Tasìa stood at the edge of the lot. A sign that read Marejada stood undisturbed in front of her. It was the name of Cuervo's company.

The sign was the least dilapidated structure in the office park.

Why Cuervo had not expended resources on reinforced windows, maintenance drones, and guard bots, Tasìa wondered.

She was a bit wary that she would run into Annebél again. The woman was a brawler, and Tasìa had minimal martial arts skills to throw kicks and punches back at anyone.

In many areas of the Quadra, a tiny thing like herself had to be good with a gun to maintain day to day survival. It was a good thing she was.

After the previous run-in, Tasìa suspected that Annebél's crew would likely be more alert. She approached with more caution this time.

Soon enough as Tasìa sauntered forward, It appeared that the crew had abandoned the site. No sound was to be heard. If anyone was asleep, they did not stir, nor did they snore.

Tasìa entered the foyer of the first building. She jumped back and spun around when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

"Easy, little tigress," Annebél snorted.

She was merely sitting on the floor near the smoldering barrel with her back pressed against the wall. Annebél opened up a fresh 40oz bottle of malt liquor.

That was the motion that Tasìa had seen out of the corner of her eye. The bottle raised up.

Tasìa took in her surroundings.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Why are you here," Annebél countered.

"My godfather owns this place, so I've got a reason."

The streetwalker had her hair up in a ponytail. Whatever success she had tricking that evening, Annebél was now off the clock.

"Old Man Cuervo is your godfather, eh?"

"Yup."

"So what's with the stink bomb? You don't like that we are plying our trade here?"

Tasìa gauged the degree of anger on Annebél's face. She seemed more curious than angry.

"Personally, I don't care. But you were between me and my goal. I couldn't just walk past your group without someone noticing me."

Annebél squinted her eyes and she screwed up her mouth in a tight, ugly grimace that seemed most unnatural. Annebél was anything but ugly.

She stood up.

"So you decided to bust us up, instead? Then you go chasing after God knows what. Give me one good reason I shouldn't wail on you like I did those Norte bitches?"

"The same reason I gave you last time," Tasìa quipped.

"I used to fight in the octagon. Without that itsy-bitsy toy of yours, you would be fucked. I bet I could get to you before you reached your holster."

Tasìa laughed as she answered in turn.

"Is it worth your life to find out?"

Annebél looked her in the eyes.

"You are all play, sister. You don't have it in you."

Tasìa smiled, derisively.

"I'm now a clip shorter than the last time you saw me. I saved four whores just like you from being butchered like cattle when I killed two men. Have you ever killed anyone, Annebél?"

Annebél returned the smile with a jackal's sneer of her own.

"Why do you think they no longer allow me back in the octagon? Ever been to the Sweet, little girl? That is what they call the fight club scene in Asunción. Trust me, it is all blood sport there. They won't let me back to fight. So here I am, small-town whoring."

Tasìa decided if Annebél lunged for her, she would not go for the gun. It would not be right to kill someone with a legitimate gripe. Still, she would make it cost the woman if she tried anything.

A lesson she learned in prison. Win, lose, or draw, you always had to make it cost the other person when they decided to take you on.

Tasìa formed a mental map of the room as she kept her eyes fixed. There were two tables, six chairs, another pair of desks, a stool, a small refrigerator, a space heater - likely broken, a huge set of generator cables, and a barrel.

The ceiling was nine feet high, and Annebél was an even six feet tall.

Tasìa decided to try small talk to diffuse the situation.

"At least one of those Canadian men is pissing blood. He left a huge ass stain on a wall."

Annebél shook her head.

"You know what I am not hearing out of you is an apology."

"And you won't. As far as I am concerned, you are still in the way of where I need to be."

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Annebél's neck tightened as she shook her head.

"You know what? Fuck it."

Annebél made her lunge. She was fast, but Tasìa was near inhuman in her reflexes. Tasìa slid over by two feet, she raised her leg on a desktop with a boot planted firmly down. She pushed up with her thigh muscles to become airborne.

As she twisted around in mid-air, Tasìa grabbed her stiletto. When Annebél rushed into the space she had just inhabited, Tasìa on her descent down grabbed the streetwalker by her ponytail and she sliced it off just below the band.

It was necessary to cartwheel for Tasìa to come to a vertical landing on her feet. She twisted around to face Annebél in preparation to maneuver a second time in an instant if necessary.

However, it wasn't. Annebél stared back at her with a confused expression consisting of a gaping mouth and deep, squinched creases running the length of her forehead.

"Here you go," Tasìa said as she threw the lovely mass of curly red hair at the woman's chest.

Annebél caught it, and gave the hair a mournful look like she was holding onto a dead pet.

"You fucking bitch," Annebél gasped.

Tasìa waved the stiletto with several succinct dicing motions.

"You want to play at my level, Annebél, you are going to have to be at least twice as fast as what you just showed me."

Annebél's eyes were enraged.

"You fucking little troll doll monster!"

Tasìa didn't let this throw her off her stride. Attacks on appearance were just part of the game. She knew she was weirdly cute. Like a troll doll.

So it took a little extra time to apply make-up to even out her face and make her look pretty. Big deal.

"What do you want to lose next? A finger? A toe? An ear? I know, what about the ring in your nose. I could use a new diamond."

Annebél grunted and snorted as she bent forward. After she threw the hair down, she removed a big Bowie knife from the back of her calve.

"I probably look like one of Isabella's daga chicas now, so I guess I should learn to act like one. Alright, bitch, let's throw down."

Tasìa grimaced. Tasìa had hoped her last demonstration would have been enough to convince the pugilist she was out-matched and get her to back off.

But good sense would not be had by this woman. Apparently, the only two things she was good at were fucking and winning at fistfights.

"Listen up, Annebél. I don't think you deserve to die, so I am going to do my best to keep you alive."

Annebél blinked rapidly and wiped the side of her nose.

"Tough shit, whatever you feel. You are in this because you put yourself in this."

Tasìa leaned forward, her weight pressed into the spread of fingers on her free hand. The stiletto, she held behind her back.

"I'm not begging for mercy, you moron," Tasìa yelled. "I'm telling you that in a knife fight with me, you don't stand a prayer of a chance. I'm also telling you, anything else I take from you I am keeping."

Annebél waved her fingers forward.

"Come on, little chica. You first this time."

There was a wooden stool three feet forward from the streetwalker's right side.

Tasìa eyed the boots Annebél wore. They appeared to be of rather expensive rattlesnake leather.

Totems and sigils. Most girls of the Quadra would not be caught dead in the leather of a passive, bovine creature.

"Alright," Tasìa agreed. "Just don't blink."

Annebél blinked.

Tasìa used her free hand and arm to spring forward at a slanted angle that she rolled into. She had a good idea of where Annebél's swing would arch.

By the time Annebél's arm was outstretched in full, Tasìa had grabbed the stool, and, much like a lion tamer, she pushed it forward to catch the knife in the momentum of its plunge.

It split deep into the wooden seat. The legs of it broke against Annebél's elbow.

With the knife caught in place, Tasìa twisted the stool and she jerked it backward at the same time.

Annebél had to release the knife or else risk a broken wrist.

Tasìa threw the stool and knife out of a half-broken window.

She backed up and faced the pugilist once more with her own knife dicing in the air.

"Had enough, mujerona?"

Annebél laughed.

"Some advice. You should never tell your opponent you have no plans to kill them. It kills any incentive to stop."

"Just giving you a fair chance to remove yourself from this," Tasìa answered.

Annebél shook her head, a nasty smile rose over her jutted chin.

"All I have seen so far are some pretty impressive circus acrobatics. At a circus, everything around you is fixed positioned so you have nothing random to factor in.

"Not here, baby. Keep it coming, you are bound to slip up."

Tasìa stood straight, but her body was positioned at an angle. She peered over her shoulder and met Annebél's eyes.

"So much bravado," Tasìa tisked.

"I could say the same about you."

"All I know is you are still in my way. It is your turn to go first, by the way."

Annebél ran the distance between them. Her right leg went in the air, bent to the side with her heel jutted forward in the absolute expertise of one who had performed the kick ten thousand times.

There was very little space for Tasìa to maneuver this time. Still, she had expected a kick. If she had stayed still, her ribs and lungs would now be caved in.

Instead, she twisted in the opposite direction she was facing as she lunged down.

Her head wound up buried in Annebél's crotch with only the cervix that jutted into the side of Tasìa's chin causing any real pain.

It was a decent enough position to absorb Annebél's momentum.

Tasìa caught a whiff of an almond and jasmine based body lotion with barely even a hint of an overworked vagina.

Must've been a slow night.

Tasìa thought.

Even still, Tasìa executed the rest of her maneuver. She reached to the back of Annebél's thighs, clutched at her asscheek until she found the seamline of her pocket.

Tasìa deftly cut the seam from out of the jeans. As she rolled against the brawler's leg, She liberated the wallet.

Annebél started to shake her leg to get Tasìa off of it. Too late, as she spun around to the other leg.

Careful to aim at the inner heel of the boot to avoid wounding any flesh, Tasìa thrust the stiletto down with all her strength.

The boot was now pinned to the wooden floor.

"Ah, shit! You ruined my fucking boot."

Tasìa got some distance, and trained her gun on Annebél.

"You refused to make peace, so you brought this on yourself."

The streetwalker snarled.

"Lose to a fucking little squirt like you? Never."

"Annebél, you have lost. I ruined your thousand dollar pair of boots, your designer jeans; I butchered your hair, and I even have your wallet."

She shook the wallet before her in a less than magnanimous gesture.

Annebél cursed as she removed her foot from the boot. She removed the other as well.

Finally, suspiring in exasperation, Annebél conceded, "fine. Give me my wallet back and we'll call it even. I'll give you your space and be on my way."

Tasìa liked to keep her trophies, but she had her priorities to consider. It was worth losing the wallet just to settle things up so she could continue onward.

"Fine."

Tasìa threw her the wallet. As Annebél sauntered out of the office building barefoot, the streetwalker smirked and threw her head back in absolute triumph.