Biker Pumped Gas Into Crying Girl’s Car And She Begged To Stop As Her Boyfriend Will KiII Her

She looked about nineteen or twenty. Blonde hair tied back in a messy ponytail. Mascara streaking down her cheeks. She stood next to a battered Honda with an empty tank, counting coins in trembling hands. Only about three dollars in quarters and dimes.

I’d already swiped my card at her pump before walking over. “It’s already running, sweetie. Can’t stop it now.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, almost shaking. “My boyfriend… he doesn’t like anyone helping me. Says it makes him look weak. He’s inside getting cigarettes, and if he sees you—”

“How much does he usually let you put in?” I asked, watching the numbers tick up.

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