11 PM and her mind still raced. Though as Rebekah willed and wished it, nothing could bring her to the bliss and heaven that was sleep. She continued to stare at the ceiling, unfocused, her mind running several miles at a time. Once perfect eyeliner ran down her cheeks and blurred the lines, the cracking lines caused by tears.
But those tears were long gone, hours old. Why did she cry? What could he have done to make her cry? After all, he was a Mr Nobody with a trust fund and illegal items. How easily she could drag him down till there was nothing left of his money, his career and his life. But there were simpler approaches to ending him.
Why should she even care? It shouldn't affect her, though it still did, she couldn't decipher how it affected her. She needed to sort herself out and become the woman she always was.
She wiped the worn and too dark foundation, and make-up away, leaving her beautiful and flawless skin. Her stormy eyes hardened. Her Ex loved the unnatural pink lipstick Rebekah wore, so that lipstick was tossed and tinted lip gloss replaced it, a natural pinky red that matched her lips, one He absolutely hated.
She puckered her lips and smiled, this was her favourite shade. Rebekah redrew the sharp black line with her liquid liner. No mascara needed as Rebekah got lash extensions done frequently, a favourite expense she would gladly pay.
Rebekah undid her bright sapphire bra and tossed it to the floor, she found a crimson thong hidden under everything else. She pulled a matching crimson tube top on. Black, skintight and high-waisted jeans hugged her ass and thighs as she tugged her black platform heels on, her bright red nail brightened the dark shoes.
She would never understand why He didn't think red suited her, she looked like a hellish angel in these. Rebekah stuffed her phone in her pocket and took a key, one to the now changed locks of her home. She'd skip the coffee.
Rebekah was on her way to the infamous club, the club where all the local bad guys and girls stayed at, where all the bosses did business. The infamous club of The Hell's Angel. It also had strippers, bar, and dinner. All she wouldn't mind seeing, the first two were the best.
Dozens upon dozens of meters of people lined outside the club, most were quiet but those closer to the front were yelling. they weren't allowed in for many reasons; the main was that they weren't part of the Underground.
With her steps silent but her aura intimidating, every person turned to her and froze, silent. They froze like cattle and prey, their eyes met with the predator's and prayed she didn't ponce. They all knew who she used belonged to.
Belonged. Such a possessive word, but not the right one. He didn't own her, no one could. She wasn't someone any kind of person could own. An equal? Yes. Own? Never. She would never stay still and let people bad-mouth her and her own.
The guard, with large shoulders and a stern face, looked her down with lechery. She clicked a single heel against the hard floor, gaining his attention that made its way to her face. He paled and coughed.
"Sorry, Madam." He said, his eyes trained onto hers, she dared him to look down her again. "But you do look irresistibly stunning in red, enjoy your night, Madam. But fair warning, He's in there with a couple of brothel workers. Far back left."
"Thank you, Harrison. Take care of the family and be alert, I might need a little bit of help later." They chuckled in unison, the people in the front almost coward away and shivered.
She was not an object.
"Of course, Madam Reign, just don't do it in front of the kid." He shrugged and stopped and when he saw the anger and astonishment that came over her. " Umm, Mrs-Mrs Jefferson brought her 'ittle son 'are about 'alf an hour ago. I 'ad to let 'em in but I did warn 'em. No one listened."
She remained calm and took a shallow breath, a pure smile of malice spread. "Well, I'll be getting a word with her and her husband about this. They know the rules. But I will deal with both of them soon enough."
Rebekah stalked into the club, her stormy eyes roamed the room and found the young child, no more than four, clinging to his mother's side and she simply ignored him. The floor had pools of smoke and she, making Rebekah even angrier, blew her smoke downwards as she laughed. Her son coughed.
He wiggled with a little giggle as she picked him up from the smoke. "' Bekah! Hi!"
"Hey, little guy, what're you doing here?" She moved her arms to make him comfy. "Your mum knows the rules, Michael, you shouldn't be here."
He shrugged, tearing up. "I dunno, mummy said that the 'abysitter couldn't come and I'll have to come too cause daddy was working. She said there'd be kids 'ere. And now she won't pay attention to me."
"Aww, I'll pay attention to you, Michael. Wanna get a little bit of chocolate and play a few games?" Rebekah asked, calming down after she got the young boy away from the thick smoke.
Mrs Jefferson didn't even notice the absence of her child. The child was taken by a man, though not a stranger to the young boy and the Madam, as the child became heavy in her arms.
"Thank you, David. You've grown too heavy for me to carry for long now, Michael, you're getting big."
"Good!" Michael shouted, a big smile on his lips. "Means I'm growing up."
"Yes, you are, little man!" She smiled, making the child happy. "Here's my phone, code's 1114 and you know the folder of games you're allowed on. Stay here and don't speak to anyone you don't know. Don't tell Adam if you see him that I'm here. Yeah? Good boy."
Michael sat on the leather sofas in the VIP area, his eyes and hands trained onto the crisp white phone and selected a game with music. It would occupy him for an hour or so, in that time she'd do whatever she needed to, and then feed him a snack. For now, Rebekah would handle business on her phone and with the people in the club.
"What do you mean? Where's my son? Where did you take Michael!?" Mrs Jefferson said, her tacky lipstick giving her a slight lisp. "Michael! Michael! Where are you?"
Rebekah sat on booth seating on the right, Michael sat in the middle of the U and had plenty of space to move. Rebekah ordered a pleasant snack for him as she continued to do small bits of paperwork, handed to her by David. He entertained the young boy until she asked for Harrison as David deserved a break, which she was thanked for, and until Michael fell asleep next to her. Large, burly men entertaining a four-year-old, what an amusing sight.
The large U- shaped booth-seating over watched most of the club, so Rebekah and both bouncers watched over the young Jefferson so he wouldn't be curious and fall from the second level. A table sat there with little piles of papers as Rebekah was on the phone, she always carried an extra.
Both her phones combined had three different numbers, one was on both phones and was her business line, the other two were a personal number for herself and her alias.
"Michael! There you are," Mrs Jefferson almost screamed. She did when she wasn't let in the VIP Area."Let me In! My son is in there, see, Michael, there he is. Let me in, now. I said let me in."
"–Not be lying, or I'll have a new human skin skirt." Rebekah lowered her voice, Michael didn't need to hear her bluntness and wake up, as she wrote a note on a document of the caller, Execute.
She waved her hand to the woman and nodded inwards, indicating that she was allowed in, and held a single finger, for the woman to keep quiet. Harrison allowed her in but stood by Rebekah's side, just in case. Rebekah hung up promptly after a few choice words that were whispered. Mrs Jefferson tapped her pointed shoes and crossed her arms. And, after Rebekah placed her phone down and straighten her papers, Mrs Jefferson jumped.
"Who do you think you are, to take my child and hide him from me?" She screeched. "You, bitch, kidnapped the brat and probably gave him sleeping pills to sleep next to you."
The Hell's Angel wasn't the quietest club, though the DJ, also a criminal of sorts, lowered the volume of music on the VIP Area as he saw the kid become sleepy. Rebekah nodded to him and made a mental note to send gratitude towards him for the gesture.
She rubbed her temple gently and clasped her hand around her black and copper fountain pen, wrote another note on a post-it note in German, Husband-Widower.
"You have no right to speak to me like that, let alone near a sleeping child, who may wake up from a peaceful, natural sleep." She almost snapped her pen nib in anger, she placed the pen down straight. "Do you even realise what time it is and where you have brought a child? It's 2 AM and you have not noticed, for almost three–fucking–hours, that your kid is missing. What kind of parent are you? What kind of person, let alone what kind of parent, brings an underage kid to a nightclub where people smoke?
"Your husband has been informed about the mistreatment of Michael and is on his way to pick him up. And there he is outside."
The woman was silent with her mouth open in disbelief. She stuttered and relapsed as she spoke. "But–How–You had no right to call him."
"I may be a woman without children, by choice, but I know child neglect and abuse when I see it." Rebekah snapped and texted Mr Christine Jefferson that they'd be right out. "I will not and will never condone negative behaviour to children, though if this happens again, Mr Jefferson will need to find a new wife because he will become a widower. Harrison, David, thank you both."
Harrison picked the child up and held him as only a father could. David came and stood by the table, no one needed to snoop through the papers. Harrison walked behind Rebekah, clutching the child as he slept. Mrs Jefferson followed in her thin heels and tripped several times at their fast pace.
They walked outside the front of the club, the line thinned significantly and only a dozen or so people stood there.
A silver Lexus sat outside with two men, one a chauffeur by his appearance and the other Michael's father. Rebekah woke the child up and had Harrison place him on the floor, rubbing his eyes. She guided him to his father, the latter grimacing at his wife's antics.
"Thank you for informing me, Ms Reign," He placed a hand on her shoulder and the bouncers came closer, Mr Jefferson swiped his hand away in a flash. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."
"Oh, it is fine, you did it by accident and no harm came from it. These two–" She nodded her head in the men's directions."–Are really good bouncers and guards, they reacted as they always do. Do be warned, if your wife does a thing like this again, you will be finding her in a graveyard."
He simply smiled and chuckled lightly. "Go on, Michael, get in the car and buckle up. We'll go home soon. And, Ms Reign?"
She hummed in acknowledgement of his question.
"We all know that she will be gone soon enough, though I haven't figured the details out. Will you be able to help me?" He smiled. Of course, he knew Rebekah's reputation. "I will sort the funeral costs and you will receive your payment for it to happen within the week. This isn't her first neglectful attempt, more like 27th now."
"I accept." She nodded. "I will sort it out. Goodbye, Chris and have a good night, Michael."
The woman, she had argued with a bouncer at the door, finally paid attention at the end of the conversation between the strange and beautiful woman and her own husband.
"Who are you to call my husband that? You whore, I understand why my brother left you."
"Who am I? Such a good question from someone with your IQ. You've been having an affair with the chef. How do I know? Simple. You've got speckles on flour on the side of your face, probably where he held your face when you both kissed and a little bit of smeared lipstick, also the bottom of your heels have flour, sauce, and your dress has a single black hair and you haven't been near men like that all day."
"Just who are you to assume that? You bitch."
"Who? Me?" She pointed to herself in the chest in fake surprise, her face relaxing into her emotionless state of content and ill-will. "Now, who could I be? Hmm, let me think."
"Just tell me, so I know who to–"
"Rebekah Reign." The woman stopped and paled in a way that it made Rebekah laugh shallowly. "Good, you know who I am."
The tigress ready to pounce.
She was the Consulting Informant of the Underground and of the normal ways and people.
A whisper here, a rumour there and she could destroy or make any situation or person.
She was Rebekah Octavia Alexandria Reign.
ROAR
The Crimson Tiger.
CHAPTER TWO
Wife of millionaire killed by 27 bullets.
Mrs Victoria Jefferson, age 30, wife of millionaire and CEO of a security firm, Christine Jefferson, age 34 has been found dead hours ago, killed by several bullets, twenty-six bullets to the chest and one bullet through her skull. Though many details are being retained from the public and the family, Mr Jefferson and his son, Michael Jefferson, age 4, have no comments to publish, we believe that both husband and child are distraught with the loss of such a wonderful person.
Scotland yard has no leads on the matter of her murder.
Rebekah could have laughed at the newspaper if she wasn't on a call. She chucked the newspaper into the little mesh bin by her desk, and then sat on the mahogany desk, her legs crossed and shoes on the floor. She looked over information on a paper, imprinting it to memory in moments, tucking it away into a room in her vast corridor and a grand hall that was her mind.
The call ended and she was angry. Who did this client think he was speaking to? He tried to sweeten the deal by asking, demanding, a date in which she 'would end up in his bed', something that could never happen. She already knew everything to know about this man within their five minutes of speaking on the phone.
"Sir. Sir, you cannot go in there," Her assistant shouted, Kristy, she was a young thing that did a bad thing that ruined her life. She sought pity and only gained it because Rebekah understood her hardships. "Sir, you cannot go in there! I'm so sorry, Madam, HE just wouldn't listen."
Rebekah knew who this man exactly was. The cheating bastard dared to come in her business place, even after she drilled it into his thick skull that she didn't want him there, and literally in the cheek. She didn't want him near her, not since he cheated on her with several ladies at once, though Rebekah can agree that they were beautiful, they were not her.
"Alexandria, I have been calling you for days. Why haven't you returned my calls?" Adam Drew, brother of the bitch that Rebekah had killed, asked in his almost whiny tone of voice. His hand gripped her right bicep, jutting it harshly to gain her attention. "Bitch, listen to me when I'm speaking."
"No," Her hair whipped into his face as she turned sharply, her teeth gritted. "You listen to me, you overgrown fungus, I told you last week to leave me alone. I will not deal with your cheating ass anymore, so show yourself out and leave me alone. I've got work to do."
His laugh matched the dead bitch's, high and brittle. Dry in a dusty, unpleasant way that left a bad taste in her mouth.
"How about no. Besides, you owe me another car since you ruined my last. You will get me a new one, and any I choose because I know who killed my sister. So–" He said, grabbing her arm harder and making her angrier. "Don't forget that or you'll regret it."
"Regret it?" Rebekah laughed shallowly. He knew shit. "I know every single little detail about your businesses, and you know exactly shit about mine. Get lost, before I make you regret it. Maybe I should make it up to you now?"
He smiled like he won, like the cat that got the canary. He didn't realise he was the canary all this time. He loosened his grip and let go, pulling away. She smiled, innocent, and began to go behind her desk.
"Good, I knew you'd see reason with my simple instruction–" He screamed in pain, Kristy came in to see what cause the noise and left, not bothering to call an ambulance.
Rebekah stood there, a black pistol in her hand and a demented smile on her face, one of a predator. She had got, aimed and shot the pistol all in the time that it took Adam to speak. Rebekah aimed at whoever came into the room; a man dressed in a Westwood suit, a fairly attractive man, clapping and smiling slightly.
"Well done, really, I mean it," The man, with dark slick hair and eyes to match, pulled his hands up into a gun shape and pointed at the man in pain. "But you should have aimed a little higher–Boom!–He would bleed out slower and it would be excruciating for him. But, overall, you have an excellent aim."
"Who da fuck are you?" Rebekah said and aimed the gun at the man, he pulled his hands up in surrender with a smile on his face. "Kristy, Who's dis one? Fuck, I've turned back. Okay, sorry. I'm back. Again, who are you?"
"Moriarty." She aimed the gun a bit higher. "James Moriarty, Jim during business."
"Now, isn't that better," Rebekah cocked it and blew a large hole into Adam's heart and then his head, ensuring that he died. "Much better. Kristy, get Harrison in here. So, Mr Moriarty, what is your business here on this fine day?"
"My business? Well, your reputation precedes you, Madam," James Moriarty said, nodding to the corpse of Adam Drew. "Though, I can't seem to find anything on you."
She sat in the leather chair, her elbows on the table and her head on her hands. Rebekah smiled. "As it should be. And by 'you' you actually mean your people can't find a single thing about my past, or myself."
"Yes." He shuffled and sounded annoyed. "So who are you exactly?"
"Depends on what name you know me by…"
"I've been told that your name is Alexandria Regina but I bet it isn't, so what is it? Or will I have to simply call you Madam?"
"Alexandria Regina is an alias, so is Alexandria Biast and Regina Biast." He came to stand in front of her, both pairs of eyes trailing each other. "Well, my actual name is–" She leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands by her stomach and placed her red-bottomed heels on the edge of the desk."–Rebekah O. A. Reign. ROAR, by all. Consulting Informant by the Public, and Crimson Tiger by the underground and the press. His corpse will contribute to the fear that the Crimson Tiger brings."
"Please to meet you, Madam Reign." He bowed in his head lightly, his eyes continued to trail her.
"Oh, God." Rebekah chuckled lightly, pulling a drawer out. "It doesn't sound-" She placed a piece of gum into her mouth. "-Right from you, Mr Moriarty. Not at all. So how about you call me Rebekah instead, kay?"
"Though, if I were to call you that, Madam, " An emotion crossed his face, though Rebekah couldn't identify it before it went. "I hope you would do the same. After all, it would never do any good for partners to be so formal."
"Depends on what terms are we partners?" She hummed. "We could be partners on business terms, friends or perhaps lovers. It always depends on what terms we abide by. So, what terms will we, Messer?"
"Terms that will satisfy both parties,"
Rebekah laughed, rolling her eyes an inch and sitting up straight. "You do realise how sexual that sounds right? But that is a good point. So why have you come to see me, Jim or can I call you James instead?"
"A little birdie told me that you had Mrs Jefferson killed, and now Sherlock Holmes is on the case," He said, still standing. He watched as Rebekah went to a side wall, where several types of strong liquors were stored in a locked glass case.
"Sherlock Holmes, you say…" Rebekah poured two glasses of scotch, bringing both to the table. "If we're going to speak about that git, we'll need several of these."
"So you have heard of the man with the deerstalker hat," He took a sip of the scotch, then tilting the glass as if he was thinking about the quality. "Expensive taste you have."
"Who hasn't heard of him, he almost had one of my men killed," Rebekah paused as Harrison came in and disposed of the body. "Harrison, just destroy the body, thanks."
"Well, Sherlock Holmes has been making my life…"
"Interesting, so to say?"
"Yes, interesting but he has caused business to go down as he solves cases," he waved a hand around slightly, to emphasise certain words. "Sherlock Holmes is ruining my business but he is too fun to kill."
"Just yet, you mean," She finished her glass and place it down, leaning backwards onto the desk. "After all, if you're having fun, there is no need to end it before you finish. And when you finish, it's only because one of you died. Just like little Adam, he became entitled with my spoils and he needed to be gone."
"I understand why he would," His eyes trailed down. She crossed her arms under her bust, bowing her head an inch.
"Yes, after all who wouldn't," She looked to the cream ceiling, rolling her upcast eyes to the man in the suit. "Look all you want, just never touch without my permission, you might, umm, lose a limb might want to take this tablet."
"Why would I take it without knowing what it will do?" He asked, though he took the small, blue tablet between his fingers. "How do I know if it's poisoned or not?"
"It's the antidote," She pointed towards the scotch bottle. "And the scotch was poisoned. Nightshade. Standard thing I do with everyone I drink with here."
"I do suppose…" He swallowed the tablet. "That is simply clever and devious of you."
"Well, of course," She chuckled and had the rest of her scotch. "How else does one survive in the Underground. Be the predator or the prey. And i just prefer to hunt."