Sacha squashed the cigarette beneath her heel, stretching from her squat against the wall. It was about time she saw some action. She flexed her hands within fingerless gloves, the iron bars sewn into the palms an ever-present grip as she clenched her fists.
A man tumbled out a brown sedan, pointing. His buddies were right behind, the five spilling onto the sidewalk in clown-car fashion. She'd laugh if not for the breaker bars and blades they carried.
"So you mean business this time," she said under her breath, sidestepping to open ground.
The driver skipped the car onto the curb, aiming headlights at her. She paused, offering them a good look at her not backing down. A quick jump placed her again in late-night darkness, neither streetlamps nor warehouse lights close enough to cast her as anything but a shadow. She sprinted to the first thug, who separated himself via an idiotic flanking maneuver.
He swung high with a steel rod. Sacha slid low, knocking him off his feet, face first into pavement. After a twisting kick to the head, he lay still.
"You should know better." She shouldered his weapon, boot on his throat for good measure. "May as well leave now, unless you want his death on your hands."
"Bitch, you ain't a killer," said the rearmost thug, hand in his jacket pocket. "I am."
"Like you'd know." She put it in her voice—they couldn't see her eyes. "Between my life and his, I'll take mine. Try again without the twerp. Smarts over numbers, but I guess a street-rat wouldn't know about that."
The leader snarled and called for retreat. Their fallen comrade left behind, they clown-carred their exit. Sacha had already been through this twice. They'd round the block, she'd be gone, they'd retrieve their runt, then be off--until next time.
***
"I've been ringing your fucking ear off. Keep that thing on," Trent said, sitting on the couch in the dark
"I took a walk." She unlaced her boots, smiling under the hallway's glow. She knew he'd kept the light on to see her face. Steel rod left curbside, she'd also pocketed her gloves. "Nice of you to wait up."
"Its five o-fucking-clock!" He bit it off, his silhouette looking upstairs. "My mom has enough issues about this without—"
"Without your stray-cat-bride-to-be being out at all hours?" Sacha laughed, strutting forward. "It's a problem, I agree."
"At least quit hunting alone. R-Really pisses me off when you don't tell me." Trent shuffled back in his seat.
"You don't look angry." She unbuckled her belt, her cargo pants still tight at her hips. "You seem distracted."
"Sacha, don't—not here."
"No. Not here." A finger to his chin, she kissed him. Light, yet full of fire, she felt every ounce of his intentions through his lips. Sacha paused. "I'm hungry."
***
Sausage sizzled in one pan along with onions and green peppers. Another skillet fluffed a layer of whipped egg, diced tomatoes sprinkled overtop. A third pan browned home-style potatoes, the combined aroma filling the kitchen with a harmony of dairy, meats, veggies, and spices.
"A glass of your finest, love," she said, flipping the omelet before spreading the sausage-veggie mix over. Twelve-inches, it was the largest she'd attempted.
Trent puffed his checks, ending his stare-down with shuffled steps to the fridge. A crystal pitcher poured fresh-squeezed Winslow orange juice into a pair of goblets, previously filled with red wine. "Third time in two weeks."
Fourth—Sacha suppressed a smirk—she'd made sure to wear him out before that one.
"Not a scratch on me. No different than your brother does," she said, dividing the mega-omelet with a spatula. "Why are you upset?"
"Because I fucking love you, dumbass. I don't want Calvin doing this shit either." His ire didn't stop him from devouring the experimental breakfast, sucking air to cool every steaming bite. "You've had your reasons before, but Anchorage assholes doesn't need an excuse to pick fights. I'm sure you realize that now. There's no way to win when they keep coming."
She waggled a fork. "All the more reason to step up. Do you even follow the crime rates? They may not be murders, but the girls they—"
"I get it. But you're a girl, the most beautiful one I know—"
"Awww." She really did blush through the sarcasm.
"Shut up. Every time you pull this bullshit, that could be you, broken on the side of the street with your pants off. I'd kill…I'd fucking kill."
"I know, baby. That's why I stay safe."
"You call that safe!" He again winced, glancing through the ceiling. Lowering his voice to a hiss, he continued, "You ain't even armed right, and you don't have back up."
"You'd be a liability." Sacha stuck out her tongue before downing her OJ. "Rich kids end up in the gutter, not me."
He heaved a sigh, staring at his plate, dropping his fork. "I mean it, Sacha, I get that this is important to you, and Calvin, but I'm putting my foot down."
That got her attention. "It is important."
"So is my ulti-fucking-matum." Trent looked he dead in the eye. "You're going to train me, then I'm coming with. No more of this lone wolf bullshit. We live together or we die together. You wanna run back to the woods to protect me from that, fine. I'd put you in shackles to do the same."
"You don't know—"
"The danger? That's what I've been saying!" The walls didn't stop him from raising his voice this time. "Do you want me in your life or not?"
"Yes."
"Do you?" He stood, reaching for her wrists.
"Yes! I love you!" She turned her arms, gripping his, not even sure what she was saying. Sacha didn't want him involved, but—
"Then you get me, all of me, including the blood. I don't think we can fix this city, but you need a wingman before the wrong shit turns bad and you don't have a soul in your corner. Get it?"
"Yeah, I got it."
***
Sacha squashed the cigarette beneath her heel, tossing a nod back to the alleyway shadows. A quartet of men approached, brandishing pipes and chains.
"Look like a lost dog, girly," one laughed, hips bouncing forward, invoking chuckles from his friends. "You're in the right part of town."
"For what?" Sacha cocked her head to the side. "And you shouldn't call a nice girl a dog."
"Ain't no one seen Red in weeks, but here you be. Scene get a little tough for ya?"
"Well, you know. I made my mark. I'm just seeing if you all were paying attention."
"After I fuck you, everyone'll pay attention. Lay down and I'll be nice." The skinny black dude licked his lips.
"Sure thing, just let me get ready." Sacha withdrew a white rope from her cargos, wrapping twice around one wrist. A brass ball on the end weighted it into a pendulum swing.
"Don't do too much of our work or we'll get bored," he said, his cronies again laughing.
"Not a problem." Sacha slashed down with her arm, rope swinging an arc behind it.
Fip—one thug stared at his chest, a feathered dart sticking just below his collarbone. He collapsed, eyes wide.
"Bitch gots back up!" The leader at once dodged sideways and dashed forward, pipe white-knuckled in his hand. He may have been a moron, but he had his angles right.
Sacha leapt to intercept, her rope dangling at her side. She dodged a clumsy swing, and kicked a thug back into Trent's line of fire. Fip—downed. The last of the quartet hugged the opposite wall, spinning a motorcycle chain, comparable to her rope's three-foot length but a greater threat in potential.
Double-swiped, double-dodged, she stutter-stepped back into the firing range—alleyway center. Neither thug engaged, searching the buildings' escape-wells and rooftops.
"Pretty pussy of you, even for a bitch," he said, gritting his teeth.
"Sorry about that." Sacha turned her back and patted her rear. "Don't like even odds?"
The fourth guy lunged forward, chain spinning overhead. Sacha somersaulted, the chain's downward strike chipping the pavement she left. From crouch to launch, she swung her rope backhanded, wrapping around his neck. When the leader rushed to intervene, another feathered dart missed by inches, driving him back to the wall. Sacha's captive gurgled to limp, unconscious.
"Pathetic," she said. "We aren't even your own size."
"Fucking cunt!" Palms to the alley walls, he scrambled away. "I'm gunna see you dead!"
"Heard that before. And you better not bring guns, ours are bigger!" He'd already turned the corner, but Sacha hoped he heard her. It's not like she hadn't stared down a barrel before, but these hot-bloods didn't have the discipline to know when to shoot or not. It'd be better for them, and her, if they left the truly dangerous toys at home. She wound the fallen's motorcycle chain around her forearm, another trophy, and a useful one at that.
***
"Was that worth a month?" she said, rinsing the chain in the Winslow kitchen sink.
"Worth enough to see you alive." Trent fieldstripped his rifle, often pausing at a spring or bolt. "What if I wasn't there?"
"Different fight, same results." Sacha kept her eyes on the task. "I am not a killer, but I have killed. These kids don't know the difference between the two, and you don't either. Survival is a cause worth killing for, as is love. It's not like I go out there to prove anything."
"Sometimes I wonder."
"I know darn well when to run, but it never comes to that. All it takes is a show of force, or a hostage at worst, and these kids run home to their townhouses or projects, either or."
"But Calvin doesn't leave himself that open. He doesn't set himself up as bait."
"He's not a girl. I set the bar beneath their intentions. At first, they want money, then rape, then my death. That means if any girl were to resist…"
"Same fight, worse results," he said.
"You can't argue that, can you?"
"Not really." Trent's brow furrowed. "But it's not your job."
"Then whose job is it? Cops take it as it comes. Even your brother, bless Calvin's heart, can only cover so much ground. I have to set a standard, if only fear for the predators--that they won't have their way."
Trent hung his head and exhaled.
"I know you love me, baby, " she said, "but don't think I can live here without reacting to what I see. You did good today. It would've been harder without you. But it's up to you, whether you have my back or not."
"Dumb question." Trent loaded a dart into the breech. "But we can do better. Just don't question every head I bring into the mix. If we're going to do this, we may as well do it right."
Sacha smirked, tangling a finger in her red tresses, lifting her shirt just below her chest. "And here I thought we've always done it right, just the two of us."
Whatever he had in mind, it would change the dynamic of her mission, whether she was just repeating the past, or genuinely trying to make her past right. Sacha didn't play well with others. Her year with Trent had been the longest human contact she's had with anyone in nine years--since her parents. If he was going to open this up to his buddies and god-knows who else, she didn't know that she wouldn't still be sneaking out after hours. Then again, it really didn't matter until push actually came to shove. Her new life had been all about adaptation and new methods, so why question it now. This lifestyle sure beat living out of caves and mugging hikers.
Within a half-step of her saunter, Trent's eyes glazed over. "Different game, better results."
She ran her hands through his hair and pressed his face to her belly. "Let's sleep on the details."
The fire of his lips engulfed her as he dumped the rifle to a stock-prop against the counter. "Sacha."
"Here?" She giggled, yanking his shirt up and over his head. Trent's eyes blazed, mixing worry, adrenaline and lust. He'd soon discover the best part about returning home from a successful hunt.
Sacha hopped her rear on the counter top, drawing him near. If another word was spoken, it was lost in the roar within her ears.