Page 70 of Bullseye
“Ironclad here?”
“Who the fuck wants to know?”
Shaking my head, I jump up and with a growl, I land an ax kick to his thigh. He’s heavy enough that he stumbles backward and his momentum plasters him against the hallway door. Praying there’s no one else his size here, I follow with an elbow strike to the nose and circle out and away from him before he can grab my arm or my leg.
Holding his nose while blood gushes from it, he looks at me with his chin dropped and his eyes filled with fury. Fuck. I just poked a bear.
There’s no time to think, only act. Charging at him with my head down, I rush to his left side, and as he moves his sizable body in that direction, I dart back the opposite way following an inside chop with an eye strike. Then, I grab the earring and tug. Hard.
“Oh!” he yelps, dropping to his knees.
Not daring to get too close, I stand by the door. “Who wants to know if Ironclad’s here? Wildfire. That’s who. Now, I’m going to repeat my question. Is Ironclad here?”
“Fuck. No.” This entire attack has been filmed, and thanks to one of Ironclad’s messed-up rules, he can’t retaliate. Because he lost to a woman.
Not that he’d dare.
“Mikey and Tony?” I ask
“Ain’t seen them around.”
“Why not?”
On his knees, holding his bleeding nose, damaged eye, and torn earlobe, he looks up at me. “They out looking for someone.”
“Me?”
“Naw. Ain’t no woman they looking for. If that’s what the hell you are. More like some demon.”
Daring a step closer, I press on. “Who then?”
“Some sharpshooter guy. Works for Bordono.”
“You all work for Bordono,” I hiss. “That punk Ironclad works for him. And everyone knows it.”
Turning to the corner of the hallway, I look up and face the camera, flipping Ironclad the bird with one hand, and waving with the other.
Turning back to the mountain I dropped, I speak quickly. “This is what’s going to happen. You are going to let me in there—” I nod to the steel door dead ahead. “—to find out what I need to know. And you’re never going to tell anyone that you saw me or that I was here. Understood?” Of course, Ironclad may see the tape. But I don’t need any extra trouble tonight.
Still holding his ear, he stands and limps to the door. With a knock, he pushes it open, and there ahead of me, are flashing lights, pounding music, mostly naked women—and men—dancing, packed bars, and drugs everywhere.
Fuck. Welcome to Mammon.
Taking a deep breath, I walk in and immediately get groped on the ass by the first hopped-up asshole who comes my way. Turning toward him, I grab his head in my hands and land a headbutt. He staggers off, and I turn and push my way past the dance floor, and over to the entrance of the VIP room.
A man sits alone at the bar, drinking something clear. Behind the bar, a bartender cuts limes into wedges using a small paring knife. Plopping up on the stool next to the man, I grab his drink from him and take a sniff. Water.
“Hey!” he protests, looking me up and down and taking his drink back. “I’m not into that rough biker-chick costume. Like my women to look like women.”
“It’s not a costume, asshole, and I don’t care what you like and don’t like. You’re drinking water, and that means you’re working. So, you’re going to answer some questions for me. Where are Mikey and Tony?”
“Mikey and Tony who?”
In one fast movement, I grab the paring knife from the bartender and shove it into the guy’s leg just above his knee. I keep my hand on it, applying pressure.
“Okay, so now that I have your attention, I want some answers. Where are Mikey and Tony?”
Grimacing, he speaks through his pain. “Last I heard, they were at the Don’s house.”
