Page 41 of Vampire so Virtuous
The three men ignored her refusal, closing in around her, their positions coordinated as if to box her in.
Wish granted.
Still, she should probably check once more before she kicked the shit out of three misguided innocents.
“Guys, why don’t you go find a strip club somewhere? I’m not in the mood to play tonight.”
“Oh, but we want to play, don’t we?” Bomber Jacket said, and the other men leered, eyes narrowing in unsettling amusement.
That was enough checking.
Taekwondo was a martial art that shone in open arenas; too flamboyant, too expansive, and requiring too much room to be truly effective in tight spaces. Oh sure, she could stand practically touching a man and still manage to twist and kick him under the chin. But given lots of space like an open parking lot? It couldn’t be more perfect.
She dropped her bag and took a couple of running steps toward Bomber Jacket, his surprise evident as she initiated. He was the one who had called her ‘little lady.’
Little? I’ll show them ‘little.’
With a jump, she launched into a flying sidekick, lashing out at the peak of her arc to land her boot with a satisfying thump into the man’s chest. He fell backward, bounced off the side of the car, and slid to the ground. It should’ve knocked him out, but to her surprise he began to get up. He was a lot tougher than he looked.
Whatever.
She raised her foot high above his head and dropped it like the axe from which the kick took its name, and the man’s low position made him particularly vulnerable. Her boot connected with a meaty thud, and this time he stayed down, slumping unconscious on the cracked asphalt.
“Fuck!” gasped one of the men behind her.
Cally spun to face them, readying inkyorugi sogi: weight distributed evenly, body angled sideways. “Are we done here?”
“Bitch!” one man shouted, reaching into his back pocket to pull a switchblade.
“That’s ‘no,’ then.”
Before the man without the knife could react, she leaped at him, turning her momentum into a jumping tornado kick. Landing on one leg, she spun into the other, her foot striking with all her force into his ribcage. He grunted, staggering a pace back, but again, he didn’t drop when he should have.
Was she more tired than she’d thought? What the hell was with these guys?
This time she didn’t hesitate. She followed up swiftly with a kick to the inside of his knee, then snapped her boot into his face. His nose crunched, spraying blood. Breath knocked from him, his leg giving way beneath him, and the force of her foot likely causing a concussion, her second would-be attacker crashed to the ground, motionless.
The remaining man roared, charging at her, knife extended. None of these men knew how to fight, beyond the usual bar brawl. Oh, if he landed a blow, she’d probably be stunned and helpless. Such was the life of a woman fighting a man: one mistake, and she’d be done.
But first, he had to land a blow.
She ducked beneath his thrust, spinning away. But he backhanded the blade toward her faster than she’d expected, far faster than he had any right to be. But she was faster still. Barely. She blocked his wrist—Heh. Using my hands, Joon—then danced to the side and snap-kicked the knife from his grip. It was child’s play to turn it into a full roundhouse, her foot connecting unerringly with his temple. He staggered sideways. This time, she didn’t wait to see if he’d go down. She stamped on his trailing ankle, and he screamed as his leg buckled. A final snap-kick to his head dropped him.
Thirty seconds. All in.
Slow, deliberate claps echoed through the parking lot, making Cally spin toward the car.
“Bravo. Bravo.”
A man stood atop the vehicle, dressed in an expensive-looking suit and a pair of very shiny shoes. His features were hard and angular, his long straight hair so black it blended with the night. He dropped to the ground with effortless grace, hardly flexing his knees at the impact. Were his eyes red? No… it must be a reflection from the car’s lights.
“I was about to interfere, but you didn’t seem to need my help,” he said, as he paused beside the man Cally had bounced off the car. There was a dentin the bodywork where he’d struck. The well-dressed stranger lifted the unconscious man by the collar, took his head between hand and arm, and twisted sharply. A grinding crack resounded through the empty parking lot.
Cally gasped, instinctively stepping back. Had he really just…?
The man was already crossing to the other pair while Cally stood stunned. One moment, he was standing over the first man, and the next, he was twelve feet away. How the hell…?
“Wait,” she said, uncertain. He moved so fast, she was still catching up, reeling from his casual brutality.
