking typical.

Turning his attention from the driver the highwayman began to make his way up the aisle as his accomplice climbed aboard. They walked past the other passengers and approached her. Plainly, she imagined, they’d spotted her fair skin and realised she was a foreigner, a tourist, and that therefore she probably had more money.

The accomplice was first to remove his helmet. Tall, dark haired, a nose that was large but handsome and the dark skin of a local. He smiled at her. Then the first of the highwaymen to have boarded the bus, the one that had been riding pillion, likewise revealed his face.

Him.

The dirty, lying bastard.

“Now, before you go all fucking psycho on me, let me introduce you to my very good friend,” He said, his hands extended defensively before him and a stupid fucking grin on his face, “This is Michelle.”

“Bonjour,” smiled the highwayman, “Enchantee.”

Continue to next chapter.