Mad Max Villains

Mad Max Villains

You see! There is no escape! The Humungus Rules the Wasteland!

Chapter Six

Hell Bent for Leather

(Words & Music by: Tipton)

Seek him here, seek him on the highway
Never knowing when he'll appear
All await, engine's ticking over
Hear the roar as they sense the fear

Wheels! A glint of steel and a flash of light!
Screams! From a streak of fire as he strikes!

Hell bent, hell bent for leather
Hell bent, hell bent for leather

Black as night, faster than a shadow
Crimson flare from a raging sun
An exhibition, sheer precision
Yet no one knows from where he comes

Fools! Self destruct cannot take that crown
Dreams! Crash one by one to the ground

Hell bent, hell bent for leather
Hell bent, hell bent for leather

There's many who tried to prove that they're faster
But they didn't last and they died as they tried
~~~

They both vacated the truck, swaggering up the sidewalk, eyeing the line of motorcycles parked. Wez cocked his brow when he gazed at the powerful Kawasaki Z-1 900. He wanted that bike and he'd take it. Fuck whoever owned the big bike. He pushed on the door to the bar and strutted inside, big chest puffed out, looking meaner and stronger thanks to the metal chest plate and shoulder padding. Rebel followed behind him.

The music came to a halt. The stripper stopped dancing on the stage. All conversations ceased. Now the twenty bikers turned and looked, gazing at the two street punks entering the bar.

Wez stepped up to the bar.

Rebel sidled up beside him. "My comrade looking for someone," he grunted to the bartender.

Just then Wez reached into his pocket and slapped the clipping on the wood counter.

"You see this blond bitch?" Rebel asked.

"I don't see nothing," the bartender muttered as he continued to wipe down the counter. "I just serve drinks, nothing more."

"Get the hell back to the city," came the snarling voice. "You two punks don't belong out here. This is no-man's land. Ain't fit for soft city slickers."

The bar filled with laughter, everyone chuckling from the comment. The women's giggles also joined in.

Wez deftly whipped around, searching through the crowd where he picked up the sound from, how far that voice would be. He placed one boot in front of the other as he bore down on the scraggly looking biker who thought to shoot his mouth off.

He removed the knife from his leather scabbard and before the biker could blink, he ran the blade along the man's throat.

Everyone gasped as they watched No Teeth struggle and fight for his life.

"Anyone else?" Rebel hollered.

Wez held up the knife, glaring at the bikers, his heart pounding as his eyes widened, so satisfied from the kill. He sure hoped another contender would step up to the plate.

Fingers stood then. He had enough of these city slickers. Losing Big John two nights ago to that blond bitch still had him in a fit of rage. Now he was forced to lead his cronies, taking the spot their dead leader left behind.

"Get back in that piece of junk you rode in on and beat it back to the city," Fingers snarled. He withdrew his gun, cocking the trigger.

Bang! The body dropped.

Everyone in the bar gasped when they realized Rebel already had his gun out and he shot Fingers straight through the heart.

"You're dead," Nine Toes hollered. He threw the table over, firing his gun non-stop at the two Mohawkers.

The women began shrieking, heading for the bar to take cover since a battle was breaking out.

Wez threw the other table over, quietly biding his time, letting that idiot use up the precious ammunition, waiting for when the bugger had to reload. Rebel was behind the other table, also waiting for the reload.

Sure enough, when the reload began, they both charged out from behind their tables, taking careful aim, kicking the other tables out of the way. They began firing their hand guns while pulling the triggers to the rifles.

Glory Rider leapt behind a booth, trying to reload his gun. Shit, who the hell were these two maniacs? Damn, he never saw anyone possess this kind of attack ability. Only eighteen, and a boy from a wasteland farm, he was still trying to get used to this way of life. Now he wondered if he'd live to see his nineteenth birthday. He noticed the other youngsters followed his lead, chests pumping in and out, adrenaline riding at full throttle, trying to reload their guns as death fired upon them.

He glanced back over the booth, realizing the ten elders of their outfit were dead. The firing ceased. Just that big burgundy haired Mohawker remained, along with his blue-haired comrade.

"Mighty Wez spare your life," Rebel snarled. "In the center. Throw the guns in the center. Now!"

Glory Rider did as ordered, tossing his gun across the floor. The other ten youngsters followed his lead.

Wez gave his malicious grin. All young, maybe between the ages of eighteen and twenty were left alive. He liked that. Easily, him and Rebel could teach the survivors how to fight and handle those guns they possessed.

"Get up," Rebel growled, still aiming his two guns on them.

Slowly, the eleven young men began rising, all hesitating, wondering if they'd meet their deaths like the elders bikers just did.

"Form a line," Rebel shouted.

Glory Rider motioned with his eyes since the ten youngsters all looked to him for guidance. He stepped forward, hands on his head. The other ten followed, also placing their hands on their heads.

"We are the Mohawkers," Rebel hollered. "Led by the Mighty Wez. You wanna remain alive, you follow my orders from now on!"

Glory Rider nodded his head, so the other ten youngsters followed his lead. He looked to the Mighty Wez who seemed to have already lost interest in the battle, those black, beady eyes now focused on the bitches crying and cowering behind the bar. He realized how it worked. The big man didn't like to speak. All his orders were relayed through the blue-haired comrade. And why did this bother him that the Mighty Wez didn't speak? Man, the burgundy haired warrior didn't seem to possess a speck of humanity. That big guy was just like an animal, sniffing their fear, giving growls like a dog.

"Bitches, to the center of the room," Rebel barked.

Wez strode to the bar, picking up the news clipping as he tucked the paper back into his pocket. He then headed outside to the big Kawasaki, giving a grunt as he seated himself behind the handle bars. Fuck any need for keys. He'd fix this engine to start on his command. He fiddled with the wiring and the engine roared to life.

Just then Rebel stepped outside, taking Nine Toes' bike. He gave Wez a slap on the back, grinning as he fired up the bike.

Glory Rider followed them. "What do you want me to do with the bitches?"

"Keep whatever one you want," Rebel grunted. "And get rid of those bodies inside. We stay here for the night and then leave in the morning."

Glory Rider nodded his head and made his way back inside. They could hear him barking orders to the ten youngsters, telling the young men to dispose of the bodies. Then he headed back outside. "Orders are being followed. Maybe I can help you with information. Who are you looking for?"

Rebel reached out when Wez handed him the news clipping. "You see this blond bitch?"

Glory Rider snatched the piece of paper and eyed the article. He cocked his brow as he read over the press release. "He was here. Yup, was he ever here."

"When?" Wez growled as he whipped around in his seat, his eyes narrowed, filled with rage.

Glory Rider was taken aback when the animalistic warrior decided to speak. And the menacing, growling voice made him shudder. "Two nights ago," he managed to sputter, lighting a cigarette so he'd get his anxiety under control. He didn't like having Wez's undivided attention. He'd prefer to deal with the blue-haired Mohawker.

"Showed up in the bar alone. Our leader, Big John, he talked up the blond bitch. The last I saw of them, he was heading upstairs with this guy following him," he said, pointing at the article. "Neither of 'em came back down. When Fingers went to check on Big John the next morning, he found him, dead. Whipped to pieces. I mean nothing left of his back. The blond bitch took all the money and the .38 Special our leader always carried. The bitch split. Even stole Big John's bike. No idea where the kid was heading. He just seemed to disappear."

Wez's eyes widened when he realized he was sitting on the second-in-command's bike who was promoted to leader since the blond bitch murdered the real leader. The bitch had the bike he should be riding. Oh God, the rage coiled through every inch of his body. Again, that minx was one step ahead of him.

"Show me," Wez growled.

Glory Rider nodded his head, motioning for the burgundy-haired warrior to follow him.

Rebel also got off his bike.

They headed inside, following Glory Rider up the flight of stairs. The biker turned the handle to the knob and threw open the door.

"This is Big John's former room," he said. "Fingers found him laying right here," he added, pointing to the spot on the floor just before the bed.

Wez inhaled deeply while eyeing the stained blood in the wood floor, all cleaned with a good disinfectant. He then glanced across the room, exactly six feet where he knew the minx had stood, drawing out that whip, sending the coil through the air and lashing the big biker to death. The bed was stripped of the sheets and covering.

"Where is it?" he growled, pointing at the bare mattress.

"Think the bitches threw it out with the garbage," Glory Rider replied. "It was a mess. No doubt cleaned his whips on 'em since nothing but blood covered 'em."

"Send them through the trash," Rebel grunted. "Tell them we want those sheets or they're dead."

Glory Rider nodded his head as he hurried downstairs.

Wez strode to the open window. He placed his boot on the edge, glancing down at the alley. With a grunt, he eased himself outside, snaking down the ledge in the manner he knew the minx did. Then he dropped to the ground, seated on his haunches, carefully eyeing the dirt. So many footsteps. Yet, he deftly eyed each one. Then he gave a malicious grin when he picked up the boot mark he was looking for. Such a delicate heel, leaving a light impression in the sand. Yeah, movements like a cat, so graceful.

He followed the heel marks and then realized where the minx had stopped. The bike had been parked here. He noted how those heel marks now dug deeply into the sand and the tires of the motorcycle joined the trail. The minx had pushed the bike, making a quiet escape. He followed the trail that broke once he reached the paved street.

He gave a growl, turning and heading back to the bar. "We go," he roared. "We go now!"

"Let's go," Rebel hollered to the bikers as he headed for the entrance. "We leave now!"

Everyone began piling outside, heading for their bikes.

Glory Rider yanked on the blond stripper's arm. Well, Rebel did say they could each take a bitch.

*****

Yeah, just like an animal. He even tracked like an animal. Never before did Glory Rider see someone so intense and precise. Once they rode out of town, the Mighty Wez in the lead, they had set their speed the big guy drove. And those beady eyes had darted back and forth, carefully watching the slick pavement. Each split in the highway they encountered, Wez would slow the bike, looking for any marks in the dirt roads.

Still, they rode on, snaking along the white line drawn down the center of the highway. Was the Mighty Wez following the blond bitch? What the hell happened? Was the minx the leader's bitch? Did the fair-haired beauty escape the clutches of this maniac? Well, he couldn't blame that minx for escaping. If he had to bend over and have Wez savagely use his ass, he'd be looking for a way out too.

Actually, he was impressed with both of them. That minx had whipped Big John to death and stole the fucker's bike. He recalled the press clipping, stating Iason Manning was a serial killer, armed and dangerous, having murdered at least six men already, whipped to death. And that was after the blond beauty busted out of a juvenile correction facility, killing a guard in cold blood. Now Big John met the same fate. Geez, guess it took a sadistic minx to slide between the sheets with an insane animal.

Yet, he still couldn't believe this Iason Manning had taken down Big John. He had a good look at the blond minx, and that slim beauty couldn't have weighed more than one-hundred-and-twenty pounds. If not for those three inch heels on the leather boots, bringing the minx up to six-feet, he realized how sleight and delicate the bitch truly was. Five-nine and so sinewy, yet capable of killing men twice his size.

And when he had watched the blond beauty strut into the bar that night, no fear had been present in Iason's slanted, evergreen eyes. He had every woman's attention, all the females mesmerized by the minx's sensually alluring beauty. But good ole Big John shooed them off since it was well known the lead biker liked his men, besides women. And he had a good hunch that minx was a male hooker, saw it in those evergreen eyes.

Now he turned his attention back to the road. He was thankful he was used to being in the saddle this long. They'd been driving non-stop, and shit, they didn't even have a piss break yet. The bitch squirmed and he gave her a nudge. "You piss on my bike, woman, and you're dead," he warned her. Now he wanted to chuckle. He'd yet to kill anyone. However, accompanying the Mighty Wez and the burly Rebel, their intense sinistery seemed to rub off on him. Because he wanted to rape and kill this bitch.

Just then Rebel motioned Wez and Glory Rider breathed a sigh of relief. Damn, he was thankful the second-in-command was always thinking. Good ole Wez just operated on instinct it seemed, driven by whatever goaded him, but Rebel always seemed to be assessing the situation. These two made a perfect team. He could see why Wez chose the blue Mohawker as his most trusted hand.

Wez nodded his head in agreement so Rebel raised his arm in the air, motioning for everyone to slow. Glory Rider downshifted, working the clutch and steered his Kawasaki down the gravel road. Finally, after about another three kilometers, Wez and Rebel eased their bikes off the road.

As soon as Glory Rider came to a stop, the bitch was off and running, needing to piss. He lifted his leg over the seat, taking down his zipper and began relieving himself.

Just then Rebel strode over. "Tell the bitches to set up the camp. Fires can be lit since we deep enough away from any towns."

Glory Rider nodded his head. He felt sorta flattered that the orders Wez gave to Rebel, the blue-haired Mohawker thought to relay to him. "Set up the camp," he hollered looking at the five women who accompanied them.

"Come," Rebel growled. "We talk."

Glory Rider nodded and followed him.

The Mighty Wez sat on a blanket, legs crossed at the ankles, and arms folded. The dark eyes just intently stared at nothing.

"You all Mohawkers," Rebel began, motioning for everyone to sit. "Mighty Wez is your leader. All his commands, he give to me and I will tell you. Understood?"

The boys gathered around, all nodding their heads as they began taking seats.

"You not speak to your leader unless he ask you," Rebel continued on. "Any speak you must do, you tell Glory Rider. Got it?"

Again they all nodded their heads.

"Training will begin," Rebel barked. "First thing in the morning. Will teach you how to fight, how to use your guns, how to track and how to kill. You fail, you die!" He never bothered waiting, but kept speaking. "Drugs, booze not allowed. You use, you're dead! You wanna party, find a bitch to fuck!"

Now the ten bikers began shifting uncomfortably since they were used to drinking and drugging.

"It make you weak," Rebel growled. "Weak. And weakness not allowed.

"Any questions, anything you need to do, must be okayed by Glory Rider and he report to me. Got it?"

Again, all the young men nodded their heads.

"Keep your bitches in line. If the bitch not obey, you kill her," Rebel coldly said. "Kill her and get rid of the body. And if we want to use your bitches, we will. But you never touch our bitches unless we give okay to Glory Rider. Got it?"

Grunts, nods and murmurs of yes filled the air.

"That's it," Rebel said. "Any of rules broken, you die. And will not be a quick death.

"Away now. See to the bikes. Make sure bikes are always taken care of before you do anything."

So everyone began rising to oversee their motorcycles.

Wez didn't spare the two girls a glance when they began readying the kindling next to him to begin a fire. Bah, it had been way too long since he last felt a bitch under him. As much as he hated women, the girl would have to do. His ache was just too great. And now he'd make sure the minx would really feel his vengeance since he was being forced to fuck a woman, something he'd swore to never do. Well, he'd fuck her ass. "Bitch, get your clothes off," he grunted.

The girl shuddered. Quickly, she looked away. Oh God, she didn't want the sadistic leader to fuck her. She could only imagine how this animal engaged in sex. But she obeyed, removing her skirt and blouse. Then she wiggled out of her panty.

"On your hands and knees," he growled.

Nervously, she crept on all fours, biting her lower lip as the fear ran down her spine. From the corner of her eye, she noted her man didn't spare them a glance. Leather Face just continued to busy himself with the other bikers. Yet, the one who watched was the wicked looking blue-haired Mohawker. A sinister grin was planted on his face as he snatched the can of food from the stripper named Gloria.

The girl tried to stifle the yelp when she felt the savage Mohawker roughly enter her rear end. The pain was immense. He began quickly thrusting his hips, making no sound as he slammed his manhood deep into her. No longer could she stop the sobs. Her insides felt on fire and she wondered if she'd pass out since the pain was so immense.

Wez grunted, finishing and he withdrew his thick, long penis from her bleeding bottom. "She's all yours," he grunted.

Rebel tossed the can aside and removed his groin strap. He kicked the sobbing bitch over and then nudged her blood-stained thighs apart. Easily, he thrust his erect manhood into the girl's sheath, aching and needing to finally taste some pussy with his cock. He bit at her nipples roughly, causing the tips to bleed. The girl bit down on her lip, glancing away as the tears seeped from the corner of her eyes. He gave a growl, chuckling as he backhanded the bitch across the face.

Not a sound came from her lips. She knew better not to scream.

"All you bitches," Rebel hollered. "Line up. I fuck each one of you."

Wez stalked away, hands on his hips as he glared back out to the highway, not at all surprised Rebel was having a good ole time humping the women. All along he figured his comrade wanted to taste some pussy. The blue-haired Mohawker liked boys and women.

He gave a grunt, folding his powerful arms. So close. He knew he was close. So far no hint of tracks veering off down the secondary roads were present. Which meant the blond bitch was still traveling down the highway with a forty-eight hour lead on him. But Iason was lazy. He'd want sleep. And the tart didn't have a clue he broke out of prison. Hah, the cunning minx probably thought he'd rot in that hellhole.

Dead. He still couldn't believe the minx had murdered the big biker and blew out of town on that big Kawasaki. How the hell was the skinny bitch even managing to hold up such a powerful motorcycle? As much as he wanted to wrap his hands around the blond bitch's slim throat, he also had to cock his brow, impressed with how the tiny, delicate creature was covering that nice ass out in the wasteland. The bitch could always surprise him. The kitten was fending off all predators with just a whip, sensual wiles and brains. Yeah, he was impressed, and he sure didn't fucking impress easily. Nobody he met so far impressed him the way the minx could.

And now he was pissed again. The one person whom he could probably respect, maybe even admire, the little bitch was the one who had the gall to turn on him, shoving that knife straight into his back. Yet, in the same breath, he had to grin. The blond hussy was the only person who ever stood up to him. He couldn't believe out of all the big, rough men he encountered, the strong males who feared him, it was a kitten with feisty, cute claws who dared to stand up to him and even defy him.

Sooner or later he'd catch that kitten and oh, how he was looking forward to declawing that hellcat.

Next Page - Chapter Seven

Note: "Mad Max" is a trademark and copyright of Kennedy-Miller Entertainment/Warner Bros. George Miller, Byron Kennedy and Terry Hayes (Kennedy Miller Entertainment/ Warner Bros.) hold copyright to the Mad Max Trilogy.
This story is created for fan fiction purposes only. Some dialogue was taken from the script to keep this tale true to the original movie.

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