Fine Print
Isaac…
Rayn's fingers shook above the buzzer that summoned her personal butler. It was pitch-black in her room save for the slivers of moonlight filtering in from her shades, and yet she could still manage to find the buzzer blindly.
The woman hesitated. Her chest heaved as she clutched herself, recollecting the moments relived in her nightmares. This time it was bad, a combination of dark prisons, living family members who were in reality, long deceased, and the cruel irony of making friends with people whom friendship was impossible. Mother. Father. James. Jak. And the last she remembered was her chest bleeding, a child again in a wet dress as she clung fearfully to herself, desperately trying to find her voice before she was embraced against a wall.
"Breath," he said, and she sunk into warmth. As they fell backwards, she turned to see the face she was already expecting and woke before getting the satisfaction.
Now, at two in the morning, she'd been torn from her silken bed sheets, and the Krew Heiress battled with herself: To call on her butler for a midnight snack or to return to bed. Her eyes looked toward a bookshelf across the room and although she couldn't read the Titles, she knew what she was looking for. Abandoning the idea to call for Isaac, Rayn made her way across. Her fingers instinctively scrolled down the spine of a book she'd read in high school once or twice. One line had inspired her to re-read it and hopefully a passage or two would lull her back to sleep.
In his eyes, she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex…
When the demolitions expert entered the Naughty Ottsel, he was on his third cigar since leaving his shabby apartment in New Haven. The first, he lost to his old lady when she snatched it out of his mouth – entirely his fault, he'd admit.
Ya don't mouth off to little Red, especially when Combat Racing's turnin' the city into a pile of rubble every season.
Sure, it slaps a nice bonus on her construction job paychecks, but the metal bugs coming up from the sewers piss that woman off like an unexpected visit from the in-laws. And having him add to the destruction on his freelance with the Freedom League did not make the exterminator very happy.
That was fine though. Taryn was hottest when she was fiery.
"Jinx," the Commander regarded him at the bar, already gesturing for a shot for his companion.
"Hey, Commander, how's life treatin' ya?"
"Not good enough," Torn grunted as he slid Jinx the small shot glass of the strongest stuff they had.
The second cigar he lost when he was passing the newspaper stand in the Bazaar. Headlines made his head spin and before he realized it, his smoke had somehow landed the floor.
"Shit," he cursed, at both the newspaper and the sacrificed cigar. Now he knew why Torn had called him up so fast and if he'd been one of those white-collared paper pushin' jerks that subscribe to get these things thrown at their doors every morning, he would have at least been prepared.
So now on his third and knowing he'd probably waste that any second as well, the ex-Krew mobster snubbed it into an ashtray.
"How's Taryn?"
"Oh, Red? Hasn't blinded me with that smoky sprayer of hers yet, so I assume she still likes me enough not to kill me. What 'bout the Governor?"
The man scoffed, taking a moment to chug down his shot before calling for another.
"Speaking of Ash, she had my ass for breakfast. Matter of fact that was the reason I called you here. Know anything about this?"
As expected, the Commander revealed the newspaper he'd been dreading, the one that had cost him his second smoke. Ever since the gang had gotten poisoned and blackmailed in Kras months back, Freedom League had been keeping tabs on Rayn Krew's activity.
"Buncha suckers," Jinx laughed when the gossip had reached him. They had a saying back when the bar was the Hip Hog.
Never trust a dead man.
"Should've known better than to trust Krew."
Although it'd been a while since he left the Underground to better his life, Jinx worked with Krew for years, watched his little girl grow up and knew the Crime family enough to know that if he invited you for a drink, either you'd just done him a good deed, or the cocktail was the kind of brew you'd only appreciate once. It was a dumb move on their part, after all, why the hell would Krew leave 'em anything, but hell to pay?
The best part was the look on Jakkie boy's face when he teased at him. "Should of called your old buddy Jinx and invited him to the party, but ya didn't. That's what ya get. I would have told ya not to go. Hell, even Sig would have."
Jinx didn't hang around Sig much, but he knew that he never saw the man ever accept a drink from the Boss either. As soon as word reached Sig's ears, he drove over to Kras to help, and behind closed doors, maybe convince little Raynie to go easy on wonder boy and his friends. Jinx didn't bother.
"Never took you as the reading type, Commander," Jinx jested, trying to avoid the topic at hand.
"It made international headlines this morning. Apparently Krew had a nephew no one knew about overseas. He was out on parole yesterday except he never made it a mile from the prison."
"Really? That's unfortunate."
Playing stupid never worked with Torn, but he'd try his luck anyway.
"His car was rigged. His goons were on high alert all day expecting an attack, but the explosives were so professional, later Feds were calling it a government job, but I think different. I know different."
"I'm sure Johan had a lot of enemies, you know how it is, Commander, can't please everybody."
"Where were you yesterday, Jinx?"
"Oh you know, little bit of this, little bit of that. You can ask Taryn. She wasn't sleepin' alone last night."
Torn squinted, retrieving the glass that the barmaid had left him. After a swig, he slammed the glass down hard enough to echo louder than the cheesy karaoke Daxter had playing in the background.
"I never did say his name, Jinx."
The demo expert laughed out loud. Taking the chance to relight his cigar, the man was getting ready to walk out when he looked back at Torn.
"Old habits die hard, ya know?"
"All I'm saying is don't get in too deep. I'd hate to have another morning like this one where I had to convince Ash that Krew must have had plenty other demolition teams to call on, all of whom had nothing to do with you who used to be number one on his list a few years back."
"Relax, Tornie. Call it a favor, okay? Tell the Governor to send my bonus in the mail."
When the blond left the Naughty Ottsel, he released an audible sigh. That was a close call. Getting chewed out by Torn was never fun.
He was about to head home and pray that the Commander didn't put his alibi to the test by ringing Taryn up later (He did mention how he lost that first cigar, right?) when an old co-worker of his approached. Apparently, Torn had sent an invite to someone other than him.
"Jinx! I see you're in high spirits. What's wrong, chili pepper, not much to blow up these days?"
Sig. Despite the fact that they never became buddies, Jinx had a couple of run-ins with Sig working for the same Crime Boss, maybe a co-op mission or two. He was a favorite amongst Krew's Wastelanders and little Raynie had also taken a liking to the cheery man. Whenever the Krew princess was not shooing him out of the room because of his cigars, Jinx would catch glimpses of her dragging Sig around the mansion, having him kill bugs and join her for afternoon tea.
"Nothin'. Just lost too many cigars, is all."
"Hmm, something tells me that you saw the morning paper and Torn wasn't very pleased."
"Pleased? The Commander was delighted. Should have seen him - a beaming ray of sunshine."
Sig laughed, "Guess that means I'm up next for interrogation. Not looking forward to it. Torn's a good guy deep down but on his bad days, he eats takes his wheaties with dynamite."
"Yeah." Without incident, Jinx had managed to start and finish his third cigar. Elated that he was able to smoke it all, his mood was already improving as he snubbed it beneath his toe. "I swear, last favor I ever do for her. My old lady finds out and she'll rip me a new one. Supposed to be on my best behavior these days."
"Last favor for our little Raynie, huh? She's all grown up now. Making poison cocktails and contracting executions all by herself."
"Yeah, I remember when she was knee-high, always makin' me throw out my cigars."
"Despite the headlines this morning, I can only hope she's keeping out of too much trouble."
Jinx nodded, growing more impatient to get to his apartment before Torn could get the chance to even try calling.
"Yeah. I hear from the grapevine that the racing business has been keeping her busy. Rayn always liked her toys."
"True. As long as she has them cars, something tells me that our little Krew Princess will be just fine."
"You barmy bastard, pedal! Pedal to the metal!"
"Drink, Mistress?"
"Not now Isaac, it's almost finished-"
And there you have it race fans! Iceland Citadel's team has won by a hair and have tied down the scores! Don't take your potty breaks yet folks because after commercials, we'll be revving our engines for the last round on the Loading Docks!
Will Iceland's wheel jockeys continue dominating the circuit, leaving Kras' new racers frozen in their wake or will Kras' rookies come firing it back up with a vengeance in the last round? Stay tuned-
Rayn lowered the volume on the television she had in her office. Behind her, the large window showcased the street that would mark the middle of Kras City's main racing route, a skyscraper not far off from the Bloody Hook.
"Ugh! I could almost hear it now, Isaac."
"Hear what, Mistress?"
"The monotony of Kras' passerbys as they hum by our giant plasma screens, regarding the sport as nothing more than an infomercial for vacuums.
"Don't you think you're being a bit harsh to yourself, Rayn-"
"It's aggravating! I see them yawning! Hell, I'm yawning! Those very same plasma screens last season were traffic stoppers, jaw droppers and crowd gatherers!
With the way my dream team was swapping blood and paint with Mizo, authorities were sending us complaints about clogging the sidewalks with civilians that would stop in their tracks just to see who would die next?
Isaac! In all the time that Combat Racing has been airing on prime time, it had it's highest ratings in all of history last season and now? Now?"
Her butler swapped her juice for wine and left a freshly iced cup next to the bottle.
"Thanks, Isaac. You always know best."
"Of course," he nodded on his exit.
"Idiots. As if I don't pay them enough to master a bloody power slide."
The Heiress slammed her roster pad on the desk. It had only been weeks into the new season and already things were not running as smoothly as she hoped. With that feather brained television anchor now co-hosting with a pretty faced partner and a rack to match, it was enough to at least keep the male viewers watching. Even with snack vendors that could pass for swimsuit models, ratings were still diminishing.
With the promise of new blood and some variety into the new season, Rayn had hoped to sway the crowds into forgetting some of the veteran members they were used to seeing, but from the choppy results she was getting from the team she had seemingly over paid and over trained for such a botched up job, it was no wonder why it would take a lot more than that to maintain their slot in prime time.
Edje. Shiv. Cutter.
And Razer.
Completely gone. Missing. Dead. Ever since the Butcheree incident, who knows?
As if their disappearance wasn't a mystery in itself, what Rayn found the most curious is how what was left of Mizo's staff stood on board. Although the papers covered the Butcheree Cliff's chaos well as an electrical malfunction in where most inmates or faculty were kept unharmed, she expected that when the real gossip got out, any true loyalist to Mizo would turn in their pink slip, if they even had the courtesy to do that much.
She had the grounds and ocean by Butcheree searched thoroughly and there was no body – Razer's body, that is. As far as she knew, Razer was dead. She had ordered the search because now that she was taking legal possession of Mizo's racing corporation and Razer was named his inheritor, she would need proof of his death to present to the bank when it came to transferring property deeds, re-buying the routes used for the races etcetera etcetera – definitely not for personal reasons, of course. And though she could not find physical proof of his death, the bank was well aware of Razer's imprisonment prior to Butcheree's incident and was therefore willing to let her transfer all the documents under her name since the legal inheritor could not utilize the business or it's land.
In theory, once she received the legal papers from the safety deposit box that Razer had so kindly given her the key to, running the Franchise should have been as easy as a bowl of instant oats. The board of big honchos hadn't changed, most of the grunge workers remained in the garages and pit lanes, and the only real differences were the four missing men. Without stardom like her golden boy Jak and enough to blackmail him with, racers of that caliber were hard to find and hard to train. And even with her best out there wreaking havoc, judging by the polls, fans were still not pleased.
Rayn Krew was not pleased.
All right, race fans, we're back! Cherish those ocean waves people because in a few moments, they'll be drowned out by the serene sound of explosions and death!
"All right, if they don't win this cup, some berk's taking a trip by the Dirt Stadium," the woman shouted as she raised her wine glass at the television.
"Jak, could you do me a favor and hand me the car jack?" Keira chuckled, "And no pun intended."
"Need help?" Jak offered, turning his attention from the television to his mechanic who was just about to upgrade his wheels.
The woman eyed the sleeping Ottsel curled up on one of her garage shelves and winked, "Sure. Could use a hand."
Jak rolled up his sleeves and gently shimmied Keira out of the way. "H-hey, I said I needed help, not for you to take over. This stuff's a woman's job."
Jak grunted as he loosened the wheel lugs one at a time, the veins in his forearms pronouncing his strength with every twist. After he'd gotten the tire disconnected from the vehicle, he jested, "A woman's job? I think you're confused."
"Oh? Am I?"
Expecting a good swat across the back of his skull, he rephrased himself, "You're a woman who's really good at a man's job."
"Don't you mean I'm a woman who's really good at a job most men wish they were good at?"
The slap arrived as predicted and he chuckled. "Of course, that's what I meant."
The television skipped and buzzed. Keira stood up to straighten the picture with a good fisting.
All right, race fans, we're back! Cherish those ocean waves people because in a few moments, they'll be drowned out by the serene sound of explosions and death!
"Jak, why are we watching this again? I don't know about you, but Kras left me with nothing but trauma, despite the luxury cars that I got to take apart."
"Torn's order. Believe me, I don't miss the cigar and hip-hog burger smell from their garage anymore than you do, but it seems Ash insists we keep an eye open at least for a while. Just in case anything fishy happens."
All right folks, it's only half of the first lap and how disappointing - no one's dead yet.
"Hmm, still pissed about Rayn's little goodbye gift, is she?"
"Yeah, she's a little fired up. If you thought she hated Krew's daughter before, and all Rayn did was confirm her suspicions, the Governor is probably crossing her fingers at any excuse to stick our noses into their business. Seriously though, I've had it with the Krew family. Rayn seemed nice enough, but-"
Second lap and a bunch of misfired Eco weapons. Come on guys, what is this, the kiddie league? Anyway, Iceland still in the lead.
"Ah, Jak. Sometimes, you wear your heart on your sleeve."
The man paused, finishing up on the tire before mumbling, "I don't hate the girl, but I guess I am getting soft."
The mechanic leaned over for a kiss and caught Jak off-guard. An idea struck them both at the same time and after exchanging a suggestive look, Jak was about to lead his girlfriend upstairs when the television cackled.
Wait! What is- what is this?
Four vehicles have come flying out of the freight containers, I repeat, illegal drivers have just entered the circuit! Waking up the fans with a Super Nova straight into Iceland's driver on first and sending third swerving into a fatal tumble thanks to a volley of Skullsplitters!
Eyes wide, Jak and Keira stared. She hadn't realized she was clutching onto Jak's collar until he covered her hands with his own.
"J-Jak? You don't think-"
"Yeah, I think Ash just got what she wished for…"
The freight containers were pitch black and even with his lighter on, Razer could barely make out the ticking hands on his watch. It was thanks to Anchor's crew that he and his team could make the event unnoticed, the perfect wake up call for both the fans and his rival. After all, it was so quiet out in the stands, if it weren't for Edje's impatient spews of profanity and Shiv telling him to shove it every couple of seconds, Razer would have been lulled to sleep.
"Boss," his walkie cackled. At least Cutter was dependable for not filling the air with prattle, unless of course, Edje provoked it. Today though, Shiv played Edje's victim.
"I'm listening."
"We're out in sixty."
"All right, boys, let's clamp our yap traps and put on a show. Kras misses us," Razer announced, revving his engine and indulging in the smell of exhaust.
"Ah, ain't it great to be home, Boss?"
Finally Edje had said something worthy of answering. It'd been months that he'd been recovering, scheming and tying loose ends. There would be much to catch up on with the Krew Princess, that is, if she didn't want to kill him first.
"I agree, but home is best without uninvited guests over…"
Shiv beat Edje to the last word with an unusually heartening cheer before the sunlight would whiten everything, the smoke guiding them to their beloved road.
"Hell yeah! Let's take back what's ours."
Razer might have even heard a shout from Cutter drowned beneath the mass of screaming audience members. However, once the first vehicle came into view, his vision reddened, and with predatory intent, his fists yanked the lever and summoned a Super Nova, the sharp whistle a proclamation of his intrusion.
"I'm coming, Mistress!" Isaac shouted, cocking his shotgun as he bolted through the door with two of Rayn's muscles.
Rayn was standing frozen in the middle of the office, hands over her mouth as she gawked up at the screens.
"Are you all right, my dear? I heard a scream."
The Heiress barely nodded, shooing away all but her butler as she continued to stare. Her announcer had been cut off and replaced by a tasteless party-themed alternative song. Four drivers had just catapulted into the races, taking advantage of the confusion and sending half of both teams colliding and exploding into ember and smoke within seconds.
"Someone's hacked the broadcasting station?" Isaac exclaimed, shaking his master who wordlessly had her eyes glued to the race. He stopped, recognizing the glimmer in her eyes transforming from shock to excitement.
He waited. Waited. And it came.
"Woo! That's right, you grotty dozy, into the ocean and off my circuits for cocking up the job I paid you too much for!"
Her butler raised a brow. He could have sworn that was one of their men.
"That's how I bloody like it, ey, off a cliff and straight into a plume of oblivion- wait, I've said that before, haven't I?"
"I apologize, but it becomes rather difficult to keep track of your random spurts of maliciousness at times."
The Crime Lord lent him a smirk before kicking off her heels and hopping closer to the screen.
"Is that Iceland bricking it? I can't believe it. The Nancy boy pulled over and ran."
The woman hooted, slapping her knees and cheeks as red as her lipstick. Clearly, she couldn't have been more pleased, despite that the drivers weren't her own.
"If you don't mind my asking, but just in case, you are aware of who those drivers are, right, milady?"
Without tearing her eyes from the action, she laughed, "I do! And I can't wait to butcher them when this is all done! My hands are shaking just with the thought alone, Isaac, you haven't the slightest clue."
"I'll take your word for it."
She caught her servant with an added bob to his usually rigid stance. Turned out that the new audio was a bit catchy after a good listen.
"Burn it to the ground, ey?"
The song faded, the third lap coming to an end and all the initial racers forcefully and fatally ejected from the race aside from one of hers, veering behind and making third place in front of one of the four mystery drivers. Least one of 'em took notes during training.
The fans were going crazy! Drinks chucked into the roads, men shrieking in soprano and women flashing their bosoms at the cameras. They loved it! Gobbled it right up.
"Shall I ring up the muscles?" Isaac offered.
"Hmm. Give word to Security: Pink slip to the clots that managed to live. Don't touch the one that crossed the finish line though. Not too shabby, that chap, we can still polish him up."
"And the, ahem, illegal drivers?"
"Bah. Hand me a fresh bottle of red wine. Let's be hospitable to our new guests, shall we?"
Upon her butler's exit, Rayn Krew let down her hair and chugged down at least a fourth of the new bottle Isaac had handed her. Either she had finally gone looney or this was one of the best things that had ever happened to her.
She hadn't any idea how to feel. Mostly she was ecstatic. It was the most exhilarating race she'd seen air yet since her take over months ago. She almost ran out of the office herself, ready to snatch the nearest soft drink and join the fans in flinging it over the rails.
She was also confused, perhaps a tad angry. After all, if they'd come all this way, it wasn't so that they could kindly help her raise ratings, but to stir up a bit of trouble.
But that was all right for the Crime Lord. Kras had been quiet since the Butcheree incident. Maybe trouble was just what the doctor ordered. She was shoving her bangs out of her face and guzzling her wine when the expected knock on her door finally came. The woman sat cross-legged on her desk, her grin as wide as a piss-artist.
"Come on in, boys," she shouted, rewarding herself to another sip as the man of the hour waltzed in. The rest of the group followed and she asked, "None of my men gave you too much trouble, I hope?"
"None at all, Miss Krew. In fact, I'm surprised."
"Yeah, me too. Bunch of cannibals just fattening us up before dinner-" Edje remarked before Razer hushed him.
Razer looked well. The scruff she last remembered, as smooth as a baby's bottom, his signature coat playing off his bright eyes and in spite of the newly added slant in his step, his stride was still purposeful, and arrogant.
"Surprised, are you?"
"Yes. I did not expect that you'd be so - eager to catch up on old times."
They paused, allowing the reality to settle and Rayn, tempted to pinch herself just for confirmation.
"Wine, anyone?"
Razer accepted the half empty bottle and knowingly shoved it into Edje's chest before swatting them away. Shiv as social as usual and Cutter, still adorned in his mask, left wordlessly on cue.
"The headlines are declaring your cousin's death. My congratulations on ridding the city of what would have been - an irksome obstacle."
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Razer. What happened to my cousin was a rather unfortunate accident," she winked as she circled her desk to reach for the copy of the deeds that he'd so graciously given her upon his- death? Temporary leave? Whatever.
"All right then. To business, shall we?"
"You read me like a book, Miss Krew."
"Yes, yes, what do you want so that I can counter it with some legal jargon? Make it quick."
"Well, Rayn," he returned to calling her by first name, bringing with it millions of snippets, nostalgia of their bickering with her back against a locker, oil on their fingers and the spice of his shampoo. The brief reminiscence made her confront his gaze head on as he slipped out a document from inside his coat. "I've stopped by to give you this. It seems you're behind on your payments."
"Payments- what? Cobblers. Let me see that."
It was a moment while she skimmed before finally slamming her desk and returning to her anticipated position in front of him.
"An eviction notice? You have no right, Razer. Those deeds were legit. This Franchise is mine."
"Correct. However, being named the sole inheritor of Mizo's Franchise, and now no longer declared deceased in Kras' records, and trust me, I fixed that yesterday, this company is no longer yours. And neither is the land it sits on, no matter which city."
"What? Wait-"
"Come on, Rayn. You should know better. Read the fine print before you break out the party poppers. You were aware that the deeds were Partnership Titles, weren't you?"
"Yes, regardless of my bewilderment, I am far from daft. Mizo had a Title as General and left it open for a Sleeping Partner, in which I assumed he left in the event that he had an heir by blood, after all, bagger or not, I assume he wanted a child eventually – an heir to observe until he was wise enough to take over."
"That is where you're mistaken, Rayn. Mizo always had a Sleeping Partner, but it wasn't intended for a son.
The Title was active and that partner was none other than his most trusted lieutenant – me. Sure, I had no involvement in running the corporation, but I still had my benefits. And when the great Mizo met his end, perhaps you were so bored at the reading of his Will, that you missed that very important detail.
The clauses state that in the event of the General's death or retirement, the Sleeping Partner, who then is promoted as the new General, would inherit the company. Or did you think my early retirement from the Circuits was just a product of lucid tedium?"
"I've done my reading, Razer. In the event of the General's death, if there was no inheritor, then the Title was free to claim. For example, in your case for the past few months before you seemingly rose from the dead."
"Yes, but like I just previously announced, much to your displeasure – I live. Now your ownership is a farce. And if you wish to defend your documents against mine in the court of law, you know as well as I do that in this corrupted city, the judge chooses the one with the most-"
Razer's final word hissed, "Power…"
The Krew Heiress let that last word simmer. For good reason, he had used that tone. What did he have up his sleeve; Rayn was about to find out.
The woman's voice lowered to match his, forcing the pair to close in on one another, a familiar scene that has played between them many times before.
"Well if we're judging by power, I'd have to say that with Mizo's passing and half of your men defecting or returning to ordinary civilian life," she walked two fingers up his arm before stopping at his shoulder, "I. Win."
There was a pause between them. Rayn's hand parked over his shoulder and the champion, unmoved. She could still feel it though- the hovering of his fangs over her neck.
"I'm afraid, you're mistaken again."
"Care to clarify?"
The racer caught her idle fingers into his and answered, "The Mizo family has become a Syndicate - an alliance."
A Syndicate? But that could only mean-
"Who in their right mind? What other enemies do I have that I am unaware of?"
"Perhaps an old friend would be a more appropriate term. I trust that you are familiar with the name, Theodore Fratto."
The man emphasized every syllable in the name as if he expected her to question her ears before he even said it. And when she snatched her hand as if she weren't the one that offered in the first place, it was clear that she had heard.
"What. About. Theodore?"
"Judging by your look of exasperation, I take that as a yes?"
"Yes. He's dead. What does he have to do with any of this?"
"Well, it just so happens that," Razer fiddled with the cigarette tucked behind his ear, "Theo was a good friend of mine; The Frattos, good friends of the Mizo family for many years. And upon Theo's death, a bounty was placed on the man who was responsible for the Fratto son's murder."
"James McSweeney."
"I was unaware of your connection until recently, and so back then, fulfilling the bounty was nothing more than an unpaid debt to a good friend of the family, as well as a chance at redemption for one of my fellow racers."
"But didn't James disappear for years?"
"Yes. Time passed, his bounty became less of a priority and Mizo distracted by business. When word of your arrival into Kras first came, it was good enough reason to pique James' interest. The rest is history.
As a matter of fact, I owe you a word of thanks. In spite of my Boss' passing and your hand in it, if you had never shown your face here, James would not have sought the opportunity that he did – a weakness amidst our war, between Krew and Mizo. And that opening is what led him to approach me with an offer I could not refuse."
"My head on a platter," Rayn scoffed, in disbelief that her research had been lacking so much as to cost her now. How she had missed these details, she could only guess.
The Champion had managed to pull the wool over her eyes. How mortified she felt from being so one-upped! And as a result of her lost pride, Rayn Krew vowed to see to the disposal of some lacking employees later, to ensure that an incident such as this never happened again.
"That is correct. It was an easy ploy to gain his trust, a combination guaranteed to work proven by what was formerly supposed to be an alliance between your father and Floyd McSweeney – your arranged marriage to James. James approached me and offered to eliminate or absorb my enemy, his ex-fiancée to begin anew, in order to remedy his mistakes with his family by presenting his father with new business outlets."
"I see," the princess took a swig at her new bottle of wine, "And where did my survival fit into these meticulous plans or was my life forfeit from the very start?"
"That," the lieutenant paused to juggle words, "You can call a last minute improvisation."
"I beg your pardon?" the woman could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. For someone who allowed Mizo to hold the reigns for years without any implications of wanting a turn, Razer appeared mighty smug in the driver's seat – now waltzing into her office and suddenly proving to be a more skilled leader than she?
Rubbish.
It seemed like a bad joke. The day her mother died, she had simultaneously lost a father whose only family was the weapons in his gallery and the Zoomers in his garage. And when she was finally old enough to inherit the things that her father loved most, perhaps finally gain his approval and prove that she was her own woman, with or without James, her father had been killed - and by whom?
None other than the heroic eco boy that was the embodiment of all the sorts of things she could never have in a man because she was too tainted to maintain him. Then she had to blackmail this boy and his friends, grow some attachment and have to kick 'em to the curb before she was distracted from her initial goal – to make her daddy proud.
But just as Jak served as a sour reminder of all the normality's that she'd be eternally excluded from due to the nature of her family business, the symbol of her most private infatuations and ambitions had been named as the man between her and her father's approval.
Razer.
Damn it, Razer! I've locked you up, tried to kill you, tried to be nice as well, kept these blinking clots of yours on my payroll, and I've managed to keep the Franchise from plummeting into bankruptcy - and this is my reward?
It was almost too much to bear. The woman was searching for words, for action, and found instead, that time had slowed. She was thumbing the wine bottle in her hand - the thought of cracking it over the racer's head, becoming a tempting reality.
This was a delicate matter. He'd have to treat it as so. His intention was not to have Krew snap her heavies into opening fire and turning the Circuit into a shoot out. There was a purpose he had in mind, and even if she did refuse the proposal he was about to make, he hoped to resolve it without blood spilled, at least until the Franchise became stable again.
His expertise lied in racing, knife throwing and evasive banter. Having his guard down was- difficult. And so, Razer sort of let mindless babble fall out of his mouth and it was most likely not his best choice of words.
"That, you can call a last minute improvisation."
"I beg your pardon?"
The Heiress was the reddest he'd ever seen. He observed the way she tested the bottle in her hand and decided on not defending. Instead, he waited. If his intuition was correct and he had not yet turned senile, Krew would not take this to the extreme, at least yet. She was reasonable enough to offer options, intelligent enough to decide if those options were worth it and one who had the talent to exploit that option for more than it was originally worth. It was why he wanted her for this- needed her. He had to get this done right.
Just when the man thought she might explode into a tuft of smoke, laughter ensued instead – or more like a cackle.
"You've got me, Razer, bang to rights. And as the last respectable power left in the Krew family, you leave me with no choice, but to accept this defeat with grace – or at least for the time being."
Defeat?
Now there was a word the Champion was astonished to find in her vocabulary. She was most definitely going to have him iced later – or she'd try.
"So before you kill me or release me or whatever, please humor me with one small detail."
"What is it?"
"I had the grounds of Butcheree turned upside down after your fall. I saw the forensics and I still can't fathom it. How did you survive?"
Razer smiled. It seemed now she was ready to hear his secrets.
"I landed the ocean when I fell and avoided the crags by a lucky break due to Officer Weasley. The officer turned yellow and fled from the prison the moment the lights went out and by the time he had made it, the least he could do was save the body he had spotted crashing into the sea."
"But even if Weasley had the fins of a Lurker Shark, your injuries, there was no way-"
"I owe Shiv many lifetimes of gratitude, believe me."
Before the woman could even think of budging, he walked her back into the desk, the edge catching her abruptly as she hiccupped.
"Rayn Krew, daughter of Mizo's greatest enemy, has she finally suffered defeat or is she still willing to lend me an ear for another moment?"
"I don't suppose you're inviting me out for a bevvy?"
"As always, Rayn, your humor charms me."
The Champion revealed to her another set of documents.
"What, pray tell, is this?"
"I will only make this proposition once."
There was a stall.
"Marry me, Rayn Krew, and I can promise that the rewards you'll reap will be beyond your wildest dreams, all in due time, of course."
She squinted as if to confirm he wasn't a hallucination before she had up and snatched her heat from a drawer and pinned it to his chest, the click of the safety a distinct sound over their silence.
Ah. He was waiting for this…
"I refuse. How dare you make the same cockamamie deal that James did."
"Look at the papers, Rayn."
"I can't believe- the gall-"
"Rayn. Look at the papers."
Her finger itched to relive their last moments in Butcheree despite that her joints were too stiff to pull through with it. And so she did what he asked.
The first few lines made her head sway and she had to do a double to confirm that she hadn't misread.
"It's a hole in my heart, Rayn. Had it all my life. It's hereditary. Most of the men in my family don't get past their forties, stroke or cardiac arrest."
"That can't be right. I've done a background check on you. Nothing like that has ever-"
"Mizo did well to keep our health and family matters private."
It definitely explained the added limp to his walk, a possible after effect to cardiac troubles from the accident.
"Well barmy, how ironic is that? A hole in your heart."
Ignoring any innuendos from that comment, the man returned to the topic at hand.
"Beneath these medical records is a copy of an original and updated Title deed, one that will be put into action if you accept this agreement. Right now I am in a two way partnership with Lucas Fratto, Theo's father, but that document will not only make you a third, but will guarantee that my widow will inherit my Title upon my- well, you know.
After all, while I appreciate Lucas' assistance in expanding the family, his expertise lies in martial arts, not in racing and I will feel at peace leaving the company in more capable hands.
If you reject this offer, however, I will have the original document burned immediately and you will never get this opportunity again."
When he looked to her for an apparent answer, her own heart was beating so loudly in her ears, it took her a second to realize his speech was over. Once again, Mar had a wondrous sense of humor when it came to her life.
Razer was dying?
The idea was absurd! It was as if someone was trying to convince her that she could kill with her mind and strut through walls. Razer, Mizo's most successful racing Champion for years, the man whom she admired on her bulletin board on a day to day basis as a high school girl, was in reality facing an unpredictable and natural death?
Keeping her pistol snug to his chest, she suggested another option that he hadn't offered.
"Why would I accept such terms when I can just rid myself of the nuisance altogether?"
To her astonishment, the racer still had not whipped out any knives or guns. He did not ready his fists. Instead, he leaned forward. Rayn could feel her shoulders shrink inward.
"This gun is loaded," she warned.
"Remind me, Rayn, why is it that you never iced your Haven team after last year's Grand Prix? Could it have been your attachment to your golden boy or was it that you knew he'd be too much trouble to dispose of?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I wonder if I were shot, right here, and now, without our agreement being finalized, who is written as my inheritor in the event of my death?"
Her eyes widened.
Jak…
"You're bluffing."
"Am I? That is for you to decide."
"But you loathe him."
"I do, but how does he feel about you? With your betrayal no longer kept under wraps, what do you think he'd do with the very Franchise that was not only owned by his enemy, but one that almost killed the people he cared for thanks to your trickery?"
When she had realized it, her gun had already lowered. As she calmly slid it onto her desk, the man was upon her, his arms trapping her from escape on both sides and his nose threatening to collide with hers.
When she could not breath at all, he took a deep breath in, reminding her to so the same.
Breathe…
"Why me?"
"I'm only going to say this once.
I want you, Rayn Krew. Regardless of your back talk and your spoiled tantrums, there can be no other with both your skill and your knack to, for lack of better words, keep me on my toes. It can only be you. As my wife, as my inheritor and as the one who will keep this business thriving when I've taught you all that life has allowed me."
When Rayn was empty of smart remarks to counter, he eased away.
"I will give you twenty-four hours before I burn the original document, Rayn. You can either accept the offer or return to our blood feud in where you will continuously attempt to be rid of me once and for all-
- But I think we both know how that has worked out for you," he took her hand in his own, and placed it gently over the spot where she had shot him at point blank range and he survived against all odds. The woman was too shocked to resist.
Twenty-four hours.
Nostalgia had struck her and here she was, in a position where once again, her decision could make or break her. She had to choose wisely.
"Well, Princess, I have yet to make a complete recovery and so I plan on returning to my loft for some much needed dusting and a book that I've never finished. When you have your answer, come find me."
The racer boldly reached out and tapped her chin upward to meet his gaze. Damn habit of hers. On his exit, he waved, "I look forward to your reply."
Even as she watched the door close behind him, Rayn was motionless, speechless and maybe even for a second, her brain had stopped functioning. Her hand hung awkwardly in the air, its warmth lost with the absence of his body. The man was long gone, abandoning her with a million thoughts to sift through.
"Probably- I should-"
Rayn growled, turning to the wine bottle on her desk before she hurled it across the room. The broken glass rung like a cluster of tiny bells, red wine blossoming against her wallpaper before it clawed repulsively to the matching carpet below. Her fury at its height, she toppled down chairs, yanked down picture frames and dented her desk. This time Isaac hadn't come running because he'd known better than to interrupt what Razer might refer to as one of her spoiled tantrums. She hadn't noticed the tears until she spotted the black streaks on her forearms.
Not only had he proved to her that her skills weren't mature enough to maintain this corporation, but lacked the wit to detect the scheme he had pulled and her blood thirst not adequate enough to bump off a single man.
It brought her back to the celebration she had in the Bloody Hook, after basking in a hug from Jak before leaving behind her father's last surprise, and she had made that haughty phone call.
"My father was too soft," she bragged, "This city is mine."
How high she soared then. How mighty she felt. And now, for the first time since her mother's passing, she received harsh discipline in the most unlikely of places to show that she still had ways to go and was in many ways, just as soft as her father was.
"I should kill that man!" she shouted.
And I will prove him wrong.
When Razer returned home, it felt as if he'd been away too long. His lawn was a picture of a real estate magazine's luxury home, sleek, modern, and uninhabited – cold. Everything was familiar, but surreal beneath the lacey layers of dust and neglect. After he'd spent a few hours briefing the boys, re-arranging some paperwork for employees eager to return under his wing and had a quick chat with his lawyer, the sun had tucked itself away.
When he cast his coat across his leather sofa, his stomach nagged for nourishment at the sight of his kitchen. Away for many months, there would be nothing in his fridge save for the light bulb and a carton of milk he had asked Cutter to drop off on his way home to his wife. Starved as he was, his body objected to any further labor and so he resorted to a cup of water with his pills, vowing to order out after some proper rest.
"Scheiße," he cursed to himself, "It's too early to feel this damn old."
His stereo coughed and spurted out a decades old classic, gently easing the retiree into replaying the day's events as he cut through his living room.
He'd never seen Rayn so infuriated and had she not shot him once already, he would have expected that she'd do so then. He did have it coming.
Months ago, Razer had come closest to cheating death than he ever had before. It was an unexpected and reckless gamble. Frankly, when he had woken up in a stretcher overseas a week later with Shiv looking over him, he was shocked. Razer was the type of man to approach all situations coolly. One who panics cannot make the right decisions.
But when he was looking over that cliff next to Rayn Krew, her bloodied torso and his shirt hanging over her, making jabs about bath soaks and nutella, it must have been the lack of medication ever since his imprisonment in Butcheree. Perhaps some of that heart medicine screwed with his brain. And what he used as an escape method and a hand out for Cutter, it may have been nothing more than a man's way of ending his pill ritual just so that he could break the wind in his Havoc for another day in the afterlife.
And he had a lot of time to think after the Butcheree incident. With Shiv breathing down his neck and not having to suffer consequences due to his Capo's inability to move, Razer wasn't left with much choice.
Somehow, he came to this conclusion. Despite that Mizo had probably intended to kill him for his failure during the Blue Eco Cup against Jak, Razer still loved the Franchise. Rayn was a very stubborn woman who wanted the same things he did except there was still a matter of if they could share without murdering one another. The marriage seemed the best option. Both Krew and Mizo suffered causalities, lost their leaders and were too weak to stand on their own for too long. So rather than perish, judging by the way he managed to soften her the night they spent together, how easily she curled into him once she was too tired to backtalk, Razer figured that the agreement wasn't an entirely inconceivable one. Their feud had been one between Family Heads that were now deceased.
As the Champion made his way up to his bedroom, he stopped mid-staircase when he noted the sweet and subtle odor in the air. Welcoming the challenge, the man forged ahead and when he stepped in, his expectations had been rewarded, and his previous thoughts on whether or not Rayn found their marriage agreement inconceivable, answered.
"Miss me, Ducky?" The pumpkin spice was strong against his back, foiled by the ice thinned across his gullet.
"Miss Rayn Krew. Is this how you express gratitude for the man who let you live?"
"Hah! I still have a debt to pay for that cheeky little reunion you quite literally threw me into knees first a few months back. And those shoes I lost? 'Till this day, I've been unable to replace them. They were a one of a kind pair, Razer, comfy too."
"I find it hard to believe that you were anything close to comfort if you walked on nothing, but box cutters most of your day. And the payback, I thought we were past that. I let you shoot me, remember?"
Her laugh rumbled against him. "Is that what you're chalking it up to now a days? I know we worked as a team on our escape from that blasted place, but the bullet was coming, believe me, as soon as we set one toe onto safe-"
"My boys would have arrived on time to retrieve me, leaving room to deal with you however I deemed fit."
There was a moment of hesitation in which Razer sought to take advantage of but she was a step ahead for once, holding the sharp object fast and straight against his windpipe. Even without any help from her, any wrong move on his part, and his neck was a garden hose.
"Turn around, Razer" she commanded, much to his surprise since she'd be giving up her advantageous position, but he obeyed. If he could get close enough to his headboard, this one sided threat could transform into a duel of blade against pistol within seconds. For now though, he'd play the victim and humor her.
Both hands raised in surrender, when the man had spun to face her, what confronted him was not at all what he expected. Baffled, he asked, "Is that- my shirt from when you slept here last?"
"Yes?" She shrugged with nonchalance, "I've become accustomed to it. Any objections?"
Despite the sharp object still teasing his chin, after giving her body a vertical sweep with his eyes, he smirked.
"None at all." After all, apparently his shirt was all she was wearing, its lapel loosened to its third button and the ends parachuting around her scarcely concealed thighs. Coyly, she pulled away, and before Razer could take the chance to get on the offensive, she revealed her deadly weapon.
A fork?
The woman pushed him onto the mattress, the springs squeaking as she dominated. Overshadowing his body with her own, she straddled him, fork aimed toward his face.
"Razer, Razer, Razer. You have proved to be a very problematic person in my life. How's a girl to deal?"
"I'm hurt, Princess, that my charm does not outweigh all the cons."
"I should have you killed. I think you've earned it, don't you think?"
"You really liked those shoes, didn't you?"
Her stomach hovered over his when she leaned over. The overly large collar yawned and darkened what his eyes were drawn to, but wre unable to see. The Mizo enforcer's fingers squeezed her calves as the Heiress continued to twirl the fork.
When she sighed, their abdomens had met for just a second before she sat back up and settled over his waist, crossed arms and scratching her chin with the kitchen utensil.
"I did love them. But that's beside the point.
Every fiber in my being juggles between your disposal or finding some further use in this- relationship of ours and well, after your proposal, and a quick call to the hospital from where your medical records were hidden, I've come to a realization."
Spreading his hands from her calves to her waist, he was disappointed to find that she was wearing panties. He'd have to see to that later. "And what is that?"
She poked his chin with the fork again and tilted her head girlishly. "I've realized that it isn't any fun anymore. You've bodged it all up.
All this time I wanted nothing more than to degrade Mizo and his leftovers into nothing more than soot beneath my boot. And I was close to doing just that. I've shot you once. And I could have chosen something other than a fork and had been done with it now, but-"
"But?"
"There's just no fun in killing a man that's ready to die and will die regardless of whether or not I have a hand in it."
Rayn was focused on a bag of nutella and two cups of coffee she had brewed earlier, resting on the opposite end of his bed as she spoke. His hot hands over her waist was less of a discomfort than she thought and the woman worked to find the right words to define this- this thing between them without losing her pride as Crime Lord.
Her flirtatious and at moments, pokerfaced tone was duly noted by the Mizo lieutenant and he could respect her for it. Had she come floating into his home disillusioned with talk of a happily ever after straight from a folk tale, it would have been cringe worthy. No. His proposal was just that. A business transaction that luckily for the two, they had their physical attraction to one another as a perk. And should it evolve into more, than so be it. But just as he hoped, she was mulling over the options he'd given her, ready to approach the deal as a parasite would it's host when the time was right.
"And so, what conclusion have you come to, Krew Heiress? Please, spare me any further anticipation."
"I've decided," she took the fork's points into her mouth and chewed, "That if I can't get satisfaction out of killing you, then-
I'm just going to have to make the remainder of your life as miserable as I can instead."
Her devilish grin had finally blossomed and now that his life was no longer in acute danger, as if it ever was in the first place, the Champion stole the dominant role quickly. Despite the injuries from Butcheree, the healing bullet wound and cardiac trouble, that was responsible for the tilt in his stride, he was still one of Kras' most wanted.
Her laughter fluttered and echoed throughout the loft that was lifeless only minutes ago when he rolled her over, pinned her beneath him and effortlessly captured the fork, sending it darting into the pastry bag she had placed three feet away. Double-checking the arches of her feet, she kicked and clawed at his shoulders.
"You can try, Miss Krew. You can try."
Her feet were clean of cutters and with her body clad in his large dress shirt; it was obvious that the fork was her only object of intimidation, meant for their snack rather than an execution. When they had settled, Rayn wrapped a leg over him and invited him closer to her. Lips to his ear, she whispered, "I've learned something, Razer."
"Do tell."
"The time of day best for an attack, as proven by our little Butcheree experience, is the morning. You're most off guard when you first wake up because you have already made the assumption that with a safe night, comes with it, reassurance once the sun rises."
Pressing a gentle kiss to his ear, she finished, "And just think, my darling husband, that every single morning, you will wake to a woman who has already shot you once."
That was when he moved to cover and extinguish her prattle with his mouth over hers. She could feel his smile as he kissed her, a hand supporting her head as the other tested the rims of her silky lingerie. Parting with a satisfied hum, he was already lifting for their pastries but not without scooping her body with him. As the woman settled between his knees and was given her share of sugary treats along with her coffee, Razer expressed his contentment with an added hum to his first bite. Finding that the nutella was lacking one flavor in particular, the racer tucked his chin over her shoulder before giving it a nibble.
"Somehow, Fräu, I'm hardly worried."
Present Day
"W- What?"
Thunder had shaken the entire apartment, cracking past the bedroom window and jolting Cutter – Donovan, awake. It was the loudest he'd ever heard in a while, as if the Gods had just witnessed blasphemy and voiced their protest. Donovan was not fond of the cold that the lightning had struck into his bones. If there were any deeper meaning to the weather, he had a feeling that he'd find out later.
"Donny?" Vera rose from his chest, wiping the sleep from her eyes before she found his. As always, the man froze, unsure of whether she'd scream or settle into him again. It hadn't been long since he stopped wearing his mask and ever since, it had been both harder and easier on the couple.
It felt like yesterday when he stormed in the night of the Butcheree incident, cast Ruby on an overdue vacation in where she left yelling, "'bout damn time," and threw his mask off.
"I can't stand hiding anymore, baby," he confessed, tears dribbling off his chin, dry blood caked onto his clothing and his knees, seconds from giving out. At first she hopped away with a shriek, threw everything she could get her hands on at him. Picture frames, pillows, dishes, and no matter what she threw, Donovan kneeled humbly in their living room and took it. It wasn't until she had revealed the pieces of their vase from the accident that she finally stopped.
She burst into tears at the sight of it, cradled the shards as if the last of her husband was the vase itself and not the man before her. And after what felt like an eternity of the fighter staring at the floor drowning in his own sobs, she approached him and boldly lifted his face with both hands.
"Donovan."
"Yes, Vera."
"You're not the same man I married, are you?"
With despair, he could only shake his head despite the double meaning in her question. And then the unexpected occurred. She took him into a painfully tight embrace. He wasn't sure if she was trying to suffocate him or hold on, and either way, he held her back. They stood this way for many hours, until their knees ached and their calves had needles.
The next morning she woke up to find him cleaning up the aftermath of their mess and Vera moved to the kitchen. Fearfully, he called out to her, "Vera?"
She spun around, as if their tearful dispute had never happened, with a grin as wide as the day he first proposed to her.
"I'm in the mood to bake some of that Zuchini bread. Want some, Donny?"
And he smiled, "Love some."
The next day they had crossed the ocean. He had completed business with the Boss as he recuperated and ran proceedings with the Fratto family. In between he took Vera to the market where they bought their favorite jam, took her to the little house they once lived in, and the spot where they were brought together by a jar of pasta sauce on his car.
It still took some getting used to. Having to remind and refresh his wife's memory on a day-to-day basis. But she was improving. She had her days.
"It's just a storm," Donovan whispered to his wife, his hands up as if in surrender until she either registered or rejected him. A lazy smile about her, she brushed back her apricot strands and pressed her cheek against him again.
"I had a bad dream, is all."
"Yeah? What about?"
"We were in a car accident, Donny. It was real bad. I heard our vase break and I thought, I thought that it was the end."
Squeezing her shoulder, the fighter reassured his wife, "Don't worry, baby. It's not the end. The bad guy's gone already."
"You sure? You'll always stay here?"
"With your Zuchini bread, Vera, how could I ever leave?"
She gave him a playful punch before she let herself slip into slumber once again. Before she was completely knocked out, she whispered against his stomach.
"I- forgive you, Donny."
Donovan had to bite back his emotion because he didn't want to wake her again.
"I forgive me, too…"
~FIN~
A/N: Sorry I was too lazy for putting up a glossary. It was hard to write this ending. At first it was a lot more legal jargon, Rayn was less badass and the ending, without much closure. So this is version two? And a half?
Anyway, I wanted to leave some mystery because as we all know, adventures never end in the Jak world. I'm sure Jak and Co. will be butting heads with Kras very soon, after all, why not go back and conquer the city your father grew up in anyway?
Bah. Long story, a lot of experimentation in it and I'm still not quite sure if it was all worth it. I enjoyed writing it though. I'm also relieved it's over. I hope others enjoyed it just as much. Now hopefully I can finish that Torn piece I'd been working on – after I graduate har har. Until next time…