Been a minute, guys, sorry about that, but it was hard to put out something worthy of last chapter. Doing a bit of story building and trying to mix in more views as I like the personal nature of 1st person but don't write in it often and am still kinda sussing it out.

Songs in this chapter are written in but easy access list: Here I am, on the road again by Bob Seger, Yellow Flicker Beat by Lorde, Anathema by Twenty One Pilots.

Enjoy guys

Renji

A full fucking week I've been scoping this club waiting for her to come back. I need to know for sure that this is her. Yumichika never seems to be wrong but there's a first time for everything. There's just no way that 'Venus', the sex goddess that took my breath away, is the same girl as Ema Valons.

Ema, the girl whose shy smile softened the edges of my day as she tried every single fucking day to get a grin out of me, no matter how many times it failed. The warmth that Ema had emanated may have paled in comparison to Venus' fire, but they came from burning two very different fuels. Ema was joy to Venus' anger, a ray of warm sun instead of the cold moon light that bathes everything in black and white. Hell, I had even started grinning at her stupid puns just to get that sunshine smile.

I had almost agreed with Yumichika when I saw her smile during that dance. But the smile was different. There was a wickedness in it, a challenge that made me want to roar back but also made my own smirk falter if it turned out to be the same because if… that… was what Ema was now, then she was as good as gone.

No one would listen to me though. After Yumichika's report, all the talk was just "How do we get her?" and the risks that she posed. No one would listen to me. No one would compare to how she was before to see that, even if this was Ema, it wasn't really Ema. Not anymore. And the threat she holds now is very different than before.

My say didn't matter though, not in the face of Kuchiki's perfect breeding or Yumichika's advanced intellect. I never claimed to be the smartest in our organization. I wasn't the top in anything really, not even brutality. But you didn't get to my level without something driving you, even if it is just the willingness to push harder than anyone else and to double check everything.

So here I was again, in this fucking hole, double checking.

Richiki had been on watch and gave me the call before anyone else. Praise fucking lackey's that worship the ground you walk on. He doesn't realize that being at the top has a price and mine came when those warm brown eyes hardened over as I took her into custody. The trust and warmth just vanished. I doubted I would ever see those eyes again… I'd kinda hoped I wouldn't.

They weren't the cold yet colorful eyes Venus glared at the world with, that was for sure. Even if the color was fake, as Yumichika said, the malice in them wasn't. She had come out in a short catsuit that looked like it was poured onto her small figure. Bright green buns seemed to make her eyes glow as they fell on me. With my hoodie and gloves and fake tattoo on my neck, bandana covering my real face tattoos, she couldn't have recognized me. But damn the daggers from her eyes would have killed me.

Then a man whistled at her like a dog to come serve him and she turned that glare on him too.

It wasn't me; she hated everyone it seemed. Those lips didn't curve into a real smile, not a single fucking time. There was only someone jaded hiding under that perfectly made-up shell. If this truly was Ema, what had the hell had she been through this past year? What happened to her?

The streets make some people and break others, but Venus gave off a different vibe. Broken: but like she picked up those broken shards of herself and glued them back on as armor with the points facing outward. Her eyes only softened once when that mother fucker put his arm around her.

The grin was small but real when he sauntered over like a dog marking his property with his touch when some guy had dared try an actual move on her. He had chucked her chin with a wink then turned a look on the table that damn near would have chilled the blood in my own veins if my heart hadn't turned to a dead, blackened thing already. He reveled in the one iota of softness the girl was willing to show, and he made sure that every-damn-body knew it.

Fucking Espada.

But I know Grimmjow. I had fought him and his fraccion before. They were fiercely loyal, and he was a force to be reckoned with, but I know him. He is destruction incarnate and it's only a matter of time before he destroys her, too. And I need to know for sure if this is Ema before that happens.

Ema was a straightlaced, hardworking, turn-them-in-to-the-proper-authorities person. Venus is chaos and vengeance and a let-the-rabid-boyfriend-loose-on-them type. But if you unleash that chaos entirely, break that fragile shell that is holding it all in, if you mix those two sides, there's no telling what will happen. If I learned one thing as a hitman, it's that people all react differently when cornered. If you know the type of person they are, you can plan for it. It's the unpredictable that causes problems.

And speak of the devil, there she goes, buns bouncing as she makes her way to the back. Guess it's dance time. I know it's not the best way to see if it's her, to watch this stranger dance to a routine that's about as personal as a loner's obituary, but what else have I got? She made it damn clear she doesn't talk to Reapers and, based on her interaction with the- we'll call them patrons- here, it doesn't seem like she talks much to Hollows either.

There's a buzz of anticipation in the air though, like the Hollows know that she is coming soon. The place gets even more packed until I know that I'm going to have to stand on my damn booth table if I want to see the stage, and that's saying something when I tower above most people even sitting. I shake my damn head at myself as I perch on the back of my own booth, nearly against my own right mind, but to see Ema- even this jaded facsimile- I'd hang from the damn ceiling.

It can't be her.

I don't care about her history with dance and music from the time she could walk to when she blew out her knee in college. I don't care about the grudge she has every right to hold against us. I don't care about Yumichika's picture-perfect memory giving the green light.

It can't be her.

It just can't. Because if Venus is Ema then I know that I'm the one that broke her so fucking thoroughly that even Grimmjow's destruction seems safe. I wasn't in love with the girl by any stretch or some shit, but my line of work is dark. I'm a hunter who stalks his prey and sees the worst of them. It's how I balance out watching the life drain from their eyes. I know they deserve to die, most everyone does. But she was so fucking pure that to know she joined the ranks of the damned may just break what's left of my heart. She tried so hard…

I can't even hear myself think as the lights drop and the crowd roars. Vaguely, I realize that unless we can top this show, some of our own clubs may go out of business. I mean, it's a front so it's never really out of business but, shit, if that gangly motherfucker Nnoitra didn't hit a damn gold mine. This place may actually turn enough of a profit to clean their money double time.

As light ascends the stage, though, all thoughts vacate my mind and I'm met with a biker's wet dream. Decked in leather chaps and vest with nothing underneath… shit. I swear she had to tape that vest to herself to keep it in place as she starts to gyrate to the sweet sound of Here I Am, On the Road Again by Bob Seger. It's practically the damn biker's anthem and the crowd just goes fucking wild, raining cash on her like confetti.

With good reason, too. She's a goddamn fantasy brought to life. The sexy smile is plastered on her face as she draws them in like fish to chum but anyone with a pair of working eyes can see that it's as fake as her long dark brown wig and dark, cobalt blue eyes if they have the will to look hard enough. None of them do. None of them but Him.

The wrench in the plan. The king. He watches her with the same tenseness around his eyes that she has around hers. He's watching out for her safety, you can tell that much by the tense set of his legs, feet planted ready to launch him over that bar like an Olympic fucking pole vaulter again. Show off. But he sees her in a way none of the others do. He hears the desperation of the actual lyrics that she hid like some fucking prodigy in the plain sight of morons that will never listen.

She seems stiff after her last performance. It was my understanding that she did these shows twice a week and waitressed all the other ones. God knows this cesspit never sleeps. But to be gone a week… something did a number on her and coming back seems to have shaken it loose. The only catalyst I can think of would have been our arrival. And that doesn't look good for Venus up there if we rankled her that badly.

Only Ema would have a reason to be that nervous.

Other than my other marks, I mean. But they got the joy of looking over their shoulder another day because I. Have. To. Know.

The stage lights fade again and I watch the streak of blue jet across from VIP to behind the stage. For being a nationally known bringer of death, the Espada sure seems to have a soft spot. And judging by the sneer on his business partners ugly mug, it isn't much appreciated. Venus may have more power than even I had sussed out.

A TikTok sound byte blares across the speakers as the lights ditch completely but I miss most of it as Grimmjow darts back over to VIP, pausing only to lock eyes with me from across the room. Fuckin' hell. I'm blown. The bastard lingers that disconcerting gaze on me for a minute longer, eyes reflecting the low light like a cat's, before shooting me a wink with a manic grin. It takes a lot to get under my skin nowadays, and I hate to admit it, but that made my stomach roll with something that felt a lot like nerves.

"Queens will always turn pain into power!"

The sound of crackling thunder that fades into a low hum, along with the raising lights strobed in varying colors draw my eyes back to the stage and the image that awaits me there. She is out of the leathers and instead wearing nothing but gold and gems. Venus' skirt- if you could call it that- is nothing more than two sheer gold panels of fabric that leave little to the imagination despite hitting the floor and are held together by a thin gold chain. Gold armbands wind up like snakes from her elbows and a long gold chain, tied in a knot, falls between her bare and perfect breasts.

But that's not what gets me, no. Its the sparkles of rhinestones clustered on her body. Her neck, her sides, her hips… bite marks. Fuck me, they're all in the shape of bite marks. From under her ear to her ankles, she was marked. The detailing is even on her inner thighs, only visible when she lifts her leg to mount the pole. They still have fucking bruising under them!

Guess I know what had her so busy last week.

But as Lorde's throaty voice belts out Yellow Flicker Beat about her being a princes cut from diamonds; I can see it. Pain turned into something scarred and hard and beautiful. Those cobalt eyes don't even flicker to her protector until she climbs to the top of the pole and snatches a crown from the rafters, placing it on her head as she spins down the pole again. The gold sheets flare behind her like wings making her even more ethereal.

His smile matches hers as she sits fucking cross-legged, held onto the pole by her knee, slowly spinning, crown cocked on her head.

"But I got my fingers laced together and I made a little prison
And I'm locking up everyone that ever laid a finger on me."

That is when those cold, cobalt eyes lock on mine in a way that didn't just feel hostile. It felt personal. It felt like a direct challenge.

And then it was gone, twirled away like the dust on these streets launched by the squealing tires of my bike as she began to wrap herself in serpentine contortions around the pole. The roar of her admirers drowns out the music and makes me wonder if that moment had even actually happened.

If this show is anything like the last, she's only beginning her call out to violence. She's barely marked her territory.

And as the lights black out for the third song, I catch my own eyes going wide as unexpectedly gentle notes trill across the speakers before being joined by a deep throbbing bass. Twenty One Pilots. Ema's favorite band. We had pictures of her at a concert before they were ever famous. I remember hearing this very song blare through her disconnected head phone that she kept out of her ear to hear while filing.

Fuck me.

There are no tricks of the light this time as Venus climbs and twirls, splashed by bright multicolored lights and dressed only in the jeweled bitemarks that remind everyone who is watching that mouthwatering body closest- including me.

Her eyes are nearly closed, ignoring everyone as she keeps her sinuous movements fast but relaxed as Anathema spills into the room.

"Won't you go to someone else's dreams
Won't you go to someone else's head
Haven't you taken enough from me
Won't you torture someone else's sleep?"

Fuck me twice.

It's a fucking plea. And those eyes raise to meet mine as she transfers to the hanging swaths of fabric again, swinging on them like the innocent little girl I thought she was.

For once, as the music begins to rise for the crescendo, she looks at me with a real fucking emotion- sorrow. Her sadness is on display. The eyes may be different but I know that look as well as my own reflection- and Ema has turned it on me before. Because that's who she is.

As suddenly as it came, it's gone- and I hold my breath with the rest of the crowd as Ema flies off the rapidly swinging arc of fabric to another on waiting above all our heads. Spotlights follow her, and I could swear I hear a scream from somewhere, as she latches a grip with one hand. Her movements are controlled and practiced as she climbs further up the silks which are black as night, silhouetting her pale figure against the dark ceiling and giving her the appearance of moving in air alone.

The crescendo hits and Ema lets go of the wound fabric, sending her into a rapid spin that makes me dizzy before she kicks her legs to begin swinging again, lunching herself to the fabric, then pole back at the stage, her movements fast and frantic to match the rap beat.

"I want to be afraid but it seems that these days
I'm caught under water and I'm falling farther
My heart's getting harder, I'm calling my father
Am I screaming to an empty sky?
Empty sky, no way, that's me
'Cause one half of my heart is free
Empty sky, no way, that's me
'Cause the other half of my heart's asleep."

The stage drops to pitch black as blacklight strobes hit Ema's painted figure like lightning. One half of her body is outlined in it's nude form like Pop Art in blacklight paint, the other side scrawled into a deliberately messy skeleton. But that doesn't register to me as I see the god damn fabric she was just holding.

I know it's a trick of the light. I know she's holding herself to that pole with the arm above her head but that swath of fabric around her neck like a noose, the tilt of her head, those closed eyes…

I need to get out of here

"The other half of my heart's asleep."

Asleep. Ha!

I walk faster.

"The other half of my heart's asleep."

And I did this to her.

I just have to get to my bike down the block.

"The other half of my heart's asleep."

GOD DAMMIT!

"Did you get what you came for?"

Wheeling around, ready to fight, I let myself loosen with a growl as I recognize fucking Yumichika leaning against his classic motorcycle. Leave it to the pretentious prick to get a 1938 Crocker just because it's only 1 of 100 left. I mean, for an old bike, it still purrs and can eat up some road, but ask the guy about it and all he talks about is the perfection of the lines or some shit. Give me my Kawasaki Ninja H2R any day. In and out fast and done.

Plus, it looks too much like the Hollow's Harley preference.

Except Grimmjow. Because of course the fucker only rides- one of his many- Indians at all times. He may never be able to catch me, but those bikes can take and give a hit like a car. A beast for a beast. Fitting.

"I didn't want to be right, you know," Yumichika says in that blasé way of his while looking at his nails, yanking my eyes from his bike and my own mind.

"The other half of my heart's asleep."

And I made her that way.

"Yeah," I drawl back, rolling my shoulders and shoving my hands in my pockets as I try to reach for words beyond the image of her hanging herself that's melting my fucking brain, "But it ain't really her anymore, ya know?"

Those eyes that see far too much latch onto my own and, try as I might, I can't break the stare.

"Regardless, she still has to be dealt with," Yumichika turns to me, eyes hard, "Once a snitch, always a snitch and all that."

"Ain't a snitch thing to report to authorities when ya ain't involved," I answer roughly, probably more than I should.

"Semantics."

Ass.

"Look, she's too far in with the Hollows to go to the Quincey's again, anyway," I tell him, realizing I'm ruffling my hair nervously and dropping my hand back down quickly in hopes he didn't notice. "At this point, going after her would just start a turf war."

"At least you admit its her," Yumichika remarks nonchalantly, not quite hiding the undercurrent of venom at being questioned, "And those files contained information the Hollows could use, too."

"That's not-"

"Careful, Abarai, your guilt is showing. What would Kuchiki think?"

Fuck him and his mother. Of course, he'd hit it on the head.

"Well, good luck," I snark back with a roll of my eyes so deep I give myself a headache… more of one. "Her protector is a fucking rabid dog that even spotted me."

"Well, you're a 6 foot 4 brick wall of a man with hair like a stop light," he teases my drily, "I wonder why?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." He's not wrong though. "So, you want to take down this place with half the Hollow roster present?"

"No," Yumichika concedes with a laugh, "We just need to find where he's keeping her. We may even be lucky enough to kill two birds with one stone."

I can't even help my snort this time. "We've been tracking these bastards for years! How-"

"Yoruichi."

My eyes widen as I read the truth in his violet gaze and I let out a low whistle. Shit, the captains were pulling out the big guns if they were bringing in Yoruichi. She was known to most only as 'The Cat' because of her ability to get anywhere and see anything. She trained the current stealth captain and could beat even my captain in a race. Bitch was intense.

And good enough that when she chose to leave the game, they let her. They say gangs are blood in, blood out, but that only applies if you can't spill enough of their blood to walk out the front fucking doors.

A'ight, this plan had merit…

"The other half of my heart's asleep."

"Very well, if you are going to continue to have an existential crisis," Yumichika trills, climbing back on his bike, "then I am going to get out of this hellish death trap of a neighborhood without you."

"Yeah, yeah," I shrug him off, walking toward my bike at the end of the block.

All I gotta do is follow the orders given and maybe I can wipe the King away with this, too. Just focus on eliminating Grimmjow. He deserves to die. I know it. Hell, everyone fucking knows it.

"The other half of my heart's asleep."

Fuck.