just gonna stand there and watch me burn, but that's alright because i like the way it hurts Who: Aisling Wilde, some flunkies, Damia Ravin What: Ash gets beat up. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Where: An alleyway. (This isn't familiar at all.) When: Tonight. Rating: NC-17 for graphic violence and attempted rape Status: Complete!
Her lucky break at Reinholdt’s ball had turned up a whole lot of nothing in the following weeks. She’d gotten it narrowed down to a short list of six - six nobles that she didn’t fucking know and had no reason to interact with. Some of them, like Lord Rodrigo, had been easy enough to get access to. It helped that he was a repeat customer of Lucette’s.
Manning reception on his typical night got her a quick chat, and just like that, the first of the list had been marked off.
Viscount LeMarque had been a little harder. He was the type who was overly affectionate with his wife and would sooner hang himself than be caught in the Red Light District. Hell, she wasn’t sure if the fucking pompous lecher - she’d seen his wife, and she didn’t look happy to be getting groped - had ever stepped foot outside of the Noble’s or Civic District except under protest.
Fortunately, a brief look through some of the book records for the Ring showed her he was a consistent bidder, and he had a balance of 4500g. Normally, she’d report it up to Ci, and he’d send and enforcer (or, in the case of a noble, some sort of pointed reminder without being too crass) to collect. Instead, she took it into her own hands and showed up on his doorstep.
Bold and cocky, sure. Could have gotten her killed, especially if this was the guy she’d been looking for (hindsight and all that jazz), but he’d taken one look at her, paled, handed over the gil (plus 15% interest) and apologized profusely.
Two down, four to go.
“Lord Felipe” turned out to be “Lady Felicia,” which was a real fucking discovery, and man, the unexpected windfall from that was going to line the syndicate’s coffers for a while.
Count Earl and Count Dillan were theatre patrons and easy enough to gain access to. This time of year, there weren’t a whole lot of shows to choose from, which meant it wasn’t difficult to hit them all. A little bribe got her seated beside them, and voila. Two more knocked from the list.
(Not a total waste of her time, really. Turned out the two friends were a lot more than that in a darkened theatre when they thought no one was looking. It was really kind of disgusting how easy it was to get dirt on the nobility.)
Which left only one. Count Niccolo Sforza. Not exactly the easiest guy to dig up dirt on. From what she was able to gather, he was a bit of a recluse who funneled gil into a variety of charities. No one had much to say about him outside of that. The kind of noble life people dreamed of or detested, depending.
That made it difficult as fuck to get to him, though.
Process of elimination told her that this was her guy, but she wasn’t stupid - no sense in making false accusations about the guy. That would only bring a shit ton of trouble to her doorstep and she didn’t want that. (It could be argued that continuing this fucking search was going to bring trouble, but Ash conveniently ignored that voice.)
Two weeks later, and she still had no fucking clue how to get to him. She’d hit up all of her contacts, but not a single fucking hume knew of anyway to get in the same damn room with the guy. Probably paranoid; she would be too if was involved in an operation aimed at killing prostitutes.
Still, she thought as she crossed the street. I at least have a fucking name. All I need is an in.
The thought had barely finished forming when a pair of hands wrapped around her arms and pulled her into the mouth of an alley. Before she could turn and get a look at her attacker, she was pushed deeper into the narrow alley, the asshole’s boot coming into contact with the small of her back. The palms of her hand caught her fall, and the impact traveled up her arms and shuddered through her shoulders, down her spine.
“Well, if this isn’t familiar I don’t know what is,” she muttered, forcing herself to turn and see her attacker.
Attackers, it turned out. She counted four of them, all strategically placed so that shadows covered their faces. No way of making them out unless she got them closer to the street entrance, and that didn’t seem like it was going to be happening any time soon. Fuck.
At least she knew that she was on the right track. No other reason to send thugs after her.
“You know, rough costs extra,” she purred, pulling herself upright. “So does a gangbang. Looking at a pretty gil here for little ol’ me.”
“Shut your mouth, you whore,” one of them - she assumed he was the leader with the way he stood ever so subtly in front of the rest of them - spit. She managed not to flinch at the insult because it was true, but damn if it didn’t mean it couldn’t hurt. “You’ve been asking questions about things you shouldn’t be.”
“Sforza sent a group of thugs to keep a whore quiet?” Ash laughed, keeping an eye on them for any reaction. Their stillness and silence confirmed it. “What? He afraid people will get the wrong impression? Or are you here to get a quote?”
The leader moved forward and backhanded her; she stayed standing, her hands at her side. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of recoiling. “That the best you got?” she asked, and then she struck back. Her fist connected with his jaw and must have caught him by surprise, because he took a step back, hand lifting to cover where she’d hit him.
While he was nursing his wound - fucking sissy - the other three moved in. There wasn’t any time to get a dance in, so she was stuck with wit and hard knocks. If she could get the element of surprise and knock ‘em down, even briefly, she could make a run for it. Chances of that happening though? Weren’t good.
Double fuck.
One guy’s meaty fist crashed into her stomach and she doubled over, hands reaching for the ground. She grit her teeth, put her weight onto her hands, and lifted, using the momentum to kick the fucker in the face and land back on her feet. Just in time to narrowly miss a kick that had been aimed at her. She ducked an incoming punch and swept one of the guys’ legs out from underneath him, smirking when he crashed to the ground.
Arms wrapped around her waist and she struggled, getting the heel of her foot high enough to kick the guy in the jewels. She’d hoped he’d let go, but instead he only held on tighter. The other two that weren’t laid out were closing in, and she saw the glint of metal in one of their hands. Looked like someone had brought a knife to a fist fight.
One of them - the leader, fuck it all - backhanded her again, and her head flew to the side. Blood welled up in her mouth and she spat. Copper lingered on her tongue, and she looked up in time to see another fist collide with her face. She grunted and bit her lip.
“Think you’re a tough broad, don’t you?” one of them sneered, kneeing her in the gut. The man holding her laughed. “We’ll show you how tough you are, bitch. We were just gonna let you off with a warning, but we should have known better. A whore is only good for one thing.”
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her face down; she fell to her knees, the arms that were restraining her suddenly gone.
“Let’s see how you like this.”
She knew exactly what he was going to do the second he’d started talking, and it pissed her off that there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Her hands were free, but she didn’t have any way off getting off a reasonably powerful punch. She was on the floor, so dancing was out. All she could do was wait until he undid his trousers.
As he fumbled with the button, she looked to the side. One on her right, one on the left. She’d bet good gil the third was behind her - and the third one was the one with the knife. He was the more immediate threat of the group, as far as she was concerned.
Fucker finally got his pants undone and he pulled her face closer to his crotch. Immediately, she held her mouth closed. Fucker grunted in annoyance, jabbing his dick against her lips. “Get her mouth open,” he grunted. Lackey #1 moved in from her right and reached in, closing her nose.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. She hadn’t pegged any of them for the intelligent type.
Eventually, she had to open her mouth for air, and when she did, Fucker shoved his dick in her mouth. Lackey #1 let go of her nose and settled back into place. “We get a turn, too, right?” he asked. Something about the way he asked it made her not want to go anywhere near him.
Before Fucker could say anything, Ash did what Mama Jewel had taught her to do in a situation like this (well, not exactly like this, but close enough): she bit. Fucker howled and let go of her hair, and she immediately fell, rolling back.
The cry echoed, dissolving into swears and curses, loud enough to lure anyone a block over for a look. But the area wasn’t too populated and no one was looking— and even if they were, who would help? A woman in need was more likely to get ignored than helped by a kind stranger unless they were some sort of law enforcement.
Damia was neither a stranger nor law enforcement, but she appeared out of seemingly nowhere, one hand coming up to slam the injured man’s head into brick. He crumpled, pants still undone, and she lifted her brows. This hadn’t been in the books for the day, but Faram did she have a problem figuring out how to stay away from those who needed help.
“Put your dick away,” the corsair suggested rather amiably, deftly slipping her dagger from its sheath, tucked under her shirt, and slamming an unforgiving heel into his ribcage. “Or someone might try to slice it off and feed it to you.” As the first man moved for her, looking to disarm her, she reacted with an elbow to his nose and a painful crack (and scream) resounded.
A challenging look that could only translate as Who’s next was directed at the remaining two men, but no words were said to them— she moved, dagger flipping in hand, before either of them could take Ash as a hostage.
Well, that’s convenient, Ash thought, standing. Her legs were a bit wobbly; she was going to chalk that up to anger. It was as good a reason as any, and she was beyond fucking pissed. The fucking nerve of that bastard. He was still on the floor, and really, he was the one she wanted.
Unfortunately, the asshole with the knife was still behind her. Just as she remembered him, she felt his knife slash through her side, the pain sharp and sudden. One of these fucking days, I’m not going to be caught off guard. She stepped to the side, missing the second swipe, just as the last idiot rushed Damia’s side.
“Incoming,” she called out, kicked the guy with the knife in the jaw. The advantages of flexibility. Also helped that the guy was only a few inches taller than her. He grunted and fell backwards, knife clattering to the floor. She leaned over and picked it up, wincing.
Dodging an assailant when there was only brick to her other side, Damia recognized as he drew too close, was not going to end well. Despite the flying elbow, he managed a handful of her hair and yanked her away, practically taking her off her feet. The pain was enough to blind her momentarily, nearly forcing her to drop her weapon, but she managed to find her balance, settling one booted foot into the wall behind to propel them both forward.
He stumbled, taking her with him, and both slammed into the asphalt. A hand shot out for her hair again, but there was no time for that— her blade was lodged into his throat, pressing in deep. As he stared up at Damia in shock, hand falling away, she couldn’t help but shove the dagger further into his throat, blood bubbling and spraying.
As soon as she looked up, the guy fell, head lolling to the side to stare blankly at Ash. She grimaced in disgust. She refused to feel anything - fuckers had grabbed her, tried to rape her. They’d made their damn beds. Her fingers clenched around her stolen knife and she turned away, eyes focusing on the guy not far from her. Do it right, or not at all, her father’s voice echoed.
She didn’t spare a second thought and moved forward, stopping to stand over him. He glared up at her and laughed, short and harsh. “You don’t have the fucking balls, whore.”
Without hesitation, she crouched down and sliced through the skin on his throat before pressing into it. He gurgled and blood trickled over her hand, warm and thick. Before she could pull away, someone tackled her to the ground. The knife was still in her hand, and the asshole on top of her was trying to grapple it away.
Her positioning was awkward, and her elbow was at a sharp angle. The wrong move and it would break.
But only one thing would be breaking, it seemed, as a sickening crunch sounded from above. Neck snapped, the man fell forward like a marionette doll whose strings had been cut, but Damia’s hand shot out to catch him by the collar of his coat. Sucking in a deep breath for preparation, she moved to haul him off the other blonde, only partly succeeded as she deposited him some feet away.
Not a second was wasted as she dropped into a crouch next to Ash. “He’s all yours,” she breathed, indicating with a nod toward the last assailant.
She nodded and breathed in deeply. More blood was oozing from her side and it was making her light headed. One of them had to be kept alive, and the one she’d wanted to kill got the lucky role by default. Whatever, she thought, using the hand that wasn’t pressed against her side to help herself up.
Slowly, she crossed the distance between her and the fucker who’d tried to rape her. Tried. She just had to remember that. Her steps were measured and her back was straight; for all intents and purposes, she looked composed. A bit roughed up, but definitely not too bad if her side was ignored.
Blood was oozing sluggishly from his nose and he glared, unfazed by the deaths of his lackeys. Disgusting. She delivered a sharp kick to his chest and watched impassively as he curled inward, gasping.
“Today’s your lucky day,” she said, voice carefully controlled, bored. “Tell Sforza he leaves me alone, I leave him alone.” Another kick, this time to his head. It knocked him out, and she turned to Damia. “Thanks.”
The corsair was wiping blood from her dagger as she glanced up, almost surprised by the thank you. She hadn’t been waiting for it, and they practically caught her off guard every time. It faded quickly as she slammed her weapon back into its sheath. “Sure,” was all she said to that, dropping her gaze to Ash’s wound and casting a quick Cure.
Blonde was smoothed from her temples. “What should we do about them?” There would be no inquiries about what she was involved in; it wasn’t her business and it wouldn’t change the fact that there were three dead bodies to handle.
Ash shrugged, wincing as her skin stretched. The Cure had little impact; she frowned. Sure, it was deep, but not that deep. “I’ll call Neil. He’ll take care of it,” she said distractedly. Ci would hear about it, but that was unavoidable at this point. He’d need to know since she was the one who offed one of them.
A wave a nausea swept through her and she doubled over. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she hissed. Poison knife. She just had some piss-poor luck these days. Another sweep of pain, followed by an overwhelming urge to vomit, and her vision blacked out. The last thing she felt was the impact of her knees on the ground.