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

“Brandi,” I said quietly, keeping my eyes on him, “do you feel safe with him right now?”

“She’s fine!” Tyler barked. “Tell him, Brandi. We’re fine!” But she didn’t respond, just hugged herself, crying.

That’s when Tyler made his mistake. He reached past me, trying to grab her arm again. I caught his wrist. “I asked her a question. Let her answer.”

“Get your hands off me!” he snapped, struggling. I held firm, not hurting him, just stopping him.

“Brandi,” I asked again. “Do you want to get in that car?” She whispered two words that changed everything: “Help me.”

Tyler flew into a rage. He hit me once before I turned him and pinned him against the car. Forty-three years of riding, twenty in construction, four in the Marines—he didn’t stand a chance.

“Call the cops! He attacked me!” Tyler screamed, while people pulled out phones.

“Great idea,” I said. “Let them see the bruises on her arms. Let them hear her fear.”

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