This chapter directly follows indiejane's Hidden Chapter 15 (.net/s/5983328/15/Hidden).
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About a block away from the address Clay had given him, Chibs pulled his bike to the curb. As V. pulled up behind him, he watched her in his side mirror. In jeans and a wife beater he was pretty sure was his, her long hair loose under her helmet, there was no way anybody would mistake her for another guy riding along with him. Chibs tried to remember the last time he'd seen a woman handle a bike, but his mind came up blank. He'd definitely never seen a woman coming along on this type of errand. Seeing V. behind him, though, didn't feel as odd as he would have expected. When she dismounted the bike and pulled off the helmet, he thought not of her tight body trembling beneath him, but of the night she'd killed King Leo, not shooting him, though she held a gun in her hands, but slicing his jugular. He'd been hung up lately, on her pain and her vulnerability and what he thought she needed, but he'd seen her in the ring—he'd be lying to himself if he didn't realize that a large part of it was that the bitch was simply bloodthirsty.
"So what's the plan?" V. was smiling as she approached Chibs' bike, the sun playing off her hair and the lens of her sunglasses. Though he knew it was stupid to mix business and pleasure, he couldn't help but pull her down towards him, kissing her hard before he let her up and got off his bike. She didn't' say anything, but smiled.
"No plan, princess," he said. "We got in there and have a little talk with this Nazi fuck." He habitually pulled the gun from his shoulder holster, checked it, then returned it, then did the same with the knife at his belt. When he looked up, he saw V. was slipping the knife from her boot into her waistband. Then, incredulous, he watched as she pulled a small Glock from the back of her jeans.
"You're not supposed to be carryin'," he growled, grabbing the pistol from her hand and looking at it. "Where did you get this?"
Even though her sunglasses covered her eyes, Chibs knew was rolling them. "Like I'm fuckin' goin' in there with no gun."
He felt his irritation rise. "I'm not gonna let you get hurt."
He saw her get pissed off at his words, the anger flash across her features, but then she surprised him. She smiled broadly. "Good," she said, grabbing the gun back from him and tucking it back into her jeans. "I'm not gonna let you get hurt either." With that, she turned and walked towards the house. Shaking his head, he followed her.
Once they arrived at the rundown house, Chibs was again surprised. V. hung back, allowing him to enter in front of her. He heard her remove the pistol from her waistband and click off the safety, and knew she was right behind him. As it turned out, though, their precautions were unnecessary—the man they were looking for was home alone, and they found him passed out on his ratty sofa, beer bottle still in hand.
"Wake up, you skinhead fuck," Chibs yelled, landing a boot on the man's bare foot. He shot up, grabbing around him desperately for a weapon. Before he could land on anything, though, Chibs had his gun against the man's temple. "Would hold still, if I were you."
V. tucked her Glock back into her waistband before approaching the sofa. As she looked the man up and down, she smiled slowly. He was in boxers, his pasty chest bare and covered in Nazi-inspired tattoos. She looked quickly as Chibs, who nodded slightly. Go for it, he thought. I just wanna watch.
Before she spoke, V. hit the man in the face, quickly and at full strength. His nose spurted immediately, dripping down his face and onto his chest. "Fuck," he yelled, putting a hand instinctively to his face. "What the fuck was that for?"
V. grinned. "That was a warm-up," she said. "Here's how this is gonna go. I'm gonna ask you a question. If I don't like your answer, I'm going to break your nose. If I like your answer, I'm probably gonna break your nose anyway, but maybe at the end he won't shoot you."
Chibs couldn't help but smile. She was fucking enjoying this. Good God.
"Why would I answer questions from a cunt?" the man asked, sneering at V. through the blood on his face.
"I was hoping you'd ask that," V. replied, still looking cheerful. Again she moved quickly, this time lifting not her arm but her leg, landing a hard kick to the man's stomach. He doubled over, moaning. "That one didn't hit your kidney," V. said. "The next one will." She leaned over and pulled the man's face up. "Do you have any more questions?"
When he said nothing, V. nodded. "Good, good," she said. "Now. Let's talk about the fight last night. You weren't there. Why is that?"
"Dunno," the man mumbled. "Didn't feel like it."
V. smiled again. "Seriously?" She looked at Chibs and held out her hand. "Can I borrow that?" she asked. He raised his eyebrow and handed her his revolver, butt first. She flipped it in her hand, holding it by the barrel, and hit the handle against the man's temple with a crack. Before she handed it back to Chibs, she wiped the bloody handle carefully on the front of her shirt.
"OK," V. said. "That was all my patience. I'm going to ask again, and the next time you disappoint me, it's actually gonna hurt. Did you know the fight was going to get raided last night? Wait—before you answer, I want to make sure you understand. I think you're a piece of shit. I would have absolutely no fucking problem beating you to death. So probably you shouldn't continue to irritate me."
The man was silent for a moment. Just as it was beginning to seem V. was going to need to escalate the situation again, he spoke. "Got a call," he said. "Foreign guy. Explained the ATF was interested in Sam Crow. Made it worth my while to help them out."
V. looked at Chibs. "You buyin' this?"
Chibs nodded. "Maybe." He nudged the man's bloody face with his gun barrel. "Who was the call from?"
"Dunno."
"That's one of those answers I don't like," V said. This time she directed her punch at the middle of the man's face, and Chibs heard his nose crunch. "What did I tell you about that?"
"Goddammit," the man yelled, spitting blood. "I don't know!"
"Oh for Christ's sake," V. said, shaking her head. "You just aren't very smart, are you?" She pulled the knife from her waistband, holding it in front of the man's face, then lowering it, holding it inches above his groin. "Think real hard about who the man on the phone was, OK? Cuz I'd hate to have to take your balls with me."
The man's face turned pale under the blood. He realized by this point—as did Chibs—that she was very likely to do it. "He was Russian, said he was connected," the man blurted, his words tripping over each other.
Chibs watched V.'s face change, the smile falling. She swallowed quickly. "Russian?" she said. "You sure?"
The man nodded, nearly cowering, the knife still precariously close to his crotch.
"Why do they have a beef with Sam Crow?" Chibs asked, sensing that it might be a good time to take over for V.
The man didn't take his eyes off V. as he answered Chibs' question. "Somethin' about a murder," he said. Then he squealed. "Fuck, I'm talkin'! Don't!"
Looking down, Chibs saw that V had brought the knife up to the man's stomach, pressing the blade into his flesh hard enough to begin to draw blood. "V?" he said, getting her attention.
"What?" She looked up at him.
"This piece of shit has told us all he knows," he nodded towards her knife.
"Yeah, I have," the man said, breathing quickly. "No need to cut me."
V. laughed. "Who said I needed to?" she asked. "Maybe I just want to." She pushed the knife against him a bit harder, eliciting a whimper from him. Then she drew the knife away, holding it questioningly in front of his face, as if she was deciding where to put it next.
"You're fucking crazy!" the man said.
That she is, Chibs thought. He kept his eyes on V. Don't do it, darlin'. No need.
The grin returned to V.'s face. "You really ought to keep your mouth shut," she said. She tucked the knife back into her waistband. Just as Chibs thought she was going to back away, she hit the man again. Then a second time. He was just her punching bag now, and Chibs watched her for a few seconds, bloodying the man's face more with each strike. He was leaning slightly over now, losing consciousness. She wasn't stopping.
Finally, Chibs stepped forward, grabbing one of V.'s fists. "Come on princess," he said softly. "He's out. You're gonna kill him." She didn't seem to hear him, hitting the man against with the fist he hadn't grabbed. He put a strong hand on her shoulder. "Come on, baby," he pulled her back into his chest. "No more."
V. didn't look at him, but allowed him to pull her away from the couch. Her fists and the front of her shirt were covered with blood. Chibs took another look at the man on the sofa. He clearly wasn't going anywhere for a while. "Let's go," he said, steering V. out of the house by her elbow. She didn't argue.