Page 8 of Brutal Union
“And then I think hepulled and twisted like this.” I wrench his arm into an unnatural angle, and he lets out a choked cry.
“Am I correct?” I coo.
“Fuck, stop, Nadia!” he snarls, trying to jerk away—but I hold on easily. I may only be 5’7" and 160 pounds soaking wet, but I’m a trained fighter. Asadist. I can take pain—a lotof it—but Ilovecausing it. In fact, Iexcelat it.
“I think you tapped out like a little bitch,” I whisper in his ear, before yanking his arm from its socket and swinging the limp limb downward in a sharp motion.
He howls in pain.Music to my ears.
“Didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he whines, using his broken wrist to clutch at his useless arm.
Emil whimpers, his body curling inward like a wounded animal. His breath ragged as pain radiates through him, and he avoids my eyes, focusing on his pathetickness.
I crouch down, balancing on the balls of my feet, my elbows resting on my knees as I tilt my head at him. “You look pathetic,” I muse, reaching out to tap his cheek lightly. “Did you really think lying to me was worth this?”
He flinches at my touch but doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched so tightly I half-expect his teeth to crack.
I sigh, feigning disappointment. “Well, since you’re such a brave little soldier, I suppose you won’t need Rebecca to reset those bones.”
His head snaps up, eyes wide. “No?—”
I press a finger to his lips. “Ah, ah, ah,” I chide. “Weak boys don’t get their boo-boos healed, remember? If you wanted medical attention, you should’ve been honest.”
His chest heaves, his panic barely contained beneath his pained grimace. “Please,” he forces out, voice tight.
I smile, slow and cruel. “No.”
Rebecca hums thoughtfully from her corner, adjusting her thick rainbow glasses. “He’ll pass out soon. Shock is a bitch.”
I glance at her, then back at Emil, watching the sweat bead along his hairline. “Then I suggest you take the next couple of minutes to reflect on your life choices.”
I stand, brushing imaginary dust off my pants, before turning toward the door. “Oh, and Emil?”
He lifts his head weakly.
“Tell me the truth next time, and don’t tap out, either kill the bastard or die.”
Then I walk out, leaving him to drown in his own agony.
I traverse the cramped streets, using back alleys and random turns to make it back to my safe house.The Shadow…my thought trails as I make my way up the stairs, enter the pin, and subtly remove the small piece of hair from the doorway, my makeshift intruder alarm. If I can find this Shadow, the bane of the Yakuza, I might get my shot at Sho.
I clean myself off, taking extra care to wash away the grime of today’s festivities. Years of experience puts me in my salacious, yet coy battle armor. Eye shadow that gives perpetual fuck-me eyes and cherry red lipstick with a matte finish, designed to get stares from everyone in the room, but my brows and contour lines tell those same people, don’t waste my time.
I slip on a crimson dress that hugs my curves tightly and accentuates my breasts to Victorian standards. The slit on the left leg reaches high enough to leave almost nothing to the imagination, enough to distract from the holsters hiding knives and a gun along my thighs.
My hair is wound up in a bun, held together by two sticks: one for throwing, the other for close range, a nice gift from a colleague in Beijing. To top it off is a short mink coat, perfect for revelations. The last touch of gold jewelry is added before I take off into the night.
3
NADIA
Skeezy.This club is sketchy and that is me saying this nicely.
The alleyway is dimly lit, tucked quite far from the nearest busy street. The lack of CCTV is noticeable, perhaps the main perk for illicit activity in Japan. I wonder if it was designed as such, or if Sho was able to make it that way. The alley itself is quite boring, like a stock backdrop in anime, save for a bright pink neon light outside of an unassuming bar. Outside the entrance is a is tall, burlish, bouncer with a crooked nose, a real bruiser type. Next to him waiting to gain entry is a businessman: average height, sleek and clean. They look me up and down as I approach, a predatory glint in their eyes.
“Please take off your jacket,” the big man says, “we need to conduct athoroughsearch.” A smile creeps along his mouth. Instinctively, I brace myself to punch him in the throat and visualize the fight, leaving both men on the ground, clutching at knife wounds and their groins. Before I can react, the businessman scolds the big one.
