Pitch Black
They lay low, a horde of Manta invisible beneath the dawn's candlelight, and camouflaged where they were no different from the boulders around the sharp crag. Security was so unyielding, it was as good as gathering around the perimeters of an anthill to get to the Queen. To the men standing in for the fraction of an ant colony though, the hill was a Metal Head nest in comparison.
They went in three man teams, proper for small operations.
"Entry team, positioned and standing by. Over."
"Charlie team ready and standing by. Over."
Cutter squeezed his walkie, "Roger that Entry and Charlie. Bravo team, positioned and waiting for the call. On signal, Entry team heads out. In five, Charlie follows. Over."
"Copy that, Bravo."
Shiv was in charge of Entry team, Edje leading Charlie. Cutter was assigned the left side of the penitentiary, where the cliff was steepest, sharpest, and any forced entry, humanely impossible. The front, where the single entrance road was visible, and the rear, where escapees commonly fell towards the ocean, were armed to the teeth. On signal, Entry and Charlie would ram the massive building on both spine and chest simultaneously, the diversion making its arms easier to pull unnoticed.
Shiv's "stay composed in the face of death" attitude gave his team the perfect requirements to assault headfirst in their combat vehicles, whistling their first Super Nova's to draw the first glances of attention. Edje's excellent defense and offense would spring Red Eco explosives on the rear, the spattering shrapnel and Eco concealing the small mine Cutter would set off when he reached the targeted area.
Cutter had his men ready in Dune Hoppers until the terrain would force them to climb - their only objective to remain invisible and whisk away before Butcheree even knew what was missing.
If all went according to Boss' calculations, it should all go as planned. With Gianni Accardo working an overtime shift and acting as their contact inside, they'd know the exact moment of attack.
Cutter leaned against the Hopper's large tire, hands shaking as he chewed on the mere thought of exacting his revenge. He could almost feel the resistance of wet and crunching tendon against his knuckles already. As he was about to take a swig from his water bottle, he stopped an inch from lifting his mask. As if he predicted it, his heart skipped and an unnatural hush fell over the prison.
No alarms. No spotlights. No gunfire. The racer strained his ears, and he could swear on his life that the birds had stopped too.
There was a tune on his belt and he flipped open his cell.
"It's Gianni."
"Listening," was all Cutter said. He wasn't much for people he didn't know well.
"The lights are out, I repeat, lights out. System's been hacked and the threats are loose. If you want your Capo roasting chestnuts over an open fire tonight, I suggest you move your asses now.
The inmates are hungrier than ever thanks to the heads of two ruling families waltzing in. Che cavolo? They should have painted bull's-eyes on their foreheads-"
"Wilco." Cutter hung up on the ranting officer and reached for his walkie.
"Entry team, the stage is yours. Cutter, over and out."
Seven Years Ago…
Cutter loaded the last of their suitcases in the back of his two-passenger Peen Hammer, the civilian predecessor of combat racing's version, the Hammer Head. They'd agreed to pack light. Aside from the lively atmosphere in the morning markets that smelled of ripe fish and fresh bread, and Vera's very modest collection of wine in the cellar beneath their small townhouse, they weren't attached too much. The moldy garage, his duck taped punching bag, that quaint little view outside the kitchen window as Vera washed the dishes, it was something they could find elsewhere.
Vera never called him by his Underground Alias. She was probably the only one left who didn't, not that he minded; in fact, he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Donny, honey, can we take this?"
The fighter turned the rearview mirror from his eyes to find the small set of hands holding onto a small vase.
"You really want to take that with us?"
"Yes. This. Only this."
It was probably the ugliest vase in existence - a product of Vera's experiments. While Cutter was involved in a business, where a day to day without a bone breaking or muscle spraining, was good enough for him, Vera sought to escape routine life by pursuing random crafts. It was the first vase she had forced him to make with her. The garage walls told the story - of oven-baked clay on a ninety-degree afternoon that managed to harden just fine without the oven and after a couple hours of unsuccessful molding. She made many more after that, ones that actually looked like something, but it was obvious which one she favored most.
"Fine."
Since it was his fault for this last minute vacation, Cutter couldn't find it in himself to say no. Adjusting the mirror back to his eyes, it was the last glimpse he'd ever get of them before the rest of his years would reflect a different set. If only he'd taken the extra few seconds to memorize what they'd looked like back then.
As if sensing her husband mulling over the night before, the woman fit a hand over his.
"We'll be all right," she reassured and he nodded.
Last night marked a big event for the Family. Their annual bout was a deciding factor in clientele every year and with their rivaling clan rising up two years in a row, Boss wasn't having a third. Ever since his elopement with Vera - the girl with a cute accent, that he found vigorously and apologetically wiping his front fender with her jacket after an unfortunate spill of pasta sauce from her bag of groceries - Cutter might have allowed her to shift around his priorities a bit.
Despite the losses that were piling up against him, the fighter promised the boss that he'd shine on the big night when it mattered most. Bets were on, bleachers were full, and it wasn't until he woke up facing the sky that he realized that he'd been KO'd.
It wasn't the only thing he realized. As he walked through the audience, he didn't need to look over to the Boss to know that he was less than pleased. Not wanting to wait for an official pink slip, it was the last straw that would lead the fighter to accept a pending offer he'd been chewing on for months before and refusing. The career change was overseas and the nature of the sport- less personal.
A change of scenery was probably just what the doctor ordered. And it was probably best to turn hobby into employment, at least then, he'd enjoy it more. When he drove away from the small home that he'd only spent a few months in with his new wife, he didn't bother to look back. Whatever awaited them overseas, he was sure it was better than here. After growing up in Iceland Citadel before moving here mid-teen years, a metropolis full of lights and shopping districts sounded slightly appealing, and maybe Vera would have plenty stores to choose from for fresh bread.
"Oh, stop here a sec."
Speaking of bread, one last roll for the road wouldn't hurt.
When Cutter braked, she hadn't even waited for the tires to completely stop when she flew out the car door and dived into the crowd. As if trying to make a marathon goal, she was back in moments, a large loaf and small jar of jam in her arms.
"One last taste of home before I move to another."
"Maybe there's better bread where we're going," he suggested, guilt already seeping in before she cut it short by shoving a piece of bread into his mouth at the next red light. He was grateful that she waited until he wasn't driving.
The ride was quiet as they were only minutes outside the busy area and Cutter specifically remembered his wife's smirk when he licked some jam from her finger. It was then that headlights reflecting from his rearview mirror blinded him. He hadn't the chance to see the vehicle clearly until he was rammed from behind, felt a distinctive slam of his forehead against the steering wheel and heard the vase in the trunk smash into dust. After hearing Vera's blood curdling scream, something in him set off.
It all happened too fast.
"Hold on!"
It was all he remembered yelling as he screeched through traffic, squeezed through alleyways and bumped down staircases. The way he cut through lanes, cut past the packs of police cars and still managed to barely stay ahead of his assailant, it was no wonder he'd earn the name later – Cutter. Even so, his driving skills at the time weren't honed enough to avoid the inevitable, especially with precious cargo in the passenger seat.
He remembered the second long feeling of relief once he saw the signs marking the outskirts of the town. The relief being short lived when another vehicle flanked him, his tires skidding and the rubber burning off. When the Peen Hammer flipped over, he'd never tell anyone that he closed his eyes, not because he was afraid to die, but because he didn't want to see Vera's terrorized expression in their last moments.
It all went black - their smooth sailing to a change of scenery, it all went to hell.
"Give me your heel."
"W-what?"
"No time for backtalk. Give it to me."
Rayn's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the darkness, and despite her determination to completely obliterate this unknown enemy of hers, she hoped Razer's eyes weren't adjusted enough to note the tremble in her hands. Without another moment's hesitation, she did as she was told. Not that the Crime Lord was handing commanding rights over anytime soon, but under the current and dire circumstances, it seemed the racer was more capable in this environment than she. She'd have to use that to her advantage, whether she liked it or not.
Backs flush against the cold concrete blocks, she felt like she was impossibly forcing herself into a sheet of paper to escape the onslaught of running officers and scrambling prisoners. Their only light source came from the continuous salvo of gunfire, the flickering being the type of light that best be avoided. At this point, Rayn Krew was unsure of who was who, officers revealing themselves to be crooked and criminals revealing themselves as men of justice amidst the bloody chaos, and there was no telling if her assailant would be clad in prison wear or guard uniform.
When she handed him one of her pumps, she was reluctant to give the other. These shoes were five hundred orbs worth of leather, the buckles that crisscrossed over the pointed toe, carved from the armory of the Precursors themselves. Sure, mining in the temples for precious metals was an underhanded sort of business, desecrating holy grounds for the sake of rare and expensive handbags and sunglasses, but her feet weren't complaining one bit. And as dark as it was, where the hands in front of her were so easily swallowed, she wasn't sure if there were still there or had been hacked off, she felt her heart break when she heard the racer throw her beloved shoe down the hall.
"Let's move."
"Forgive me, Mar," Rayn whimpered as he led them away from the sound.
Razer was a crafty one. While he was scheming their escape on the spot, he took everything into account, like the fact that she was the only known person wearing heels on the entire premises and if he were to throw off their scent, the sound of her heel would do it.
The concrete under her toes was moist and cold. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that she was stepping on the back of a reptilian behemoth. She restrained the ache in her knees that protested and urged her to curl up into a corner. The concrete always brought back too much.
The racer led her by elbow, at times, by wrist. The Crime Lord felt like she'd walked miles when she was already aware that it was only a few feet down the labyrinth.
"Where are we-"
Rayn sucked in sharply when she felt him yank her backwards. She must have waltzed on too far. Pulled into his chest, the woman could hear his hammering heart, and could feel the corner he must have saved her from.
"Shh. Stay. Still."
Although he hadn't asked, she might've stopped breathing too. The arm around her back was a comfort in the darkness, his chest on her ear threatening to lure her cheek.
"Did you find her yet?"
"Not yet. Joey just radioed in and said they might've heard her fall a few feet down."
Guards. They had to be.
"Let's keep watch here. It's nearby the lift so they might come this way. We have others by the staircases."
Carefully, Razer tugged her away from the set of voices. He whispered so low, that if it hadn't been directly into her ear, she might have missed it.
"We're taking the stairs. The lift would have us as sitting ducks for target practice."
"Agreed."
They went into the opposite direction when a flash grenade went off, ringing her ears and blinding them both. Razer's body blanketed hers against a wall when she heard a presence charge at them. The racer must have met him head on because while she struggled to adjust her vision, she could hear the skirmish beside her. A heavy weight dropped to the floor after what could only be described as the sound of meat- the sound meat made when a cooking knife was stuck into the roast and had to be yanked out.
The Crime Lord prayed and when her vision came back just to be greeted by darkness again, surprisingly, the darkness was a relief to her now throbbing head. She gasped when Razer snatched her wrist.
"Your hands are wet."
"Sorry. Had to get a bit dirty. I'm glad I wasn't wearing my trench coat or I really would have made him pay."
"I'm not sure if I find that train of thought dangerously charming?"
Pitch black or not, she knew he must have smiled.
"Stop here."
The racer's smile dissipated quickly once they reached the staircase. There was a scuffle going about in front. Two officers were wrestling in a death match; their punches into jaw and gut as noticeable as a beat box. Due to many experiences with the unpleasant and inconvenient, Razer was accustomed to the darkness. When the lights went kaput, the man had no trouble adjusting. It was a rule of survival. Adjust and adapt to your surroundings. It was a skill he'd learned from his experience bumping off people for the Boss. While the Capo's contracted executions were mostly taken care of on the road and guised as casual collisions, there were times where last minute changes were necessary and things had to get up close and personal.
"What's going on?" Rayn asked behind him, her hands clawing at his back to get a better view.
"Congratulations, Krew. It seems your head is worth enough to throw the entire prison into chaos."
"Oh well, a couple o' chaps fighting over me. A girl gets used to it."
He was surprised, and maybe even slightly impressed when he felt the woman hand him a gun that must've slid amidst the struggle up ahead.
"I know you're not a fan, but just in case."
A red emergency light highlighted their exit, but with the tussle acting as an obstacle, it would be difficult to get by unnoticed. The racer was about to calculate his next steps so that he would not be late for his little business rendezvous when he felt the Crime Lord slip in front.
"Be my eyes," she ordered, revealing that her beloved garter pistol came with a silencer. If that was what was in her bra, then Razer had to ask if her leftover heel came with any upgrades later. The man felt her rest against his chest and he leveled his height with hers to improve accuracy.
"Eleven o' clock," he snapped, the first bullet fired soundlessly into the officer's skull before the other even knew what happened. It took a moment for the survivor to understand and within seconds, he searched frantically for his own weapon before Krew finished it without Razer's help. As they crept past the bodies, Razer could not help but give the woman her well-deserved compliment.
"Impressive."
"I have my father's trigger finger."
Up the stairs they went, Razer equipped with shiv and gun, Rayn at his six with her pistol. After ascending halfway, he thought they were out of the woods when he spotted a line of inmates chatting away. This - would be a problem.
"Hmm, I wonder who they're more likely to go after, you or me?"
"Are you suggesting a bait method?"
"Just a thought."
"Too risky."
Although what he meant to say, was that he knew they'd go after her. As to why he knew that, he could not disclose.
Razer was now, what some would call, the Caporegime of the Mizo family. And if he didn't put the Family's interests first, then no one else would. Sure, he might have made some slight modifications after Blitz's death, but nonetheless, he'd keep the Family prosperous.
Suddenly the entire staircase rumbled. It had probably caught Rayn off guard for she yelled, causing the inmates above to burst into action. A few shots rang, ricocheting off the concrete walls and adding to the falling debris from the ceiling.
"What in blooming hell-"
Managing a grin, the racer announced, "It seems that my uninvited guests are crashing the party just in time."
And that meant his plan was in full effect. The rendezvous point should have only been a few meters, where the hand off would be made, and the future of the Combat Racing Franchise and the Mizo's, secured for life.
"What?"
Razer didn't answer. He fired back, caught one in the ribs, and Rayn picked up where he left off. When she was on the last bullet in her barrel, and believe it, the Champion had kept count, the man made use of his shiv when it whistled through the air into their offender's trachea. It wasn't his stiletto knife, but it served its purpose well. Razer gave a silent prayer to the damned Bane as he yanked his handiwork from the corpse and moved onward. Any questions the Crime Lord previously had, she must've forgotten after the gunfire exchange.
"W-where are we headed?"
Rayn pushed and Razer did what he did best. Elude.
"Out."
It wasn't entirely a lie, so he'd forgive himself enough to get a good night's sleep tonight.
His borrowed gun discarded once empty and his shiv already slippery from his prior encounter, they had to make their way cleanly. After a few twists down the hall, he reached for the Heiress to confirm that she was still at his heels. When they'd found a maintenance stairwell that led back downward, it was then that the Crime Lord was beginning to become suspicious, and rightfully so.
"Why are we going back down again?"
"I'm just trying to find the exit. I can see well in the dark, but I'm not a Goddamned bat."
"Well, if we're on a cliff and the doors are all a few levels up, wouldn't it be wise to possibly umm- go up?"
"So we can bask in the sunlight from the windows before we've been made into Allgäuer Emmentaler?"
"Unless you can summon a shovel, I don't see any better routes-"
Razer hushed her. He was seconds away from regretting his earlier decision of not claiming the bounty on her head when she was most vulnerable. It would have been easy as pie when she was quivering against him only minutes ago. He could have put the Princess out of her misery. It was unfortunate that the reward was halved if he arrived with a carcass and aside from that, he might really end up missing the way she made his morning coffee.
Whatever she had stirred into their brew this morning, it might've been the best cup he'd ever had.
"Least I can do before her Majesty's pleasure detains you. Enjoy."
He had slid the plates of breakfast across the counter, the meal out of place due to the sun not up yet, but all the more nutrients for the events that would play out.
"I prefer it black," was all he said, regardless of the smirk displaying his approval, he was persistent in feigning otherwise.
The frustration frayed at their nerves, tested their patience and threatened their teamwork. It was obvious that their wrangling at this point could turn deadly for the both of them. Keen on his desire to live and leave in one piece, the racer huffed and continued down the stairwell. Unless she had a pair of night vision goggles, she'd have no choice, but to pursue him.
It was when they reached the steel door, barred and signed with yellow and black stripes, that the Crime Lord had lost her patience first. Razer didn't have to turn to know that her gun was pointed at his back.
Surrendering, he waved his arms up and jested, "I see someone hates not having the last word."
"Where is this, Razer? I'm not off my trolley. For someone who's never been incarcerated in Butcheree Cliffs, you sure know your way around."
"Miss Krew, why would you think that?"
"Because it's become blatantly obvious that this maintenance route isn't exactly public knowledge. Unless you have 'janitor' listed under the career section of your rap sheet, I'd suggest you start singing."
The criminal paused to sift through his thoughts. While she only had one bullet to her name, one would be all she needed at this range. Bed and breakfast or not, the racer would be nothing short of an idiot if he believed she wouldn't put it to use if the situation called for it. Somehow, he'd have to distract her long enough, just enough to find an opening.
"I'm hurt, Rayn. Have you no trust in me? After I've already saved your royal ass more than once since we've been here?"
"Stop pissing around. I'm not falling for it."
Ah, so that tactic wouldn't work. And yet, she still hasn't pulled the trigger…
"I'm no rat. I'd rather die than sing."
"Fine. Have it your way."
"Good luck making it out on your own."
"I'm sure that I can manage-"
It was only a second before the man had spun to the left, his arm acting as the distance that would shove her gun towards the wall while the other came clamping for her neck. After successfully grappling the weapon from her, he slipped behind, his forearm pinning her windpipe with the bloody shiv he'd used on the officer.
"Guess my rusty shiv is faster than your gun," he laughed.
Rayn snarled. He felt a forceful heel kick against his shin that was most painful even without footwear and squeezed her neck tighter as warning. Restraining her gagging, the Crime Lord relaxed and relinquished. Just to mock her, he planted her sole pump that was left unused at her feet. She didn't move to follow its sound.
She was astoundingly silent. If Razer didn't know better, he would guess that she was plotting. Only one with proper training would know that under these conditions, the best way to act is calm, to not provoke the assailant. Then again, he was qualified in defense and offense as well, and knew that only an amateur would hold a blade away from her neck. The weapon was pronounced against the bulb of her throat. One wrong movement, and she'd bleed herself out without any effort from him.
There was no resistance when he warily slid the pistol down her thigh and up the slit of her skirt, right into the garter where she hid it. After it was secure on her leg, he gave it a pat and whispered huskily into her ear, "What's wrong, Krew? Lost all hope already?"
"I'm not worried," she boasted although he was sure that the woman must have been sweating a bucket's worth.
Close enough to her face to brush his lips against her cheek; He gave her one last morsel to chew before it all began.
"You should have shot me when you had the chance. Your hesitation may be the end of you."
Finally, they'd reached the climax.
He used his right leg to kick the door. Three stomps and the door unhinged, light blinding them both as he stepped inside, the Krew Heiress as his hostage. When he threw her to the ground before she could decipher her surroundings, Razer had no regrets- except for maybe, the morning's brew of coffee.
As he was relieved of his shiv by the pair of heavies that approached him, he focused on the woman who squinted, looked up and matched gazes with a man that she may not have been too thrilled to see.
"Hello, nuzzle buddy. I apologize that I could not prepare a warmer reception, but I was so eager to see you again, Raynie."
He'd only seen her eyes light once, when he had rammed her against the lockers in their face-off from the arranged match with Cutter. And now when she was face to face with a man he'd made a rather appealing proposition with some time ago.
Her eyes were so wide, they could have fallen out. In two defined, and clear words, she spoke.
"James. McSweeney."
The cliffs were just as the rumors said – merciless. Even with climbing gear, the task was near impossible and if it weren't for the distraction from Shiv's head on assault and Edje's well-placed explosives, there was no doubt in his mind that they would have been shot down before they'd even climbed a foot.
His team lagged behind, but Cutter maintained his cautious pace with vigorous determination. His personal vendetta serving as his fuel, the racer mounted each pointed rock just the way anyone would expect from an Icelander. Without the blistering winds and occasional avalanches, ascending up Butcheree was about as easy as taking a strenuous stroll – one of the sole reasons he was assigned this mission in the first place.
"This can't be good," mumbled the closest member of his team, a former Krew employee.
The guy didn't talk very much, but judging from the handful of lines he'd managed to overhear on their way up, it was obvious that he was one hell of a pessimist. Concerning vehicles, Edje was usually looked to as the explosives expert, but in cases such as these, guerilla operations required much more precision, a different kind of mindset. And while this guy, Grimm was his name, didn't seem any less reckless than his comrade, Razer had assured that he once belonged to a top-notch demo team and cynical or not, he'd get the job done.
"We're almost there," Cutter announced, the few times he would bother to socialize if only it would put his team at ease. Not because he cared, but because he didn't want them to jeopardize any chances he had of paying his old friend a well overdue visit.
When they all gathered at a small plateau, Grimm quickly got to work. In the meantime, Cutter sought an update.
"Charlie, Entry, what's your status?"
Shiv came through, "Super Nova's got one reset left. We're gonna shift to Homing Missiles and take out their watch towers before we pull our vanishing act. The smoke screen should keep 'em curious enough to pursue."
"How long until the magic happens?"
"I can give you three minutes."
Edje came crackling in. "Make that five, Bravo. After Entry's homing missiles hit home, my team's got a couple of Skullsplitters to keep 'em hopping for a song."
"All right. Five is all I need. Cutter out."
"Yeah!" There was a cheer from the normally morbid explosives engineer once it went off.
The earth shuddered, wrenched at their ankles like a pair of hands that threatened to drag them down to the pits of hell. The detonation was quick, and due to steep topography, not as clean as Cutter had hoped.
"The entrance is failing!" Grimm warned and before the hole that led into the lower levels of the prison had collapsed irreversibly, Cutter made a mad dash for it.
His walkie abandoned in the rubble and his team doing what most would do in the face of falling debris the size of houses, fleeing, when the dust had settled and the last of the Skullsplitters could scarcely be heard, the racer was nowhere in sight.
"Come in, Bravo. We're retreating now and shifting to short-range projectiles. Over."
With an incurable tremor in his hands, Grimm snatched up the electronic and answered, "The detonation is complete, our leader ran headfirst into the crumbling cliffs and without means of contact. Over."
Before Shiv could respond, the least patient of Mizo's most loyal men took the words straight out of his mouth. Edje was so loud, even amidst the gunshot and battle cries; Grimm had to pull his ear away.
"What the hell- He'd better be alive or Boss is gonna kick his ass!"
Grimm was beginning to descend back downward when he heard the radio cackle with one remaining remark from Entry team's leader.
"That's if he doesn't kiss our asses first. Let's make that magic happen and fast. Shiv out."
"James. McSweeney."
As the words left her, the last syllable lost itself. It had only been about three years and yet, the face before her was straight from a dream. Speaking of dreams, Rayn Krew might have blinked once or twice to make sure her eyes were not deceiving her.
"Raynie. I'm so glad you could make it. I do hope your escort was gentle with you?"
She watched as the two men regarded one another and without many more details, it was safe to assume that Razer and James had cracked some sort of negotiation some time ago. The shared nod was not one between recent strangers. Narrowing her eyes at the Champion who was wonderful enough to lead - or wait, the proper term was shove - her into this dark and dank room in the middle of who knows where, the shock of being face to face with her former fiancé is what distracted her murderous gaze.
I'll deal with you later, Nancy boy.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Taming his cronies with his arms, James appeared quite relaxed. Some distance behind him, Rayn could make out the shadow of a familiar fortress, one whom she knew as Officer Ruiz.
"Why if it isn't officer Ruiz? You wouldn't have tripped over any power outlets by any chance, would you?" she quipped.
Ruiz's amusement was all the answer she needed. By the arch in Razer's brow, it seemed he was not in on this little secret. Like fiddles, Ruiz had played them both.
I guess now we know who Mr. Insider is…
When James smiled at her, he had a particular dimple that she still remembered.
"Relax, Rayn. I just want to talk. We have much to catch up on."
With no immediate threat present, the Heiress took the opportunity to stand and brush herself off. "You know James, you could have just rung me up?"
"A woman as busy as you was nearly impossible to find. First Haven, then boarding school, finally Kras, I really had no idea how to get a hold of you."
"I admit it. I do a fine job moving about and maintaining secrecy."
After all, it had taken until the last racing season for Mizo to discover that his long deceased rival had produced a daughter who arrived just in time to snatch from him what he loved most. As if reading her very mind, Razer cleared his throat to agree.
"And so here we are Raynie."
"After three years of not knowing whether you were alive or packaged neatly inside a meat shop, are you expecting that I run over to you and coddle?"
"You know I had no choice-"
"You're right. Murderers who commit their crimes in front of a civilian audience don't have a choice. Coming from a renowned family of assassins, you would have thought that Floyd had instilled that sort of common sense into you."
The tension thickened between them. After a pause, the fighter motioned towards her, the light blue dress shirt adding contrast to his dark eyes. If it weren't for her recent, ahem, encounter from the night before, Rayn might have actually teared up at the sight of him. He was still just as handsome, an added scar or two made no difference, his shoulders broader than she last remembered, a witness to the time he'd spent hidden from her. She loved him once, but he'd taken their dreams and shattered them before they could come to fruition.
"Any road, listen. I don't want to get into that- it has passed already-"
"You killed him, James! Smacked his skull into a brick wall with the ease of cracking open an egg shell and I had the unfortunate honor of getting a front row seat!"
She could almost taste it now - the iron in her mouth and how hot the concrete felt when Theodore Fratto's blood had pooled around her sneakers. Before her knees could wobble, the woman breathed in deeply and regained control. If only she had a pair of shoes to stand as a barrier between the bare soles of her feet and the warming asphalt beneath them.
McSweeney gave way to an audible huff as well. Sensing that she had calmed, he continued to close in.
"Raynie," he said, low and with an attempt to sound sincere, "I'm sorry that things ended the way that they did. It was my fault, but I'm back now-"
He offered a hand and the Crime Lord declined it. "Back for what, I wonder. Shall we get to the point now that we're up to date?"
The two matched gazes. The stare down, an agonizing eternity with the combination of heat the woman felt as Razer observed, and her last love and trauma staring almost right through her, searching for someone in her that she'd long forgotten.
With the snap of his fingers, James proceeded to command his henchmen.
"Before we proceed, for my safety and for yours, I hope you don't mind a brief pat down. I apologize in advance. I don't usually have any women on my staff-"
"Keep your formalities," the Crime Lord swatted and before anyone could get their grubby hands on her, the woman shrugged her blouse off easily in one suave movement. Upon revealing her chest, scar or no scar, clad in black and bronze embroidered lingerie, the lady was still a filet over a tank of piranhas and McSweeney motioned to stop her.
"Wait-"
"Allow me to make things easier for us all. You. Hold this." Without waiting for any of the men to answer, she practically threw her shirt into Ruiz's face – not that he complained much. "A moment while I tend to my skirt-"
"Rayn!"
"Yes, James?"
"Blimey, have you no decency?"
"Oh? Did I spoil your chance to scrump me of it? I do apologize."
There was a chuckle that she surmised was from the Champion in the corner lighting a borrowed smoke and when she was hand on knee and skirt up thigh, her former fiancé submitted.
"Okay. Okay. Never mind."
That's right, Love. Envy was your undoing.
She could hear the strain in his voice and whether she showed it or not, the Heiress was quite pleased with herself. As his left bodyguard helplessly stared, her hand drawn to her garter as she removed her pistol, James looked ready to gut him alive. The Heiress smiled.
"There. Unarmed and harmless."
When James caught the connecting glances between his former lover and his new business cohort, he asked, "Was she this much trouble for you?"
Razer opened his mouth to answer, and instead, decided against it.
His patience tested, James McSweeney snatched the blouse from the unfortunate Officer that would have to deal with him later and parachuted it over her shoulders. Fortress or not, McSweeney was always known to break the impenetrable. She allowed him to cover her. After all, there was more than one man in the room that she wanted to toy with. The fighter noted the bruising over her sternum, ones that were residue from anything, but injury, and kept his composure by clearing his throat. Rayn faced him head on, daring him to take that red face of his and look her in the eye.
"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?"
"Please do. I'm feeling right knackered." Rayn commented and motioned for a chair without fear. If anyone moved to stop her, no one dared. "Tell me, James, what have you been on about?"
Razer had to admit. He was mildly surprised. At this point, he expected his quaint little hostage to go mad, reaching for sharp objects and most likely aiming to mine the emerald from his eye sockets. And yet, she was completely unruffled after the initial shock. In fact, her unperturbed manner, despite being in the midst of clear betrayal and blatant hazard to her life, may have been what was the most frightening facet of her personality.
"There. Unarmed and harmless."
It took everything in him to keep from smirking although he couldn't help the second long glance he shared with her.
"Was she this much trouble for you?"
McSweeney was quick to accuse it seemed and judging from the satisfied look on Krew's face, it was evident that she was using this to her advantage. The moment he asked him that question, the racer recalled two things - the gun she had to his back moments ago and the night before where her wrists were willfully pinned under his hands against his pillows. It was the second recollection that kept him from answering. Mouths were funny things at time, just like guns, they go off without intentionally pulling the trigger.
As soon as the Krew Heiress mentioned something about knackered, the racer was about ready to tune the rest of the conversation out. After all, she was now amongst her own and Razer had no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't get half of what they were saying anyway, even if he did bother.
"As you know, Razer is renowned for his elite combat racing abilities, and was a former second to one of the most notorious families that had ever lived."
"It's too bad that era's over."
Razer let that one of hers slide. McSweeney continued.
"And I have returned for some time now. I've set my roots in Kras and with the recent war between Krew and Mizo settled, I've come to Razer with a once in a lifetime proposition - to revive the Mizo clan by allying with the most nefarious family of assassins from across the seas. It makes perfect sense, blood and sweat, two different trades and yet, they accomplish similar goals."
The princess shrunk back a little, as if she'd just tasted something sour. "And where, pray tell, does this leave me?"
McSweeney had the audacity to approach her again, as if his first scalding hadn't taught him a lesson. When he reached for her hands, Razer waited for her spasm and found he was left idle. When he looked up from the inhale of his smoke, he realized that the very woman he had woke up to this morning, appeared comfortable joining hands with his new colleague.
The Kras City Champion absolved the fire in his chest as heartburn.
The coffee. Has to be that coffee of hers…
"Do you remember how it was years ago, Raynie? When we first met?"
She sighed, slipping back into reminiscence most likely.
"To our fathers, we were their golden protégé - weapons and artillery, mixed martial arts as one. With two distinct locations, an ocean between, it was the deal of the century. But that's not what you had in mind when you came that night, right, Raynie? What piqued your interest that very first fight and what kept you coming back?"
"It was the thrill of sneaking off campus into dark lots that smelled of cheap rum and stolen fags? The excitement in watching a couple of shirtless blokes swap fists? What can I say, I was a youthful rebel?"
McSweeney questioned with his eyes and Krew appeared sold.
"Was that all?"
The boxer fished and the line pulled with his catch. Rayn turned away shyly.
"And I suppose I might've went to see you. Maybe."
"And you did. We might've convinced our families with the appeal of a contract in trades, but that's not where it started, right?"
She nodded. The criminal, still clad in his prison garb struggled to restrain his gag reflex. He blinked, pondering when the room would go monochrome and wondered which role he'd be playing in this shot right out of a Noir film.
"We can be that way again, Rayn Krew, you and I. And together with my new business partner, we can rule over three trades. We can be the largest and most intimidating Syndicate in existence. And with your cousin's release date arriving soon, he won't be a threat now that you have a husband taking over the family. There will be no legitimacy in taking the Krew name from you if you're married."
What happened next, Razer hadn't foreseen. He was never even close. The cigarette barely an inch from his mouth, he hadn't realized he'd been staring until it was halfway over, and he shoved his gaze to the floor.
McSweeney was lured into a kiss that was accepted as wholeheartedly as Krew gave it. On her lap, was a small velvet box, most likely a belated apology gift?
Razer hadn't counted on his bounty to flop and join forces. Out of the three Bosses in the room, including himself, only two should walk out alive. James McSweeney failed to mention this little marriage clause in their previous negotiations as well as Officer Ruiz's involvement. From the looks of it, there were one too many details left out of the fine print and Razer was not fond of surprises. Things might have been taking a turn for the worse, and at this point in his strategy, he'd be forced to make some last minute adjustments. Just as he was about to interrupt their love fest and improvise, it came to a quick end.
When they broke away, Rayn Krew, Heiress to the Krew family and rightfully chosen, cast down her wrath.
"Let me get this straight. With my family at war with the Mizo's, rather than helping me earlier, the woman whom you want nothing more than to love and cherish for the rest of your life, you acted like a big girl's blouse and hid until the playground was clear."
She thrust the small velvet box back into McSweeney's chest as she continued to rip at him.
"When only the nesh kids were left, you've come to claim the swings when it's safest, in order to save both your and Mizo's dying breed? And to prevent the waste of burying my pretty corpse somewhere into the Dirt Stadium, you've decided to spare me with an option of being your trophy wife as I serve you and this pompous fool on the sidelines?
Brilliant, James! Bloody ace, if I say so myself!"
When he saw all the blood rush to his colleague's face, Razer snubbed the cigarette with his heel and bared his fangs.
"If I were you, Miss Krew, I'd think carefully before turning down any negotiations."
It was the first time Razer had spoken to her ever since he rolled her into this dump. Frankly, she had no care for it.
"Never said I wasn't open to negotiations, just not this one."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. That is so."
"Well then, Rayn, how can we change this deal to your liking? Perhaps, we can work something out," James intercepted, wary of Razer as he closed in.
"Well, there are two problems. First problem: You acting as a business cohort? Rubbish. You were always a loner with your own agenda. Even after all these years, I'm more than confident that that hasn't changed.
And besides, if any trades should be aligned, combat racing would do well with weapons and artillery. I don't believe the drivers are in need of bodyguards. It's unnecessary, superfluous, and all in all, just excuses to find a cubbyhole of your own to crawl into until things are back into place with the McSweeney family.
As for Johan's release, I will see to it that he's taken care of myself."
"Now hold on-"
"Two: This marriage clause. I refuse to be regarded as your lackey and besides," Rayn cast an intentional glance over to Razer, "I think I've finally decided. Racers are better than boxers. If I were to marry, I feel a combat racer would suit me best."
When Razer could no longer contain his laughter, James threw an accusing finger.
"What the hell is she talking about, Razer?"
Shrugging with the nonchalance that made him both trifling and charming, he replied, "Aside from our business partnership, my mission was to escort her to you. There were no restrictions entailed aside from not killing her before your reunion."
"What- wait, are you saying-"
"Business and pleasure do not mix, McSweeney. You can rest assured that whatever occurred between myself and Miss Krew will not interfere with your, ahem, engagement plans."
As angry as she was at the Champion and as much as she wanted to painfully avenge her pride, the Heiress couldn't help, but laugh with him. Her fingers toyed with the lapel of her shirt, the one that had been loosely returned by McSweeney. The angry, red blotches down her sternum were given new meaning, an owner that she boldly suggested as she held eyes with Mizo's primary enforcer.
"Like I said, Razer, there will be no engagement. That is final. And believe me, it has nothing to do with you. I just believe that if there is any position open for the racing franchise's head, one that knows the sport and can handle the finances and media exposure would fair better."
"Now you wait a damn minute, Rayn," James cut in, shirt unbuttoned, and shoulders tense. It was obvious that he was torn on what to act on first, to kill her or his new business partner first.
Lucky her, she'd been chosen. He fisted the collar of her shirt, the one she hadn't yet buttoned as she sported it like a jacket. Anger setting fire in his eyes, he spat, "I've already lost patience with this. Decide now. Are you in for the marriage clause or not?"
The woman hummed, her toes seemingly drawing up to her ankle to tend to an itch when she mule kicked, grabbed, and caught McSweeney's face in a stumble with one swipe. When the fighter had staggered back and pieced together the blood on his face with the calculating grin on his ex-lover, his sugary act soured to vehemence.
"You- you cut me?" As if he could mistake the mess on his cheek for jam.
"Did I?"
"I take that as a no, then."
"A very bold, italicized, and underlined, no."
Still clutching his face, he motioned for Razer. "Get rid of her. We don't need her."
"What's the matter? Your hands are already dirty," he jested and the fighter snapped back, "Consider it proof of your loyalty."
There was a pause between them. As usual, Rayn Krew had no idea what Razer was thinking. The pause might've been hesitation, but after their little skirmish before he'd thrown her in here, she stopped underestimating him.
"Fine."
Razer approached her and she stood proud. As they matched gazes, she eyed him with the kind of defiance he expected and liked in her. He snapped an arm behind her back, and her wrist to reveal the box cutter she had the pleasure of engraving her memory into McSweeney with.
He recalled how fast it happened, how precisely she acted when she kicked, caught the blade that was taped beneath her foot and put it to swift use. Honestly, he was surprised. Never had he imagined that she was running around the penitentiary like that, such sharp objects embedded beneath the arches of her bare feet. If anything, it solved the mystery of the oddly placed scarring he noted from the night before.
"A box cutter, Miss Krew? Wherever did you hide such a thing?"
"I have my tricks," she hissed.
"I will grant you one last chance, Princess. Will you accept McSweeney's proposal?"
Just then, she'd spoken words that took him back. Back to when she first set foot on his property, back in the beginning before the entire fiasco started. The line brought a haughty smile to his face.
"Rayn Krew, Heiress of the Krew family, lives a life with no regrets."
Brushing her face with his palm, he searched her eyes that proved her words to be genuine. With resolve, the Champion nodded. It was time to claim his bounty.
"Well, it's unfortunate, Rayn, but I have to claim my bounty now. You see, the reward is quite high for your head."
"I do hope you enjoy your riches then. I will see you in hell."
Forcing the box cutter from her, the man held it loosely against the bulb of her neck, his submission on her, keeping her at bay. Rather than flailing or screaming, the woman closed her eyes, teeth biting down at her lip with an anger she'd take into her death and most likely haunt him with for the rest of his life. All memory of her heated skin against his resurfacing, he might have longed for different circumstances as he held her body against his own. Razer noted the satisfied grin on James McSweeney as he inched closer, eager for the VIP seat in Rayn Krew's execution.
"Miss Krew?"
"Yes, Razer?"
"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your-"
This was it. She clenched her eyes, and waited. Any second, she must have expected him to use the box cutter to slash across her neck, bleed her out before the world faded before her. Razer, like the gentleman he always was, was never one to leave a woman waiting.
"-heel."
"Yes, Razer?" Rayn answered, her eyes closed as she awaited her demise. She tried her hardest to avoid counting down all the things she'd miss about life. Her morning Chai, her sarcastic butler, Isaac, the Rapine that Razer may or may not have given to her, her fluffy bedroom carpet, her evening bath oils - all the small things that made the stress of crime life just a bit bearable.
"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your-"
This was the end. Regrettable, but an end she'd face head on with pride. She hoped that her execution would be one that would haunt the Champion forever, cast him from his wet sheets at night as he was torn between their recollections of entertaining banter, sex and death. In fact, she was determined it would be so. And as she cursed his name with every fiber of her being, she looked forward to seeing her parents again.
I'm on my way, mum, daddy. I've missed you so…
"-heel."
What? Heel? Did I hear heel?
When a sharp projectile whistled across the room and grazed McSweeney's ear to catch Officer Ruiz in the head before he crumpled onto the floor, the room went mute due to the shock. Rayn realized she was still breathing, the box cutter gone from her neck and the restraint on her loosened.
"Heel?"
Razer clarified, "Yes. Your heel came in handy."
When she blinked and pushed him for further explanation, he shrugged, "I'm sorry, Rayn," he returned her box cutter and winked, "The bounty on McSweeney is thrice as much as yours."
"Razer!" McSweeney growled, about to fly off the handle with complete disregard to the Officer's corpse lying behind him.
"Serves him right," Rayn thought as she dried the small bloody weapon between her fingers, revealing that she had another on her opposite foot.
Razer was now unarmed, taking an offensive position with his fists, an unusual move for the knife wielder. The Champion faced James, obviously threatened by the boxer and oblivious to the murderous intent that Rayn Krew still harbored, despite joining forces. Slipping her hands over his broad shoulders, she whispered evocatively, sure to catch McSweeney's attention as she lathered her breath over Razer's ear, "Should I assume that this is a temporary truce?"
"Temporary, yes. I'm growing sick of this hell hole."
"All right then. I'm just as eager for some sunshine, but one thing, Razer."
"Hmm?"
"I owe you dearly for this unpleasant experience and I will warn you now, it won't be painless."
The woman slid her second box cutter by Razer's neck, where she could have just as easily filleted him as he'd almost done to her moments ago. Her hand itched. She still had not forgotten the way her knees scraped when he'd shoved her into the room, or the way he restrained her, shiv to her throat. Every ounce of blood boiled for her to get on with it, swipe the cutter like she'd swipe a credit card and deal with McSweeney afterwards.
Problem was, now that McSweeney was privy on the personal affairs between herself and the Kras City Champion and with the nasty cut she'd inflicted on his pretty face, odds were, there was no longer any room for sweetening him back up. Wielding only two box cutters, she'd have to cheat death to escape this sticky situation and if she wanted to make it out alive, she'd have to put a rain check on her revenge date with Razer and buddy up.
Acknowledging the hatred in her voice and how the tables have turned with her sparing his life, the racer nodded.
"I would expect nothing less, Princess."
Lowering the box cutter on his neck, she seemed to pause on sharing her small supply of weaponry before deciding against it, and drawing back. Her hand receded the way a magician sweeps away a deck of cards for dramatic effect. With one last warning in her eyes, he realized she was giving him a handicap by not offering her second box cutter that he so graciously returned.
With an inward shrug, he thought to himself, "Have always been one for a challenge." Their tension like gritting stained glass between their teeth, beautifully painful, the two turned to face their common adversary.
James McSweeney regarded them with animosity, half of his face darkened with blood.
"Kill them! Both!"
Glossary
Che Cavolo: Italian for WTF! (I love my made up Accardo Syndicate)
Her Majesty's Pleasure: When visiting England, try to avoid being detained at Her Majesty's pleasure. This means being put in prison with no release date!
Allgäuer Emmentaler: German cheese with huge holes in it
Scrump: To rob/steal
Nancy boy - If someone is being pathetic you would call them a nancy or a nancy boy. It is the opposite of being hard. For example in cold weather a nancy boy would dress up in a coat, hat, gloves and scarf and a hard guy would wear a t-shirt. It's also another word for a gay man.
Right Knackered: The morning after twenty pints and the curry, you'd probably feel knackered. Another way to describe it is to say you feel shagged. Basically worn out, good for nothing, tired out, knackered.
Fag: Cigarette (not the offensive kind, thank you)
Big girl's blouse - This is a nice way of saying someone is a wimp. It means someone is being pathetic.
Nesh: Another word with the same meaning as Nancy Boy/Big Girl's Blouse aka pathetic
By the way, I get most of my British slang from effingpot(dot)com as well as some of the copied and pasted definitions.
A/N: Ah, so now we know more about James as well as Cutter. I'm sure all the dots are connecting…I hope.
So the action's gotten started here. Props to CaptainHilts for giving me a few tips on action scenes. This is only the tip of the iceberg so I think I managed to not totally ruin it this chapter, but the next one? Eek. No promises.
And the cliffie does its job here, I think. With the Cutter scenes elsewhere, the chapters should end now with that anticipation that's only right with these sorts of stories. I'm also hoping I didn't make Rayn awkward with her constant change of moods and alliances. One moment she's like, you're hot, then another, I'll kill you, then later, you're still hot but I'm still gonna kill you regardless? Yeah. Weird.
