Page 35 of Nexus
Stopping for fast-food on my way home, I scoffed it down during the drive, then tossed my trash in the dumpster in the parking lot of my apartment building. Most of the inhabitants had night jobs, so they were heading out to work. Exchanging polite nods with my neighbors, I carried my hamper to the elevator and rode it up to my floor. I smelled like hamburger and fries, so I took a quick shower, just in case I ran into any hungry shifters. Strong smells of meat could trigger them to change, especially this close to the full moon, which was only a few nights away.
My job was unpredictable and I never knew when I’d be required to go after the next target. It was fine to lounge around in jeans and a t-shirt during the day, but I needed to look the part of a bounty hunter at night. Choosing a short red skirt, I paired it up with fishnet stockings. They did little to cover the tatts that covered me from my thighs down to my ankles. Choosing a black bustier top, I added a leather choker and my favorite black belt with a snake on the buckle.
“You look gorgeous,” I told my reflection in admiration when I examined myself. My curves filled out my clothes perfectly. I tugged on a pair of knee-high black boots with three-inch heels, then grabbed my kill-bag. Lenny had apparently always had a no-fighting policy in place in his bar. Anyone who broke the rules was tossed out and was banned for a while. Committing murder resulted in permanent banning, so it was rare for fights to escalate that far. The Den of Iniquity was the most popular place for monsters to hang out, so no one wanted to be kicked out of it. That didn’t mean we couldn’t take weapons inside, though. I never went anywhere without something I could stab my enemies with.
As Ruen had pointed out on too many occasions for me to count, my car was an embarrassment to be seen in, so I parked it a block away from the Den as usual. My surly sidekick refused to ride in my car, which was why we always took his vehicle on our jobs. Besides, my orange hatchback couldn’t exactly blend in when we were hunting the bad guys.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LOCKING MY CAR DESPITE the fact that only an extremely desperate fool would try to steal it, I briskly took off on foot. A car slowed down, then rolled along beside me. A guy stuck his head out through the back window. “Hey, sexy,” the skinny wannabe gangster said suggestively. “How much do you charge?” The radio was turned up so loudly that I could barely hear him.
My upper lip lifted that they thought I was a prostitute. “You couldn’t afford me,” I said in a bored tone and kept walking.
“We’ll all chip in,” the driver called out as the front passenger window rolled down. “How much to do us all?”
“I love big women,” another guy in the back said, peering past his buddy at me. “I love squishing my face between their gigantic titties.”
“Ugh,” I said in disgust as they began telling me what they wanted me to do to them and what they wanted to do to me. Getting sick of their badgering, I came to a stop. The car continued to roll for a few seconds, then the driver reversed back a few feet.
“So? How much?” the passenger in the front asked.
All four were in their mid-twenties. I could smell cigarette smoke, traces of illicit drugs and arousal wafting from them. I was used to men falling for my charms, but it could be annoying at times. “You’ve got the wrong idea about me,” I told them pityingly. “I’m not a ho and I’m not interested in having sex with any of you losers.”
Their mood instantly darkened at my insult. “We’re not losers,” one of the guys in the back denied. “You’re a loser! You dress like a ho, then get mad when dudes try to hire you.”
“I’m not dressed like a ho,” I denied.
“Yeah, you are!” the driver said. “You look like a big, fat ho!”
“Listen, you skinny little runt!” I snarled. “I’m not fat, I’m curvy! I’m also way out of your league. You all have small or average size junk at best, which automatically scrubs you from the list of men I’d sleep with.”
“We don’t have small dicks!” the front passenger exclaimed hotly, but his eyes shifted to the side at his lie.
“I always know a dude’s size,” I said with a smirk. “It’s one of my talents.” My special gift was how I knew Drake Gilden would be just as big as I’d dreamed about.
“Is eating your own body weight in junk food one of your talents, too, fatty?” the driver asked sarcastically.
My eyes narrowed and I leaned down so I could get a good look at him. All four pairs of eyes became riveted by my cleavage. “Call me fat one more time,” I dared him ominously.
“Fat, fat, fatty!” he responded with a nasty smirk without taking his eyes off my boobs.
The temper I’d always had trouble controlling flared up again. Lunging forward, I wedged myself into the window, squashing the passenger against the seat as I reached for his runty friend.
Shouts of alarm and maniacal laughter rang out from within the vehicle. The laughter was mine and the screams came from the douchebags. The driver wasn’t wearing his seatbelt, of course. That would damage his image of being a tough gangster. I hauled him out of his seat and the engine stalled.
“Help!” he shrieked, batting at me as ineffectually as a helpless little girl. “Someone help me! Call the police! This crazy bitch is trying to kill me!”
Snickering at the stench of fear that emanated from him, I pulled him out of his car. His friends spilled out, coming to his aid. One of them pulled a switchblade and flicked it open. “Let him go, or I’ll gut you!” he said, voice quavering with fear.
“Put that away before you hurt yourself, little boy, I said scornfully as the driver weakly tried to extricate himself from the grip I had on his t-shirt.
Flushing in anger, the guy with the knife snarled and took a step towards me. His friends gathered their courage and they all attacked me at once. An audience of humans were gathering, which meant I couldn’t smack them down as hard as I wanted to. I had to make it look like I wasn’t gifted with heightened strength and reflexes. Shoving the driver at his friends, I waded in with my fists when they caught him before he could bowl them down.
The switchblade was jammed into my side during the melee. My body absorbed it rather than blood spurting all over the place. The thug looked at the clean blade incredulously, then I smashed my fist into his face. Careful to punch him just hard enough to knock him out, I repeated the act with his buddies. Blood was splattered on my hands and arms by now. I’d only broken a couple of noses and split their lips, but they would be sore for the next couple of weeks.
“You go, momma!” a woman called out from the crowd. “Show them little boys what us females are made of!”
While I wasn’t actually a mother, I appreciated her sentiment and nodded in thanks. Most of the crowd were filming me. I hoped the footage would be grainy and hard to make out, since we were in between streetlights. A siren sounded and we instinctively scattered before the cops could arrive to question us.