April 14, 2021. 16:30. Vancouver.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?" The dumbfounded man finally responds to me tripping his friend.

"Ohhhh…" The man on the floor groans and rolls onto his side. His body twitches in pain. Sorry, man. I grab his head and jerk it back. I slam his head into the floor again with as much force as I can muster. I glance back at the other Dead King member, and he's already in front of me. Damn it. He charges at me and drives me into the wall with the weight of a freight train. I raise my arms to brace for the impact, but it's not enough—pain explodes across my back.

I cough, and he yells, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?" He grabs me by the arm and drives his knee into my torso. I grunt, feeling my organs shift painfully. I kick as hard as I can into his groin. The man lets out a screech and releases me. I exhale sharply, a large burst of air shooting out of my mouth. I dart towards him while he reels in pain. I maneuver around him and latch onto his back. My arms wrap around his neck, and I pull as hard as possible. He thrashes around, and his elbow jabs into my side. My grip falters, but I yank even harder.

PLEASEEEEE! I mentally scream, praying that he'll drop to the ground any second. Of course, it isn't as easy as I hope. He flails violently, repeatedly striking my arm and leg. I wince with each blow. I have no idea how much longer my limbs can hold out. He gasps for breath and taunts me.

"That feel good, choombait?" Oh, he did NOT just call me that. I growl and tighten my grip even harder around his neck. I feel the urge to draw my gun and shoot him, but that would make everything I've done so far pointless. I hear his grunting and wheezing with each passing second. He takes a slow step back, then suddenly accelerates as he runs backward into a wall. MOTHEFU—

I'm not going to make the same mistake twice. I let go of him and shove myself off before it's too late. He crashes into the wall, and I roll out of the way. I clench my teeth and force myself to stand, my entire body aching.

I glare at him, as adrenaline surges within me. Without a word, I lunge forward, pushing through the pain. He's still leaning against the wall, groaning. I drive my fist into his gut with all my strength. He coughs and doubles over immediately. I grab his head and slam my knee into his face. I repeatedly punch his face and drive his head against the wall.

"Yeah, that feel good, dickhead?" I kick him in the shin. He stumbles forward, trying to stay upright. I don't give him the chance to recover. I plant my feet and throw an elbow straight into his temple. His head jerks to the side, and his eyes roll back. I grab him by the head and slam him into the floor. A groan escapes his lips, telling me it's over. I pull him up and slam his head into the floor again. This time, he goes limp. Finally.

I exhale sharply and rub my aching stomach. I can't waste time. I glance up at the camera, and the red light blinks.

I shake off the fatigue and rush down the hallway. My boots echo off the polished tiles. Focus, girl, come on. My hand dives into my jacket, my fingers brushing against the key fob. I yank it out and press it against the sleek black sensor on the VIP apartment door. Beep. The lock clicks, and I push the door open. I slip inside and finally enter my target area.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

As the doors shut behind me with a hiss, I'm hit by a wave of luxury. Damn. I smile as I look around. The place is over-the-top, flashy, and completely vain. Furniture with golden trimmings fills the space, each piece more extravagant than the last. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city's skyline. Sunlight reflects off the shimmering glass, no matter where I stand.

I walk around the suite, analyzing the walls. Each wall is lined with framed photos of the man who owns this place—AXIS. In one picture, he stands on the red carpet with a sly grin. In another, he flashes stacks of cash for the cameras. Everything here screams rich asshole. I move past the paintings and make my way to the center of the room.

A long glass table stretches across, with a cluster of luxury watches, rings, and necklaces on top. Expensive jewelry is casually scattered across the table and on the nearby plush white couches. Man treats this like pocket change. I eye some of the jewelry and shove a few pieces into my pockets. Don't mind if I do. A wall-mounted screen, larger than anything else in the room, reflects my fully covered body in baggy black clothing. I move past the table and enter a kitchen area.

On the countertops, a couple of standard pistols glint under the soft glow of recessed lighting. Dai Lung Streetmaster, Militech Arms Avenger, Arasaka WSA, BudgetArms Auto 3, Federated Arms X-9. My hands trace along each pistol, their sleek metal calling to me. Shame none of these are well kept.

I brush past the guns and the remaining bling lying around. My real prize sits on the kitchen table—a set of keys and a fob. A grin spreads across my face as I swipe them off the counter. Come to momma. I nod in satisfaction and make a quick exit, speeding out of the apartment without a second thought.

I make a beeline for the elevator, jabbing the button with impatient fingers. My foot taps against the floor, my hands rubbing together anxiously. Every muscle aches, screaming at me to stop. Not yet.

The elevator arrives, and I dart inside. I yank out the stolen keys and press the fob to the sensor. Ding! The elevator accepts my command, and I punch the VIP parking level button.

My heart pounds in rhythm with the soft hum of the descending floors. Almost there, come on. Finally, the doors slide open, revealing a cold, dimly lit garage. The air reeks of money, and I can't help but smile. There it is. A sleek black Porsche 911 GT3, blood-red racing stripes slashing across the hood and sides, awaits a new owner.

I bite my lip to keep from drooling. Holy shit. The car practically purrs at me, even while standing still. I eye the beast in front of me, my lips curling into a grin. This is it. I pull the keys from my pocket and, with a flick of my wrist, the doors open and the headlights flash. Hellooo, gorgeous.

I'm in the driver's seat in a heartbeat. The leather wraps around me like it was made just for me. The dashboard glows with sleek, high-tech displays, and the steering wheel fits perfectly in my grip. I take a deep breath—just one—to soak it all in. This is mine now.

I flick the ignition, and the engine roars to life. I let out a soft hum of satisfaction as a shiver of excitement runs through me. I tighten my grip on the wheel, my eyes gleaming with anticipation. I speed out of the garage, the tires screeching as I leave. I drive past my truck and take out my phone. I nonchalantly aim my phone at the parked vehicle and tap my truck's remote control app.

The truck hums to life and follows after me alongside my newly acquired Porsche. I chuckle for a moment until the pain in my stomach reminds me that I'm on a time limit. I drive off, the damned building shrinking in the rearview.

Time to disappear.