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    January 27th, 2019

    Little Monks

    9am

     

     

     

     

    She’d disappeared above the shop, her precious Nova vilified in her bay as a testament to how powerless she really was.  Broken windows, bullet holes, broken into, her blood on the back seat… It was infuriating, denigrating, the underdog had spent so much time clawing to the top only to be toppled in a few short weeks to a power she was no closer to eradicating than she was when her father died.  She could leave. Leave all this and start over somewhere else. Would they really care?

     

    She would care.  Nobody would take this from her.

     

    Her forehead was bumping slightly against the front of the shower over and over in her frustration, hands and either side of her ears, the hot water warming the still clammy skin down her neck and over her back.  She’d not been able to get warm since.  Bits of memory, banging around in a trunk, the sound of the frame of the car hitting a mooring post, the fear.  The only fear was the darkness.  Hearing was splotchy, in and out, earplugs in since and not knowing what damage the bastard water had done.  Without her hearing she could survive.  Take away everything else and leave her in a senseless, dark hole and she was lost.

     

    It seemed like hours, finally turning the old fifties knobs to shut off the water and stepping out to dry.  Steam hung in the room, swirling around everything. Put on a face.  Put on a shield. Show everyone there were no dents in the armor.  Wear the cuts and bruises with pride despite the turmoil under her skin.

     

    She’d survived.

     

    That was all that mattered.

     

    If she was alive, she could still pull the trigger.

     

    Hair was in a single plait slung over her shoulder, sides slicked back and hair swept from her forehead in a low faux hawk .  Eyes black and fierce, the innocence was scrubbed out by the kohl liner.  What she thought was still childishly pretty, had blossomed into an intimidating steel gaze.  Large eyes under dramatic brows, black lashes to match the near ebony hair she'd inherited from her mother, without make-up she was effortlessly exquisite. Lips that could purse and catch attention even in their scowl.  If she ever dared to put on a dress and heels, the doors opened would have been mind-boggling.  Nevertheless, the 'warpaint' made her feel powerful.  Sleeveless black tank over a black sports bra, her favorite beat up leather pants pulled down over worn docs.  Bruises on her wrists, bruises across her right shoulder and arm, left hand wrapped tightly in gauze with duct tape over it, a busted lip, a bruised jaw, a welt on her forehead.

     

    Fingertips absently reached up to fiddle with the medallion at her throat.  It was all she had left of him other than this shop, and an unmarked grave in the nearby cemetery she'd dug herself.  Even his car... left on a pier to throw the scent off her sanctuary.

     

    She would not hide anymore.

     

    Shoulder harness was pulled on over her tank, Browning checked and snapped in.

     

    The shop was incredibly quiet, the zip of an air wrench every so often. The smell of coffee and liquids of the mechanical kind. Trotting down the steps, she cranked the heater blower and stepped into her bay. Hands slid into her pockets as she looked at the thing, triceps that were the envy of every woman on the planet twitching slightly as her fingers tapped her hips in her pockets.

     

    She knew when she was being watched.  Wide circles.  They were all making wide circles, except Bills.

     

    He stood next to her, towering over the tiny titan and surveying the car with her, hands on his hips.  Eyes had already taken in the visible injuries.

     

    *npc* ..you wanna tell me what happened?

     

    She killed three people?

     

    Pissed off the mob?

     

    She got the shit beat out of her?

     

    Sabotaged a car?

     

    Almost drowned?

     

    Torched a building?

     

    She could barely hear him, the purple earplugs usually a sign to shut the fuck up and not talk to her.  She had no way of knowing he’d spilled his guts the night before to the man in the crosshairs of her ire.  It didn’t matter anyway, she wasn’t talking. To anyone.  Hammer was picked up from the workbench, leather work gloves slid on, going straight for the cracked windows and beating the hell out of them to begin to scrub the disgrace off her car.  There was another way to remove the glass.  The safe way.  The sane way.  The patient way.

     

    She was none of that right now.

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    • 2 weeks later...

    Babysitting.

     

    How the hell had he gotten stuck with babysitting? For all he could chameleon into the different aspects of the Bakkhos regime, he sometimes was at a complete loss to understand what Gaspari was thinking. He came immediately when Gaspari called him for an emergency meeting and gotten to Bakkhos just in time to hear the tail end of Bills talking about how the girl didn’t know she was supposed to be a part of the family. They had proceeded to have another two hour discussion about why she couldn’t simply be told the truth and pulled into the fold. Gaspari wanted her watched and the transition to be slow, on her own time. The Italian nightcrawler had disagreed strongly. It felt deceptive. He had thought Gaspari might tear his head off when he quoted the second law of the family but instead the head of the family had only chuckled and shook his head. He had written the laws, of course he knew them. But this was at Bills request. The Italian had frowned at the older man, he got it that Bills was some father figure but even he had to know this would end badly.

     

    But after two hours they had worn him down.

     

    [matteo]….don't get me wrong boss…. but…. aint it only gonna be worse in the end when she IS told?[/matteo]

     

    He was assured he would be off the hook and not take the wrap for the white lie. That had not been what he had meant. He had left, hands stuffed into his jean pockets grumbling but resigned to his fate.

     

    He really was off. He had even turned down Nickie Faduci when she came rapping on his door. He hadn't been in the mood, he was NEVER not in the mood. Sleep eluded him as he tried to figure out how to do what they asked without breaking the family trust with one that WAS family. Bills had given him some ideas, all involving her shop. He had a car that needed work anyway. Normally he tinkered on his own vehicles but it would be a good reason to at least start having conversations with her. Since he raced in the area she likely had seen it anyway so the cover was there. He just hoped she didn’t ask any questions he had to outright lie to.

     

    The '67 Mustang roared through the streets, the rumble a bit louder than it should be. He had a sloppy manual stick and he was pretty sure the cowl vent was leaking. She was only allowed to touch the old beater if she put it back together with original parts, he was proud of the fact that the engine and body were original. Of course, original and good condition were two different things. He had been missing a front bumper for a while because he couldn’t find a damn '67, the entire driver side front panel was compound more than paint, the driver door didn’t open, locked shut and was missing the door handle, again he had been unable to find the '67 yet, instead the window was always open so he could slide in General Lee style. But he wasn’t asking for any body repair, it didn’t bother him what it looked like, it bothered him what it drove like.

     

    Pulling in out front he let the engine stutter down as he slid out the window, dark jeans topped with a dark tan v-neck sweater were half covered by a loose fitting camouflage jacket. Keys slid into his jean pocket as he studied her place a minute before finally striding up to start this charade.

     

    [matteo]…'ey…..anyone home?[/matteo]

     

    Bronx accent thick, he could lose it when the situation called for it but he didn’t want to be anymore fake than he was already being forced to be.

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    Her world was quiet, the occasional zip of an air wrench filtering through the earplugs like warped water.  Early morning had been spent in insatiable anger, beating the shit out of a car that was the focus of her ire.  Now it sat in silence in her personal bay. Glass cleaned up and vacuumed from every nook and cranny, bullets meticulously fished out of all the panels with the little magnetic grabby tool that nobody ever seemed to have a name for.  Destroyed trunk lock drilled out.  Everything slapped with fiber-bondo and drying to sand.  It was a miracle the tires hadn’t been blown out, it was almost impossible to find that shit now.  Tire manufacturing wasn’t exactly on the priority list at the moment.  Neither was what she did, but there seemed to be enough niche in the world to keep her place rolling.

     

    She could feel her team's eyes in their quiet once in a while "checking up on her" as she shut the lights of in her bay and stepped into the Impala’s.  There were four in the place. Hers was farthest from the lobby, but closest to the stairs that ran up to her apartment above.  It was for her personal projects, or the ones she took on herself.  Second and third were long term.  The paint booth was in the third, directly underneath the vent hoods that led up and out.  Second was for rebuilds.  First was basic, tire changes and the like.  An odd configuration, but it made sense to her and it was the way her father built it, she wasn’t about to change.

     

    Dark eyes watched her face in the paint and grime spattered mirror as she scrubbed her hands clean of grease and bondo dust, the cuts still sore and wrapped in duct tape.  Shiner had grown considerably, making "business as usual" not so much...  Lashes narrowed.  The haunting blue of her mother's irises was unnerving next to the dark lashes of her father's.  Maybe that was why people refused to look at her.  Maybe it was because they thought her crippled. Lip was now bruised to go along with the split.  Might want to go down to the clinic later and see if it needed stitches.  If not, super glue. Crude, but effective.  Big soft blue towels dried her hands and new duct tape was wrapped around her palms, pulling the hood of the gray hoodie back up.  It was about five sizes too big, hung almost to her knees… but it was soft and didn’t scratch when she was finishing a paint job, and it was her father’s.  Seemed only right.  After hours of angered rampage over her own vehicle, this fell into a gentle rhythm.  Pulling off blue tape and buffing the final clear coat into a crystal shine.  Running q-tips along the cracks of all the chrome to pull out any remaining dust and debris.  She was perfection, like her dad.

     

    Nothing left without her personal once-over.

     

    Finished, she knelt to one knee in front of the muscled beast, eyeing the lines and every reflection for absolute, flawless finish.

     

    This damn thing was finally done.

     

    She’d felt the rumble on her skin of an approaching car in the lot, a whiff of burning oil in the exhaust when she hit the big red button to open the overhead and release this beast into the hands of some limpdick prick that still had ties to the asshole she’d shot.  It didn’t escape her that there would be retaliation still… that’s why she was sending three of her four guys to deliver it.  Two to drive, one to trail.

     

    "…'ey…..anyone home?"

     

    She stood in the doorway a moment as it opened, barely catching the words from the man’s lips when she glanced for Bills in the lobby, who was out in several moments, swathed in layers of flannel and a steaming foam coffee cup.  His lips curled slightly under the well groomed biker’s beard, if there was anything more that he liked more than his bikes, it was his Mustangs.  They weren’t her favorite, she found their owners to be pretentious penis strokers, but the engines were something she found superior.  Nothing ran like they did.  There was a reason they were penis cars.

     

    *npc*  Nice. Name’s Bills Romano.  Sweet, Jimmie waitin’ in the lobby on the Impala over there.  Watt in bay one.  Monk is pulling out the Impala.

     

    He nodded toward the hoodie clad mighty mouse and stretched out a coffee cup warmed hand to the guy.

     

    *npc*  Real nice. What do you want done to it?  Monk’s gotta check it out first before we can make any promises.

     

    The conversation was monitored carefully from under the hood as the door rose and she locked it up in place.  Reading lips was an invaluable skill, even if one could hear.  Eyes studied the man a moment before she stepped back in, she’d seen the car before.

     

    Keys, and this car was off.  Thrusting open the massive door, she slid in and turned the key.  It roared to life, relishing the feel of the engine, “listening” for anything before she put it in gear and backed it carefully out of the bay.  THIS was the best part.  THIS.  Better than sex.  Better than anything.  The feeling of a powerful, perfect machine sliding slick and slow into a compact car world for the first time since it was made. It brought a quirked smile to her lips.

     

    Better.  Than.   Sex.

     

    She ran it through all the gears before parking it to the side, tossing the keys to Sweet’s waiting fingers.  Quick hands gave last instructions….

     

    -He’s squared up.  If he gives you crap, beat the shit out of him-

     

    Their expressions were amused, hers wasn’t.  She was done with the damn clusterfuck. She’d made it a work of art, and never approved of putting it back into hands that didn’t appreciate. But then again, she’d never make a dime if she didn’t.
     

    Stepping back into the bay, she grabbed her black winter flannel, standing in the doorway again to watch their conversation as the hoodie was pulled off.  Plait flopped against her back and she hooked the precious hoodie in its spot.  Red button was smacked, ducking out toward the two as it lowered- only really interested in the car as she pulled the thick lined flannel over her battered bare arms lithe with muscle and clad in a shoulder holster.  Flipping the braid back out, "coat" was buttoned halfway as she bypassed them both.  She always helped herself.  It they had a problem with it, they could fuck off.

     

    Nod at the man was slight, but no eyes.  She never looked at anyone, unless she talked to them.  Most never knew her long enough to know she could, and at that point she didn’t care.  They never did it right.  They talked to Bills, and Bills translated to her. Rude as hell. She’d just stopped trying to teach people the etiquette a long time ago.  You always spoke to a deaf person, never the translator.  Of course, she could hear them now…  but meh…  Fingers were quick to Bills.

     

    -If he twitches, shoot him in the face.-

     

    The smile from her lifelong companion hid the message.

     

    *npc*  She said she likes it.

     

    Dark lashes flicked to the old biker, a smirk almost on her lips and went back to the car, finger tips sliding at the base all the way around to the tailpipe, a thumb inside brought to her nostrils before knocking once on the driver’s side front panel. Body was smooth at least. Ass needed to paint it though, or at least clear coat it before it rusted through.  There was also.. hmm.

     

    She knelt to one knee in front of it, checking the lines.  A car this powerful usually was damaged on the frame.  Seemed straight.  Still...

     

    A wince flickered over her features as fingertips touched the blacktop and she leaned down to look underneath, getting up and dusting her hands to reach under her flannel and safety her Browning to hand to Bills along with movement from her fingers.

     

    The biker pushed the pistol into the back waistband of his belt.

     

    *npc*  She says we’ve got a front bumper back in the yard.

     

    She was already on her back, exhaling and shimmying into the tight clearance of the left front tire under the driver’s side.

     

    *npc*  You should see what she can reach inside an engine.

     

    Bills chuckled slightly, arms crossed as he waited, hoping to hell she didn’t find shit she was going to send Matteo packing for.

     

    *npc* Spider monkey.

     

    Asshole… she said silently under her breath, reaching out from underneath to knock on the bottom of the front door by the wheel well.  Cough was instant, the crap sprinkling down on her chin.  Fucking stagnant water.  That’s what she’d smelled.  Cowl vent.  He was probably rusting out.  She didn’t want another rusted mess.  But, at least she knew, unlike the Impala.  She shimmied out and motioned for him to turn it on, fingers quick to Bills, back of her hand wiping her chin and touching her split lip, glancing at the sprinkle of blood. She rolled it in her teeth and sucked on it a moment, pulling her Browning from the back of Bill's belt and putting it tightly in the back of her own, not bothering with the holster.  If she got under the hood she didn't want the damn thing clunking on the radiator. 

     

    Taste of steel was bright.  Super glue.  Fuck stitches.

     

    Arms crossed quietly, spinning the dog tag looking charm at her throat smoothly through her nimble fingers, waiting for him to start it.  She would want to sit in the driver's seat too. Guys were usually touchy about that.  If he was a dick about it, then he would be out the door.  What he wanted versus what it felt and sounded like would either be the key to the big red button in her bay, or the kick in the ass on the way out.  Eyes took a moment to watch him.  She’d seen him somewhere before. Swap meet maybe?

     

    Odd.

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    Dark eyes watched the door lift open, catching a glimpse of the petite firecracker that must be Kett just long enough to appear as though the door caught his eye and not that he was assessing. Instead the look went quickly back to the front door where Bills was approaching from. Chin nodding in acknowledgement as though he had never seen the man before.

     

    Eyes followed the older man as he made a point of doing introductions. Nod given to each before eyes fell back on Bills and accepted the handshake.

     

    [npc] What do you want done to it? Monk’s gotta check it out first before we can make any promises.[/npc]

     

    The Italian glanced towards "Monk" and gave another nod, pausing as an engine roared to life catching his attention, eyes moving to the mouse at the helm as it backed up. Sounded sharp. Probably be a sweet drag car. He watched her take it through its paces before parking it, sliding out of the car to fluidly "speak" to one of the men. He had never seen sign language before. As she moved back to the bay he returned his attention to Bills in front of him.

     

    [matteo]…body aint my concern at t' moment. She needs engine looked at. I haven't been drivin' her for few weeks since I raced 'er and she took a bad rev on a turn. Think popped 'er cowl vent and she been leakin' since then too.[/matteo]

     

    He watched her nod as she walked by him, unsure if she had listened in or not. Brow lifted as she signed at Bills, turning as Bills offered the translation the bottom lip quirked a bit upward at the old biker. Somehow he highly doubted that was what she had said.

     

    He turned, more facing her than Bills as he continued.

     

    [matteo]…normally work on her m'self but jobs been keepin' me so busy, not had time and don’t want 'er sittin' in this condition long.[/matteo]

     

    He watched the inspection, curious as she ran her hands over his front panel repair. Took him decades longer than a real repair shop but he took satisfaction in doing it himself. Which was why she was still half apart. Brow quirked as the gun was handed to Bills with a gesture he hoped wasn’t "shoot him" because he would hate to have to explain to Gaspari that he was forced to kill them.

     

    [npc] She says we’ve got a front bumper back in the yard.[/npc]

     

    He turned back to her again.

     

    [matteo]…ya?....well only interested if is a genuine '67. Takin' 'while to put 'er back together since only doin' it with real parts.[/matteo]

     

    Brow quirked watching her go under the car, head tilting a bit to the side to watch her shimmy all the way under.

     

    [matteo]….dun want 'er Frankensteined t'gether just so she looks pretty.[/matteo]

     

    He wondered if she had found anything that he hadn't yet under there. She wasn’t saying yet as she slid back out from under and reclaimed her weapon. As she made a motion for him to turn the car on he nodded at her.

     

    [matteo]..ya..sure…but she spits a bunch of fluids each time.[/matteo]

     

    Body slid nimbly through the window to land in the seat, the key turning on caused the body to vibrate, the roar stuttered before growling more constantly. He revved it several times before letting it idle in park, head and shoulders escaping the window before hands planted lightly on the roof and his form extricated from the cab. Hands slid into his jean pockets as shoulders shrugged a bit at her.

     

    [matteo]…just want to be sure if any parts need replacin' that they are originals is all.[/matteo]

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    "…body aint my concern at t' moment. She needs engine looked at. I haven't been drivin' her for few weeks since I raced 'er and she took a bad rev on a turn. Think popped 'er cowl vent and she been leakin' since then too."

     

    Eyes were watching his lips out of the edge of her vision as she was checking out the car, muffled voice through the earplugs filling in the gaps. His jabbering explained more to her than he probably thought it did. Too much power on an engine with old seals, and an engine so powerful it could twist at the frame. Body wasn’t his concern… of course it wasn’t. A guy was always concerned about his dick and not how bad his heart was. This job was another potential quagmire, there was no way he was going to like what she had to say. He was concerned about the engine, but everything was connected. In reference to the body, she assumed he was talking about the paint job. Paint jobs meant shit to how a car ran, but they were a symptom to what she couldn’t see.

     

    Eyes hooded slightly as he turned toward her to talk instead of Bills, expression almost the shun of someone that didn’t want to be hugged by a grandma that couldn’t stop smooching and pinching cheeks. People didn’t talk to her, ever. They talked to Bills. She made them uncomfortable. This guy wasn’t uncomfortable. That bothered her, bordered on the edge of pissing her off.

     

    "…normally work on her m'self but jobs been keepin' me so busy, not had time and don’t want 'er sittin' in this condition long."

     

    Of course he worked on it himself. All men were “experts”.

     

    Bills shrugged at her lightly from behind the guy, not even bothering to translate because he wasn’t watching anyway. He’d be none the wiser.

     

    It was going to need frame reinforcement if he was going to keep pushing it with that much power. Engine stripped down with new seals on almost everything and a clear coat on the body until he got around to painting it. She had access to the seals, the frame parts were in the yard on half a 67’ that was still there. It was the only one she knew of, anywhere, and it was in pieces under tarps. She was pretty sure everything she would need was there. This guy was one lucky bastard.

     

    •npc• " She says we’ve got a front bumper back in the yard."

     

    "…ya?....well only interested if is a genuine '67. Takin' 'while to put 'er back together since only doin' it with real parts."

     

    Eyes narrowed again as he spoke directly to her, flicking a side glance at him to catch his eye for the first time. She normally soaked in the anonymity of being disabled and invisible. He was plinking her hackles, forcing her to acknowledge him and not translate through Bills. She also wanted to punch him for questioning her. Did she stutter? Or did her tits make her an idiot? One day she would have to stop being required to prove herself.

     

    "….dun want 'er Frankensteined t'gether just so she looks pretty."

     

    Judas fucking priest she heard him the first time… just turn the damn engine on.

     

    "..ya..sure…but she spits a bunch of fluids each time."

     

    No shit Sherlock, she could smell it when he came in. She’d try not to squeal like a girl and run away. Fingers moved to Bills. If she didn’t say something she was going to explode. Teeth were on edge with a vicious verbal comeback to the guy, but had decided against it.

     

    Bills’ arms were crossed, hand coming up to run over his well-groomed biker’s beard, fingers rubbing at his bottom lip a moment. There was a suppressed chuckle behind his fingers.

     

    *npc* She’ll try not to be a delicate flower if something gets on her fancy shoes.

     

    Well that was a P.C. way to put it. Her words had been a bit more along the lines of a vulgar joke, eye roll at his translation was slight. Lips pursed slightly at the Duke boy display, if he was drag racing that was a deathtrap waiting to happen. His problem. Dark eyes watched the entire car carefully as it roared to life. Too much movement. Too much. She stood a moment as he pulled himself back out, feeling the vibration on her skin, metal necklace tab spinning in her fingers for a length of time that would make most people uncomfortable. She was “listening”, feeling it “breathe” and ”wheeze”. Stepping forward quietly, she placed both palms on the hood. The smells that blossomed were taken in by slightly flared nostrils, right palm running over the entire hood to feel where heat was starting to spike.

     

    He was either going to like what followed, or he wasn’t. If he didn’t, he could fuck off. Graceful fingers slid down the grill to the sweet spot and the hood jumped and was opened in a split second.

     

    Pleasantly surprised, brow quirked. He either was good at he did, or he was lying and had another mechanic. The thought was cast at him as she took her own liberty and gracefully slid into the driver’s seat, wiggling the stick with an amused scoff and pressing the clutch. The gears were there, but hard to find. Shutting it down, she tossed the keys to him and slid out like a whisper, dropping the hood.

     

    "…just want to be sure if any parts need replacin' that they are originals is all."

     

    “I heard you the first time,” it was incredibly quiet.

     

    Without giving him a second to soak it in, fingers began to move swiftly, Bills reiterating everything she said, including a price if they did the work, and a reduced price if the guy grease monkeyed for them through the process. He’d said he did work himself after all. Then he could approve as they went, and she’d avoid dickering bullshit in the end with the price.

     

    *npc* The engine needs to come apart for new seals, parts are fine. Frame needs reinforcing, cowl vent repaired, bumper replaced and a clear coat on the body or else you’ll lose the original panels to rust. The loose stick is up to you. She wants you to follow her into the yard to approve the parts.

     

    Last instructions were for Bills, watch the gate. Shoot first, ask questions later.

     

    She didn’t wait, her bays were now empty so income wasn’t flowing, small frame with an incredibly fast walk to the privacy gate that led into the organized vehicle graveyard beyond. Keys were pulled from her back pocket and the padlock unlocked, chain wound, gate opened enough for a person to slip through. Four rows down, third car on the right.

     

    “What’s your name, racer…” she asked quietly as she walked with purpose. “Seen your car before.”

     

    Finding her mark, several blue tarps were pulled off carefully and she monkeyed her way up the shell of an old pick-up to pull the rest of the tarp up. It had been gutted for seats, doors, glass and the rear panels, but the rest was there.

     

    “The only ’67 I know of other than yours and one I finished for a dumbass last year. Dick wrapped it around a tree two months later,” she looked it over fondly as she stood on the truck hood and gathered up the tarp for him to take a look at the bumper. Tires were even still intact and salvageable. “This original enough for you?”

     

    The echo of a gunshot smacked against her skin like a rocket. Heart fluttered, what should have been fear, was anger. Insatiable anger.

     

    “Stay here!”

     

    She jumped onto the roof of the Mustang and landed in the dirt lane already running, gun pulled. Had to do with the asshole and the Impala, had to… or last night. Fuck. FUCK!

     

    “BILLS!”

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    Her eyes avoided him. She didn’t like him. That was fine. Family didn’t always like family; didn’t change the fact that they were family.

    As he spoke about only wanting the '67 bumper he finally got her eyes to come to him. He offered a faint shrug to her that apologized for being picky but said he wanted what he wanted. He had taken her once…. ONCE to a shop. Dipshit had frankensteined her engine with '66 and '69 parts. It had taken him nearly a year to disassemble the engine, find the right parts and put her back together right.

    That shop didn’t exist anymore…… he had seen to that.

    He turned the engine on reluctantly, he really had wanted to leave her up on blocks in his garage until he had fixed the engine issues. He didn’t like to see a good engine "bleed" but he had needed a good reason to be here and one that would force them to interact for a while. She wasn’t an easy fix, he knew it would take time.

    [npc] She’ll try not to be a delicate flower if something gets on her fancy shoes.[/npc]

    Frown descended over his dark eyes as he directed his retort right back at the mouse not the man.

    [matteo]….could care less 'bout ya shoes. Don't want 'er to bleed without reason. Know ya gotta listen to her just sayin' don’t want 'er tortured long.[/matteo]

    There was a protectiveness of the vehicle that far exceeded some dick driving a penismobile. They usually just drove them till they died then found another one. He actually cared about his cars, how they ran, how they were repaired.

    Family or no family, twinkle toes didn’t need to dick around with his baby either.

    He watched her assess the car, listening for some time to the engine hum before laying a hand on the rumbling hood and popping her open. His own dark eyes slid over the engine he knew intimately. She had been in pieces in her garage for nearly eight months as he rebuilt her.

    He watched the engine while the mouse took the hot seat, brows dipping as he watched the vibrations hoping nothing more than what he already knew was wrong, ailed her.

    The keys were caught easily as she came out of the car.

    [matteo] …just want to be sure if any parts need replacin' that they are originals is all.[/matteo]

    "I heard you the first time."

    [matteo]…ya that’s what t'last place said…. had to pull 'er apart after.[/matteo]

    His response as quiet as hers. He had been burned before and wanted to be sure that even though he was doing this for the good of the family he wasn’t going to get his baby screwed up in the process.

    Dark eyes watched her hands move. It wasn’t all that surprising that a whole language could be "spoken" with gestures. In New York, even the spoken language was "enhanced" with a multitude of gestures, though most of them had meanings far from PG. He listened to the price and the offer to reduce if he came to work with them. Price wasn’t an issue. Working there would guarantee more time "keeping an eye" on the mouse, but he wasn’t so sure he had the time to work in her little shop. He had Satyr to open and was the second in command for two territories.

    He nodded at being asked to follow. Hands still in his jean pockets as he trailed after her, long strides one for each of her two.

    "what's your name, racer…..seen your car before."

    He nodded as he passed after her through the gate.

    [matteo]…stupid overzealous Vanguard an' cops don’t come this way much. Makes it a good place to push 'er. Also don’t get bunch of dicks thinking ya doin' it just to be challenged here either.[/matteo]

    He turned sideways to move between two piles as he kept up with her little legs.

    [matteo]Matteo…..or Mattie[/matteo]

    He had never understood it, they had the same damn number of letters and yet since he was little his name had been "abbreviated" to Mattie. Less syllables he guessed was the reason. It had stuck.

    Dark eyes lingered on the prize under the blue tarp. It was a gold mine. He had scoured the east coast and always found single '67 parts. This was a whole skeleton. Shame its doors were gone. That damn driver door handle still proved an elusive piece which meant he remained with a Dukes entrance into the vehicle.

    " The only ’67 I know of other than yours and one I finished for a dumbass last year. Dick wrapped it around a tree two months later."

    Frown was instant. He couldn’t stand idiots that got a car for the dick enhancement and didn’t have a clue how to be behind the wheel.

    [matteo]…dumbass..[/matteo]

    Word was half under his breath. As she lifted the tarp higher, his rough hand lowered to rub over the bumper with a clear affection, tapping it in several places to listen for structural issues. Damn thing was in tact! Didn’t even need to be repaired first.

    Lips parted to agree it was original enough only to clamp shut and spin at the sound of gunfire. Now what? The ones she had mistaken for Bakkhos. Chest broadened with a deep breath as he pushed at the anger that bubbled in his gut. This was not a hotspot territory, but it damn well fell under Bakkhos jurisdiction which meant these dicks needed to be reminded they had no hold out here.

    [matteo]…like hell..[/matteo]

    His muttered response to being told to stay put was under his breath as he followed, long strides quickly overtaking her. Scowl darkened his expression as he realized that there was a chance of being recognized too. This could get ugly. If he was "made" she was going to be pissed. Of course, he had not lied to her about anything either.

    Shoes skidded on the pavement as he made the front of the shop only to dodge hard left as bullets let fly once more. Speed of his directional change was unnatural before his hand slid under the camo jacket to pull out his glock, his custom Dessert Eagles left home because their unique carved handles might give him away.

    Dark eyes shifted rapidly chasing shadows, looking for the enemy. Five…. damn punks. He recognized one now standing behind their car and firing over the hood at the shop. Fuckers needed to be put in their place, but how to do that and not get called out at the same time.

    Plan had little time to formulate as the dick behind the car shot "her". He shot….HER! Bullet tearing through the repaired front panel into the engine. Bakkhos senior Capo stood slowly and snarled, the glock leveling evenly as he took the shot, dicks head snapping back before he fell backwards.

    One down….. four to go.

    Link to comment

    •npc• " She’ll try not to be a delicate flower if something gets on her fancy shoes."

    She caught the immediate frown from the man.  He thought she was a hack.  They all thought she was a hack.  She hated all of them.  It was rare someone walked through the door that she felt deserved what her hands were capable of building.

    "….could care less 'bout ya shoes. Don't want 'er to bleed without reason. Know ya gotta listen to her just sayin' don’t want 'er tortured long."

    She hated him.

     

    He loved the car, but HE was the fucker that drove it here.  To HER door.  Why the hell would he do that if he had no respect for her judgement?  She had a reputation, sure…  Glare slid to him with an odd interest.  Why bring a car he obviously loved to someone he wasn’t sure could fix it?  The itch of his attention prickled at the wisps of braid on the back of her neck, cooled as the hood opened. 

     

    He knew it.  Not lies or ego.  He’d put it together himself.

     

    Why the fuck had he brought it here then?

    "…ya that’s what t'last place said…. had to pull 'er apart after."

    She barely caught it.  Earplugs in.  When people spoke particularly to themselves the articulation of their lips was different, plus he had an accent… it made it harder.

     

    Why trust it with someone again, especially when he was obviously knowledgeable enough to do it himself?  She had the parts.  Right.  She was gaining a reputation for having what other people couldn’t find.  Hence the new interest in her property by Bakkhos or whomever was clusterfucking up her quiet corner of the world.  Her corner was large.  Several city blocks of large in fact, surrounded by even more blocks of rusted chain link fences of overgrown fields that used to be blue collar neighborhoods.  Razed for developments that never happened.  Great places to hide bodies, or a bad place to be seen on the way to the water to dump bodies.  She wasn’t surprised her high fences had caught attention, she just wished it was because of her work and not because someone wanted to claim it.

     

    She honestly didn’t think he would follow after she’d been brusque and direct, and particularly not very polite. Turned a lot off.  The fact he did, peaked her interest… short lived.  A dark streak of irritation prickled up her spine as she tried to keep her pace slightly ahead of him during the chit chat and he easily caught up.

     

    "…stupid overzealous Vanguard an' cops don’t come this way much. Makes it a good place to push 'er. Also don’t get bunch of dicks thinking ya doin' it just to be challenged here either."

    Air snorted through her nose slightly.  Nothing was happening around here lately BUT challenges.

     

    “…got a better place to do that than my streets.  When I decide whether or not I like you maybe I’ll give you directions so you can run that car like it deserves.”

     

    Her pops used to take her there.  She’d learned to drive a stick in his car, the car she had to leave full of bullet holes on a dock to throw the heat off her.  Bitter. Expression followed suit.

     

    "Matteo…..or Mattie"
     

    She nodded lightly, climbing the truck and peeling back the tarp.  You could tell everything you needed to know about anyone by the way they looked at something that was broken.  Disinterest, disdain, apathy, or promise.  He looked at the thing like it was alive.  Matteo was one interesting fellow, her own dark eyes catching the glance to the missing doors and his reaction to the fate of the other she’d finished and lost.  She had the “dumbass’”  ’67 two rows over under another tarp.  Front end was decimated back through the firewall, the doors, were there.  Passenger had a heavy crinkle, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t fix.  A conversation for later perhaps, head tilting slightly to watch him appreciate the elusive bumper.
     

    “The original chrome.  Not a pit on it.  Pops and I found it in storage unit they were auctioning in the Harbor before the world went to hell.  Meant to rebuild it, never got around to it.  Front panel too, probably more solid than yours.”

     

    The appreciative moment blew up in a split second. For a few minutes at least, her own problems weren’t problems anymore.  It wasn’t until the burn of bruised muscle in her legs at the flat run back toward the shop took hold that she realized she was now in the middle of a firestorm- with a complete stranger to worry about… FUCK…  who was also obviously ignoring her request to stay put!

     

    She made it to the fence opening shortly after the weasel had shimmied through, breath sucked in as he almost got popped in the head, narrowly escaped by nothing short of… altered.  What. The. Fuck?!  The world was altered, she had to keep telling her own ‘crippled’ self every day she’d drawn the short straw, nothing new… brain let it go the same moment her potential client put a well-aimed shot through a skull after the sickeningly familiar sound of bullets hitting metal ripped through the baby they had just been engrossed in.

     

    A very well-aimed shot.

     

    Brow never had time to dip and ponder.

     

    Where was Bills??

     

    Watt??

     

    The initial spray of bullets was to shock and awe, now they were moving in to “clean” her place out. Retaliation for last night, the time before, the time before…

     

    Oh hell no. 

     

    One more moved from the back of their car toward the ’67 to use it as cover, another smashing the glass of her second bay door to gain access inside.  Returning the favor?  Burning her place down?  She’d deal with him in a moment.  It was pure rage pulling the trigger at the fucker near Matteo’s car, one bloody shot to the side of his knee followed with one in the side of his throat.  Choking, he went down, three more shots taking out the tires of their car.  They weren’t leaving here.  Ever.  Pops hitting their mark, hisses of releasing air, and the telling sound of her gun jamming  her into prey.

     

    FUCK!

     

    She disappeared back behind the fence as a bullet ripped through the white privacy plastic braided through the high chain link.  It was her turn to weasel, slipping in-between bumpers backed almost completely up to the fence, climbing on top and hopping across trunks like stepping stones.  She was being followed.  Bullet shattered the back window of a car as she jumped and caught the top of the fence to pull herself over and drop behind the shop.  Back door.  Back room.  Another handgun in the back of her belt and the rack of a shotgun stepped out the back door and shuddered the entire building as she shredded the asshole that was halfway over the fence and pumped it again.

     

    More gunfire out front, the shadow of someone moving past the hall door to the back room. She was not going to hide out until it ended.  She’d hidden last night and almost died.  Tried to shimmy away.  Tried to grab and go…

     

    Heavy Doc heel kicked the door open and was muzzle to muzzle in bay two with the asshole inside.  The scent of blood was fresh.  Watt.  Watt was lying a dozen feet away on his side, unmoving.  There was a lot of blood. 

     

    Sharp breath was held in her chest. 

     

    Control the rage, gasps of breath now tight and quick as they were squared off.  Even over the muzzle she knew his face.  Bruised up, she knew him, would never forget him as he had slammed the trunk door last night of her almost watery grave. 

     

    *npc*  why won’t you just fucking die?!!!

     

    Her short footsteps were moving forward as she aimed at him, he was keeping aim on her forehead and moving backward, exactly where she was forcing him to move.  Her brain was screaming… the sound of present and past gunfire around her like cannons in her head despite the earplugs.  Eyes squinted, trying to focus.

     

    The buzz. The tremble.

     

    He’d backed into the release on the door, jolting the shattered glass free and raining it down on his head as the garage door went up.  His arms flew above his head to instinctively protect it from the heavy razors, pulling the trigger as he did.  The shotgun lowered and fired.

     

    Anger.

     

    Rage.

     

    His knees, decimated.  The rifle tossed as she picked up a tire iron the second his gun dropped from his fingers and clattered on the concrete with a glassy crunch.  Held in both hands by the tiny powerhouse, the sound of contact with flesh and bone was sickening.  Metal against teeth like a baseball bat, shattering every tooth in the front of his face, his jaw, and the illusion of her innocent silence.  The suffering. Gods, his suffering.... for every bruise and cut on her body she paid it back in spades, finally pulling out the gun and emptying it into his chest over the sound of a rarely raised voice cursing the Bakkhos name until only dry fire clicked repeatedly... finally, calm.  Numb.

     

    Tire iron clanged on the floor, gun tossed, shotgun picked up.  Everything moved so slowly as she rushed to Watt's side.

     

    No! No no no NO NO!

     

    Bills voice was speaking to her.  No. Yelling.  Saying her name.  Warped in her head as she knelt next to Watt.  There was nothing to be done.  Again someone she loved lying in their own blood.  Again.  More roses on another grave.  If it weren’t for Matteo's presence….she’d already be in her car driving for payback to this shitstorm.  Was he even still alive??

     

    …the world was so warped, slowed to a crawl as she rose and looked to see if the weasel had at least survived the melee.  If he was down, nothing was going to stop her from shooting her way into that damn casino and setting their world on fire.

     

    Nothing.

     

    Except for being shot.  Darkness leaning her equilibrium to her left side, fingers pulling away bright scarlet from her left shoulder before the world really did disappear, and the mighty mouse finally dropped into darkness.

    Link to comment

    She frowned at him a lot. Probably wondered what the hell he was doing there with his car if he could fix it himself. His statement actually had been the truth, work was keeping him away from his tinkering pastime. Gaspari's watchdog had been gone nearly four weeks helping Carmine with a shipment so there had been plenty of tag alongs for his men to ensure the head of Bakkhos had no incidents.

     

    The offer to potentially show him a place to run the car was intriguing. The streets were a good measure of his skill behind the wheel, but they were a pain because there was never a guarantee that the streets were clear. Too often he had had a close call coming around a corner and finding a damn parked car in the middle of the road.

     

    But there was little time to consider it before gunfire exploded the world.

     

    Speed was enhanced, but his aim, that was all him. Matteo was lethal with a gun in his hands, but what was striking, was so was she. Her aim on the second guy, managing not to hit his baby, was impressive.

     

    Gunfire exploded again, machine gun spraying near his head causing him to dive to the ground. Ability was kept bottled up in the event she might be aware. Two-bit mob wanna be's knew some of the abilities that were prominent in Bakkhos and his own nightcrawling was distinctly remembered. But that also meant that only speed was at his disposal at the moment and with a machine gun blazing like a damn fireman's waterhose, he had to be careful.

     

    Shoulder hit the pavement and he rolled behind his baby, swearing under his breath that if this dipshit hit his car as well he was going to drag him behind it before killing him. Dark eyes flicked behind him looking for the pipsqueak, grumbling realizing she had chased after the other guy. How the hell was he supposed to keep an eye on her when the damn mouse skipped out looking for danger. Lifting to take the shot the spray of machinegun fire exploded once more, this time arching across the bays, corner of his eye caught one of her men going down.

     

    Now. He was pissed.

     

    Who the hell were these shits in his territory!

     

    About to go for his target he had to pause as she confronted the other man left. Brow lifted faintly, vicious little thing. But the violence of her ongoing attack didn’t cause the frown that followed. Expressive eyes became hooded, lethal, as she cursed the very family that protected her.

     

    Bills eyes caught his and the older man knew the right hand of Gaspari had heard clearly her vitriol. Stand was slow, the spray of machine gun fire having vanished as the last man standing decided he wanted to live to fight another day, taking off down the road.

     

    Dark eyes were narrow as the mouse finally went down. Hooded gaze flicking a last time before turning on a heel to follow the straggler who was likely heading for another vehicle parked not far away. It wouldn’t help him. Strides were long and purposeful but never did he break into a run as he pursued the man. The Senior Capo waited until he was out of line of site of the shop in case the Bakkhos daughter was not fully unconscious yet before he took a deep breath. Mid stride the man evaporated, soft hiss of air followed by the billowing of ebony smoke tendrils marked where he had once been, the faintest scent of cinnamon lingering behind. Over a block away the stride completed, body materializing through a paired hiss and whisper of smoke, the very next stride once more evaporating the man as his line of site pushed past the man he was pursuing. This time the emergence was three blocks ahead of the running assailant.

     

    Bakkhos didn’t leave loose ends.

     

    Even as he stepped through the fissure in space and time, wisps of smoke still circling his arm, the "law" in this territory pivoted and raised the gun. His name on the lips of the wide eyed upstart. Matteo had a reputation among the fledgling mob wanna-bes. He had risen to his position at a very early age, it was unusual that someone as young as he was could hold such power in a family. And yet these rats seemed to have forgotten whose front yard they were spitting in.

     

    The eruption came while the lanky sprinter tried to scramble away, head snapping back violently as the precision piece of metal found its mark between his eyes. The gun wasn’t even fully lowered when the stride came and the air puffed softly, smoke flared once more where he had once stood, the scene of the crime abandoned to the chance encounter of a cop off his beat.

     

    Stride completed just at the front of the lot, the gun tucking away once more as the phone pulled from his back pocket. The antiquated flip top snapped open as he dialed, rapid strides taking him to where Bills was now trying to deal with a downed Kett and Watt.

     

    [matteo]…hey Frankie…. need ya down at that garage in lower Brookl'n. Got two down. Ya…make it quick…[/matteo]

     

    Phone snapped closed looking at Bills with a frown that seemed to ooze an "I told you so".

     

    [matteo]…no more playin'… got a healer comin' and this crap about not knowing she's family hasta end.[/matteo]

     

    Frown lingered as he crouched and felt Watt's neck for a pulse while Bills fawned over the fallen Kett.

     

    [matteo]…she blamin' us for shit and gettin' more and more worked up that we are the enemy. She was damn well ready to storm over and try ta put a bullet in Gaspari. Family can only tolerate so much 'fore she'll be taken out and you know it.[/matteo]

     

    Huff was soft as he glanced down at the grease monkey under his hand. The pulse was thready and weak. Guy didn’t have long.

    Link to comment

    *npc* Monk!

     

    The well cut grizzled biker was through what was left of the side door the second she hit the floor. He was bleeding himself, grazed, glass. Able to fire back but not well under the spray of gunfire; caught completely off guard. She was bleeding, shoulder, arm? An in and out. Muscle… that’s not what took her down. Grabbing a handful of blue soft buff towels, he knelt and pressed them to her upper arm, fingers across the back of her skull. Knot, behind her ear. Concussion, what the hell had happened last night? Heartbeat was strong. She was breathing, moving to check Watt as Matteo returned and took that point.

     

    *npc* Monk. Kett. Get up, wake up. Just a scratch you sissy.

     

    Fingers patted the side of her jaw. Lids were fluttering but no movement of any muscles.

     

    "…hey Frankie…. need ya down at that garage in lower Brookl'n. Got two down. Ya…make it quick…"

     

    Bills’ expression back to the condescending -knew this couldn’t have gone any other way but clusterfuck- expression from the Capo was hard lined. He was not going to be pushed on this, Capo or not. Loyal to a fault, this was far more complicated… it bled to the very birth of Bakkhos. Bakkhos had risen from the ashes, Kett had gotten fucked in the process.

     

    "…no more playin'… got a healer comin' and this crap about not knowing she's family hasta end."

     

    *npc* That’s not the problem Boss…

     

    Top lip tightened over teeth as he was cut off.

     

    "…she blamin' us for shit and gettin' more and more worked up that we are the enemy. She was damn well ready to storm over and try ta put a bullet in Gaspari. Family can only tolerate so much 'fore she'll be taken out and you know it."

     

    Bills’ words were on the edge of his teeth.

     

    *npc* Gio taught her to protect herself....she’s protecting herself. He left her to help create your kingdom and died doing it. I’ve tried to explain it to her…it was his choice, for the greater good of the family. She hates us all for it anyway....thinks we all pussied out and he had to choose.... He knew the danger, told me to protect her, keep her out until she was ready.... She's not ready, it's my fault, but the shitheads doing this don't care....this.. this fucking mess..

     

    He looked around at the trashed garage. There was so much more.... Did the Capo know she was in the middle of recovery when her father died? That she'd dealt with so much more than being a mob daughter...? No, he had no idea.. or didn't care even with the sign language. It wasn't his place to tell him. It was Kett's.

     

    *npc* I don’t know what this is… or who…

     

    She could hear it. All of it, breath quickening a second before falling back into darkness again. She was stronger than this, she had to get up. She had to GET UP. Body was like cement, heavy, unresponsive. Head screamed, so painful it felt like an egg cracking. The gunfire, the concussion… it was all echoing in her skull without being able to escape.

     

    She hated.

     

    The way Bills said 'Boss'... he only spoke like that to her...

     

    It made her sick. Trapped.

     

    Hit them until they can’t get up.

     

    Your family. Me, the guys downstairs. Whoever doesn’t stick up for you, cut ‘em loose. They ain’t family. They hurt you, you hit 'em 'till they can't get up. They ain't family.

     

    Family.

     

    “Carducci,” the word was so soft it barely passed her lips in the tense quiet after Bills’ words stopped, waiting for Watt’s time to either run out or whoever Matteo had called to arrive and do what he could.

     

    Swallow was thick, eyes still unable to open. The world was pressing her to the concrete, preventing her from getting up.

     

    In her mind she knew who he was. She knew she’d heard the name Matteo before. It was unique, and the two words paired together tapped at a distant childhood memory. His last name was Carducci. It was the same name the rat had uttered from his cigar-stenched recliner before she’d popped her proverbial deathbringer cherry almost a week ago.

     

    “…sent the first bastard that started this. A cigar smoking dick said his boss Carducci ordered him to extort my shop, or burn it down.”

     

    Bills sat back on his heels with a thick exhale as the mighty mouse proved her superman, eyes fluttering open and pushing up slowly.

     

    *npc* You should have told me. Dammit Monk.

     

    Everything was twisted. Twisted so tight she had no idea who to believe, or trust. Here was the man that supposedly started this chaos, calling for help, defending her and her own. Coming to her shop to trust her with his baby, to what? Try and earn her reliance? The glare to both of them was that of a beaten, obedient dog, waiting for the second she could rip their throats out.

     

    She tried to push herself up to stand, breath a bit too fast. Head was still reeling, heavy, throbbing. She was on her knees, reaching up to the workbench to pull herself up. Loathing was set so deep in the blue eyes it hid the confusion… the desperation to find the truth.

     

    Watt choked slightly, the absolute hatred softening in an instant to complete sorrow. Yank off of her flannel jacket was met with a painful wince. Gathered blue wipes were pressed to the bleeding mess high on her bare arm and duct taped on with a quick winding, immediately down to her knees and shouldering next to the prince of New York to Watt’s side. Flannel was pressed to the wound on his upper chest, ignoring the rivulets of crimson sliding down to drip off her own elbow. Wane smile tried to find hope, ignoring the whole world as the horrible déjà vu crashed in on her. Hard lines of contempt had disappeared, her features becoming gentle in their softness.

     

    “Watt. C’mon man… we got a Fastback in the lot to start on… gotta help me lever that engine out. You know Bills here can’t hit an engine mount even if it was your mama's ass.”

     

    She checked his pulse again, it was barely there, still steady… he was holding on, but couldn’t hear her.

     

    He was almost gone.

     

    Words continued on to the two under her breath. In her mind, she’d rehearsed this rant forever, so much more elegant and self-satisfying in practice. Now, it bled out in a thick of hushed rage, disarticulation of words as they intensified betraying her need for sign language. Voice never rose higher than a whisper, a fierce command of self control even when everything was spinning out of it.

     

    “I’m not your family. I’m not a fucking mob princess expected to suck dick when someone snaps their fingers. Pops gave everything to you, both of you… while I cooked my own spaghettios and ate alone. Where were both of you when pops was killed? What family protected him?”

     

    *npc* Kett.

     

    Eyes snapped to him, then disappeared under lowered lashes as she kept the pressure on Watt’s wound and watched the fading breaths.

     

    “After you failed him he came home to me. Died on my floor. I buried him with my own hands while everyone else reaped the benefits. Don’t fucking come to the shop of the man that died blazing the trail for your throne and fucking tell me who my family is.”

     

    Fingers went up quickly to swipe a trickle of hot tears from her bruised cheek, furious they even dared to appear. Words continued in quiet, barely breaking the air.

     

    “Again. Again my family is dying on my floor. Fuck you both.”

     

    The quiet anger was misplaced and she knew it. She knew, refusing to acknowledge it. Knew at that moment she’d been played by the cigar chomping fucker that had been trying to screw both her and Bakkhos... most likely were STILL trying to screw them both, who knew how far out this rippled. There was no apology she could find yet, and wouldn't until they met her in the middle. Until HE met her in the middle. They had a lot to apologize about for the nights she scrubbed the floor to get her father’s blood out, the dirt that stayed under her nails it seemed for weeks from burying him. Brow furled, soft exhale allowing the first sign of a white flag.. or at least a lukewarm truce on the features.

     

    "I want to see him. Gaspari. I need to see him."

     

    Words were quiet, having lost their bite, but not the spirit that couldn't be crushed. Waiting for death, or life. This part was…. hell.

    Link to comment

    Watt's blood covered his hand quickly as Bills tried to look after the kid.

     

    [npc]That’s not the problem boss.[/npc]

     

    It was a little strange to be called that by Bills. The Italian was over a full regime in Bakkhos and most did call him boss, but it felt strange from what was, at the moment… a stranger.

     

    [npc] Gio taught her to protect herself....she’s protecting herself. He left her to help create your kingdom and died doing it. I’ve tried to explain it to her…it was his choice, for the greater good of the family. She hates us all for it anyway....thinks we all pussied out and he had to choose.... He knew the danger, told me to protect her, keep her out until she was ready.... She's not ready, it's my fault, but the shitheads doing this don't care....this.. this fucking mess.. [/npc]

     

    [matteo]…aint my kingdom Bills…. belongs to the family… you should know that. Gaspari never been a king on a throne. De Luca knew that. That’s why he supported Gaspari…. its why I did. What I don’t get is why he never told us 'bout her. He was respected, prob'ly more than he knew.[/matteo]

     

    Eyes snapped over to the "unconscious" girl as his name escaped her lips. Cigar smoking? None of his guys smoked cigars. Dark eyes watched her fight to get up. Stubborn little dick but her loyalty to her own was admirable as she moved to push at him so she could tend to Watt.

     

    He slid out of her way, standing and moving towards the opening of the garage to wait for Frankie. Shoulder leaned against the frame of the garage door, gaze looking over his shoulder as she began to vent. Better she did it at him than with a gun in her hand at Gaspari.

     

    "I want to see him. Gaspari. I need to see him."

     

    Brows dipped a bit looking at her. Lost in thought. Would she try to kill the head of Bakkhos if she was taken to see him? Words were quiet as the dark eyes glanced to the road waiting on Frankie.

     

    [matteo]You think you have it all figured out dontcha. [/matteo]

     

    Back rested against the frame of the garage door as he watched her features torture over Watt. Dark eyes moving to the street once more as the quiet words continued.

     

    [matteo]We didn’t leave 'im to die on ya floor. We turned New York upside down lookin' for 'im after we found his car. Had he ever told us 'bout you we woulda come here to help.[/matteo]

     

    Tongue pressed into the side of his cheek against the cut where his teeth had sliced the meat. It happened sometimes when he vanished through the ether. Leaning out of the garage the crimson stained spit launched onto the pavement before he continued.

     

    [matteo]If we thought so little of ya pop why did we upheave the city huntin' down his killers? or spend the next four months lookin' for his body? Or why's one of his guns that we recovered in a glass case in Gaspari's office? Or his car under cover in m' garage bein' meticulously restored for years now?[/matteo]

     

    The distinct rumble of Frankie's Cadillac could be heard squealing around a corner near the garage. Pushing from the frame he moved to meet the man but paused to glance at her.

     

    [matteo]… may notta found him, but he's got a monument in Marble Cemetery next to the family heads.[/matteo]

     

    Striding out to the caddy that was slamming to a halt next to his baby, he grabbed a leather medical bag out of the passenger window as he nodded at the lanky Italian.

     

    [npc]Where?[/npc]

     

    The nightcrawler nodded to the open garage and followed the man, dark eyes catching Bills and tipping his head away. The older man read him well, moving Kett way from the body that seemed lifeless now.

     

    Frankie was a mousy kid, no more than twenty two or three. He had a faint twitch in his left eye which hid half under the lengthy dark curls. Squatting next to Watt he started laying bare hands on him, a glow beginning to emulate from his fingers as Matteo watched a moment before adding softly.

     

    [matteo]…and fer the record, I aint the only Carducci in New York. And fer 'nother, Bakkhos dun send punks to do that sorta stupid shit. Anyone pullin' that sorta hustle aint family...[/matteo]

     

    Dark eyes were heated a moment as they passed over her, quickly moving to the cars out in the lot.

     

    [matteo]…..and needs to be dealt with.[/matteo]

    Link to comment

    "You think you have it all figured out dontcha. "

    She held her tongue this time, pressing harder on the wound and checking his pulse again.  The weasel’s  aloof ass didn’t know shit about her.  Watt’s gun was lying just out of reach of his fingers, released when he fell.  Her jammed one was in the back of her belt.  For once, she controlled the kneejerk impulse to hurt those she felt threatened by.  Except, Matteo hadn’t threatened her…  but the anger was still there.  If Watt wasn’t her primary concern, it would be in her fingers and telling him to get the fuck off her property.

    "We didn’t leave 'im to die on ya floor. We turned New York upside down lookin' for 'im after we found his car. Had he ever told us 'bout you we woulda come here to help."

    Lips parted slightly, words tangling on her tongue but never coming forth.  His car… she’d grown up in that car. Learned to drive in that car. Spent hours in the backseat reading and doing her homework while her father ran errands she now knew led eventually to choices cementing his death…  had been brought home from the hospital after her surgery in that car.  It was the first engine she’d ever heard.  He didn’t have a right to know about that car.

     

    Dark eyes slid to the side, a dangerous glare before returning to Watt, the weight of the gun’s presence stinging at her.

    "If we thought so little of ya pop why did we upheave the city huntin' down his killers? or spend the next four months lookin' for his body? Or why's one of his guns that we recovered in a glass case in Gaspari's office? Or his car under cover in m' garage bein' meticulously restored for years now?"

    He was lying!  She wanted the gun. She wanted to shoot him to get him to shut up.  He had her father’s car?!!  He had no right to that car.  She couldn’t breathe.  She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, eyes tightening together before reopening back to her dying friend.  He was lying.  He had to be lying.

    "… may notta found him, but he's got a monument in Marble Cemetery next to the family heads."

    No.  He was lying!

     

    Conflicted expression watched after him as he went out to meet his charge... Caught, lingering over his words.  Trying to figure out…  everything. 

     

    …he was lying.

     

    The voice of hate was getting quieter the more she said it in her mind.  It was leaving numbness behind, the place where a consciousness could no longer process.

     

    •npc• "Where?"

    Attention returned to Watt.  Fingers tightened protectively on the shirt, expression suspicious and defensive, darkening when the weasel told Bills without a word to pull her aside- his hand resting on her good shoulder to urge her up and away.  So that was how this was now….?  Bills’ hand was shrugged off roughly, the urge to tell him not to fucking touch her held silent, boot scraping as she got up.  Watt’s gun was snatched on the way up, chambering a round and straightening directly behind the man that had been called in to save her ‘brother’s’ life as he began to work.

     

    It was her last stand, and the conflict was bare on her features.

     

    For such a petite woman, she looked like a Valkyrie.  Bloody, bruised, dark braided hair snaked over pale skin that held muscle bared from the sleeveless black cami, standing over the man attempting bring Watt back from the brink, gun pointed at the floor with her finger on the trigger.  Narrowed lashes were intent on what he was doing, the odd light under his hands catching the blue in her own eyes.

     

    She felt him move behind her, Bills… of all people, his fingers sliding slowly along his belt to rest on the gun that had been placed there when he’d rushed to her side.  He thought she was going to kill the healer, or the weasel.

     

    Maybe she was.

     

    Normally Bills was comfortable with her silence, now… he didn’t trust her?

     

    She didn’t trust herself, the cold water of self-doubt splashed in her face by the uninvited Capo.  Jaw ticked, shoving the feelings of betrayal back down her gut like hangover bile.  Watt’s breathing was changing, slowing, becoming steady.  Color back in his cheeks.

    "…and fer the record, I aint the only Carducci in New York. And fer 'nother, Bakkhos dun send punks to do that sorta stupid shit. Anyone pullin' that sorta hustle aint family... …..and needs to be dealt with."

     

    Gaze remained on Watt.  If she was listening, she wasn’t showing any sign of it.  Whatever this magic guy was doing, it was working.  What would she owe them?  Her soul?  Her loyalty?  She didn’t give favors, she collected debts… she had a right to be suspicious.  They hadn’t asked for anything, yet.  The man had not raised a hand to her, he’d raised one with her… standing next to her with her own’s blood on his hands too.  It burned her blood.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.  She needed time to think about this.

     

    She didn’t have time.

     

    She had to make a choice.  Hate, or be rational.  Trust, or start a war.  Deal with her devil, or chase it.

     

    Finger moved off the trigger to rest on the guard, safety clicked on.  The terse air behind her from Bills seemed to relax slightly.

     

    Talk. 

     

    Heat of anger began to evaporate from her cheeks, pounding blood starting to silence...  She needed to talk, voice humming in her head almost a whisper.  If they didn’t listen close enough, it was their own damn fault.  Attention still fully on Watt, she tried to clear the air.

     

    “Guy named Rick showed up a month ago when the Impala came in, wanted to gloat credit for bringing money to the shop like we owed him a favor.  We get by, but… the world isn’t in need of classics right now.  Most regular cars just need tune-ups, oil changes.  Kept coming around, seeing how we were doing, gloating….promising more business.  Two weeks ago, he suggested I could make some extra spending money if I invited him upstairs.  I told him to fuck off and not come back.  He left, another showed up to continue his push.”

     

    Watt’s eyes fluttered for the first time.  She took a long needed breath, letting it out slowly.

     

    “I paid cigar smoking Rick a visit.  He threatened me.  I killed him.  We bulked up on weapons and closed the gates.  Guys showed up a few days later like you, asked for help with their car.  Threatened us.  Had to kill them too.  Yesterday, I made an ammo run…”

     

    Jaw twitched again, still watching her friend.  She was admitting weakness… taking several moments before she could continue.  Throat cleared gently, it was tight, the terror of the watery darkness still making her chest tight... the first minute sign of a break in the armor, then it was gone.

     

    “Shot up my car, beat the fuck out of me and threw me in their trunk.  To where?  Dunno.  Turns out fuckers couldn’t drive with a flat tire, courtesy of a tire iron they left in their trunk.  Ended up in the river.  Swam to shore.  We were under the bridge.  Wherever they were taking me, was near the bridge.”

     

    Watt was starting to sit up.

     

    It was all the goodwill answers she could muster at the moment.

     

    The gun slid into her holster.  Sigh was relieved, long.  Pinching the bridge of her nose between her eyes, fingertips rubbed her forehead on her way to the wash basin.  Blood had stopped on her arm and was starting to dry, rinsed off.  She dried her hands with a blue buff towel and approached her hovering weasel, taking his Watt bloodied hand without permission and wiped off the crimson.  She didn’t need that shit on the walls.  Expression was indignant.  Fingers snatched his jaw and moved it left and right, eyeing him to make sure he hadn’t been hit; she’d seen the bloody spit.  Soft huff crumpled up the towel, eyes cast to watch Bills start to talk quietly to Watt before flicking up to him.  For someone petite, she had perfected the art of not appearing to look up to anyone.

     

    “My mother was Isabella Lucchese,” she confessed without her surrogate father’s permission for only the Capo’s ears, leaving it to soak in.  Two people alive knew, Bills and her.  Now three.  It was time for them to know.  The former deaf/mute child was a living catalyst to animosity, and the only answer he needed to know why her father kept her existence quiet until…  “she was ready”.  Even after her father’s death, keeping her out of the way had helped keep the peace until Bakkhos had stabilized.  She had more figured out than the weasel gave her credit for.

     

    Bills was wrong.  She was ready.  Were they?

     

    “Pull the privacy gate and lock it,” she snapped to Bills over her shoulder.  “Call Sweet and tell them to call when they’re on their way back.  The door doesn’t open for anyone until further notice except for our guys and Merlin here.”

     

    Eyes flicked to the Capo briefly.  Another jolly pirate nickname to add to Monk… Bills, Watt….  They were all earned.  He might get the reference -having nothing to do with his magical friend- he might not, but he’d earned it.  He’d saved one of her own and in her father’s code that meant something.  A thin trust. 

     

    Very thin.

     

    She reached behind him to pull one of the guys’ flannels from a hook on the wall and shrug it on.  Had to be Sweet’s, it was huge on her.  His healer wasn’t laying a hand on her.  Bloody towel was tossed into the trash by the door.

     

    “Thanks for the help.  I’m gonna deal with it.”

     

    She was going to search their car and their pockets for some kind of identity, then throw the fuckers in a hole... or dump them on somebody’s doorstep.  Braid was flipped out from under her collar, head still pounding as she made her way to the offenders' car.  She should probably get her skull looked at.  Later.  Work now, keep her mind in the calm place it had found, let everything settle.... ask for her father's things later.  It wasn't the time to demand anything.  If she began demanding,  the insatiable anger that hovered just under the surface might bubble forth again.  Her father's car, her father's gun... she wanted them... it wasn't time yet, it was all so fragile...

     

    So incredibly fragile.

    Link to comment

    Dark eyes watched the flickers of anger that seemed to dart his way as he spoke of her father. He didn’t care, she needed truths not coddling. He didn’t miss her eye going to the gun. She tried to shoot him, and he would end her. Even he who wanted her to know the truths of her family and bring her back into the fold wouldn’t tolerate stupidity. He hadn't given her a single reason to go after him and there were limits to patience.

    As Frankie went to work the pint size weasel went for the gun. Eyes narrowed as the ability prepped dangerously in his blood. His re-emergence would be behind her and he would snap her neck if she dared to attempt to shoot him or worse, Frankie. But in the face of the chambered weapon, the Senior Capo didn’t move from where he leaned on the door frame. Arms folded over his chest as Watt's blood dripped from his own fingers to trail down his shirt and thigh.

    Bills was smart enough to know a wrong move here and all his work to protect her for all these years would be done. The older man's frantic gaze moving to the Bakkhos Capo with a desperate plea that he left unvoiced as he noted the younger man had not moved. Gaspari had not raised him to his level for no reason. The kid had sense and good instincts.

    Dark eyes watched doubt, anger, mistrust, all flicker in her expression as Watt finally seemed to turn a corner, Frankie wasn’t called the Miracle Worker for nothing. In all honesty the scrawny kid was likely more valuable to Bakkhos than the Capo himself. Blink was slow as the safety finally clicked on. Seemed she was coming to her senses.

    "Guy named Rick showed up a month ago when the Impala came in, wanted to gloat credit for bringing money to the shop like we owed him a favor. We get by, but… the world isn’t in need of classics right now. Most regular cars just need tune-ups, oil changes. Kept coming around, seeing how we were doing, gloating….promising more business. Two weeks ago, he suggested I could make some extra spending money if I invited him upstairs. I told him to fuck off and not come back. He left, another showed up to continue his push.”

    Frankie's eyes had snapped up to Matteo the moment she said "Rick"s name. The Capo's dark eyes narrowed again but he didn’t interrupt her.

    “I paid cigar smoking Rick a visit. He threatened me. I killed him. We bulked up on weapons and closed the gates. Guys showed up a few days later like you, asked for help with their car. Threatened us. Had to kill them too. Yesterday, I made an ammo run…”

    Brow quirked at the death of the aforementioned Rick. Good riddance. If it was who both Frankie and him were thinking, he was a traitor they had been searching for. The rest of her story only proved she was Bakkhos. They were survivors. There might be a sense of "polish" to them but they were all hard core survivors. They just happened to clean up well in a suit.

    Her approach was watched with intensity. The gun was away so it seemed she wasn’t going to do something stupid. But the moment she grabbed his hand the muscles corded, breath pausing in his chest as he kept his own reserved cool. The reach for his chin was halted though, her wrist caught, a bit tight at first but then lighter.

    [matteo]…am fine.[/matteo]

    Her wrist was lightly released as the dark gaze watched her through thick lashes. Brow quirking as she moved to share something with just himself.

    “My mother was Isabella Lucchese”

    Brow quirked. It explained a lot, the hiding her away from the rest of Bakkhos made a whole lot more sense now. Though her pop should have known that Gaspari wouldn’t have cared. Kett would have been accepted as Bakkhos from the very beginning. Real question though, was why was she telling him. Brow quirked a bit higher at being referred to as Merlin.

    Kid was an interesting, odd duck for sure. She was also a donkey's butt. Head shook as she went from smart to stupid in a heartbeat refusing to be healed.

    [matteo]..don't be a mule, this aint a movie where everyone runs 'round fer hours with bullet holes and do "just fine". That wound's clean through, by tomorrow when ya try to get yer revenge you wont be able to hold a gun in that hand. Not to mention based on that location it likely nicked ya bicep tendon, when the shredded tendon finally snaps ya gonna lose the strength permanently in that arm.[/matteo]

    He knew a thing or two about shoulder wounds, he had his fair share, including a nasty bullet wound. Pushing from the frame he pushed a chin towards the scrawny Miracle Worker.

    [matteo]…ya let it heal like that and he can't fix it. It'll be stuck that way. Gotta be fixed while its still an injury.[/matteo]

    Eyes rolled at Bills as she ignored him and moved to the offending car to search it. With all that happened he hadn't pegged her as stupid. But he guessed it was more stubborn pride than stupidity. Trouble was, both were just as deadly.

    Arms folded as he leaned once more back against the frame, Frankie smirking knowing full well that look, the Capo could be just as stubborn. They weren't leaving until she got her shoulder fixed.

    Link to comment

    The second he grabbed her wrist to prevent her concern, an unreadable expression slid over her face.  It was dangerous; the dark Italian eyes dashed with a blue so deep it seemed cobalt when her pupils narrowed to vicious pinpoints.  Only one moment in her life had led to the kneejerk impassibility on her features.  It had been hundreds of moments actually, compressed into one single life event that was all the same. 

     

    Aggression.

     

    Aggression at her triggered a protective instinct that had been bored into her soul from birth.  Fingers snapped to a fist at the firmness of the grip, the flicker of corded muscle. 

     

    One. You never let anyone look down on you. 

     

    Aggression.

     

    It aged her face to the twenty seven years of bullying and threats she’d endured.  She was nobody to be trifled with.  Impulsive, yes, but never wrong… and never hesitant to protect herself and those she cared for.  She did what needed to be done without a second thought and every inch of violence necessary to get her point across and ensure they’d never bother her again.  She’d shown him a moment of kindness in the only way she knew how, responded to by an abrasive insistence that he himself was indeed fine and didn’t want to be further touched.

     

    Two.  They hurt you, you hit 'em 'till they can't get up.  They ain't family.

     

    The Capo’s grip loosened, and seemed to let go with a whisper, the ingrained words deflated.  Her own skin was the one that seemed to hum in anger where he’d touched her, immediately snatched back to her side.

     

    He appeared to understand why she confessed her parentage.  Why she was hidden, yes, but there was more.. so much more.  A Lucchese disappearance for six months, hiding her pregnancy for fear of repercussion.  Then her death.  Murder, it had been whispered.  By her father.  Maybe, at the core… but it was the little deaf girl that had ultimately killed the enemy princess.  There were memories that didn’t forget.  Even if the deaf engine jockey identified as Bakkhos, she was broken, damaged… a weakness that others that wanted to hurt them would see.  Her father had never seen her that way, she didn’t see herself that way, but she knew how she would be taken by those wanting to deal a blow; a murdering, weak liability.  He would figure it out eventually, if he chose to ask the right people.

     

    "..don't be a mule, this aint a movie where everyone runs 'round fer hours with bullet holes and do "just fine". That wound's clean through, by tomorrow when ya try to get yer revenge you wont be able to hold a gun in that hand. Not to mention based on that location it likely nicked ya bicep tendon, when the shredded tendon finally snaps ya gonna lose the strength permanently in that arm."

     

    Ass.  She turned to go about her business.  Watt was fine, the rest…including Bills, could suck her proverbial dick.

     

    "…ya let it heal like that and he can't fix it. It'll be stuck that way. Gotta be fixed while its still an injury."

     

    It was a whisper behind her earplugs, but she’d heard it.  Stopping before she’d left his immediate vicinity, she turned, head cocking slightly as eyes narrowed in and out.  She’d been injured and put back together so many times… She was born injured, born an underdog, never expected to survive.  Before she even processed he most likely didn’t know that, her viciousness fired off.

     

    “I don’t need a lecture on what bullet holes do… and who said anything about tomorrow?  You may be king of your kingdom, but your feet are firmly planted in mine.  Don’t tell me my business again.”

     

    Walking backwards a few moments before she turned, she hadn’t meant to tell him essentially fuck off.  No, she did… sort of.  She was the last person that needed an explanation on what bullets could do.  Her shoulder hurt, like hell… but so had a broken jaw, a broken arm, years of busted lips and bloody noses.  Again, the insinuations that her petite size made her nothing more than a liability… it angered her more than anything.  She was not stupid, she just didn’t have the stomach for bullshit.  She’d find herself an urgent care that took cash and didn’t ask questions AFTER she’d finished this. 

     

    Tossing the door open to their friends’ ugly ass car, she slid into the driver’s seat, sitting a moment. Fingers moved along the sun visors, popping open the glove box only to slam it shut. Hands rested on the steering wheel, the smell of cigar smoke that was stuck to the upholstery turning her stomach.  It was familiar, ass she shot had a shitstorm of crap on the right side of his recliner.  Hand slid to the space between the driver’s seat and the center console.

     

    Bingo.

     

    Papers.  Crunched up receipts of all kinds.  Corner store.  Fast food.  Diner.  Everything was centralized around that diner.  She knew it, right down the river from an old dilapidated carousel by the bridge.  The damn receipt even had the server’s name signed on it with a little smiley face.  Seems a waitress was about to get paid a visit and asked some questions.

     

    Door slammed, footsteps with purpose toward the far end of her shop and freedom from the motley crew in her garage.  Her Nova may have been out of commission, but it seemed fitting her father’s Indian would be the shining steed to take her to finish this clusterfuck.  Nodding toward Merlin’s Mustang, she finished any further tete-a-tete they would have today.

     

    “Push it into my bay.  Shouldn’t even try to start it until we see what the fucker’s bullet did.  I don’t go back on my word,”  voice hummed, barely above a whisper as she checked the clip on her gun and slid it back into its resting spot.  Watt hadn’t even gotten off a shot. 

     

    Pausing at the back of his ’67 as she passed, she kicked gently at the body she’d dropped earlier.  Should have been more blood?  Of course, she wasn’t the expert on blood splatter.  But it seemed… knee had left a puddle, but his neck- not so much, the front of his throat still a bloody mess.  The bullet hadn’t hit the jugular.… eyes narrowed at a wheeze from the guy, going for her gun at the same moment the scrape of metal was caught too late by ears that were still ringing.

     

    Fucker. Stabbed.  Her.  In.  The.  Calf… pocket knife to catch her like a hooked fish, a dick move.  Breath wheezed out the front of his throat like a trach ring at the exertion, she wasn’t his target- she was just a distraction… and he’d been waiting like a fucking cobra. Jerking her balance to the side into the Mustang, he pulled his arm from beneath him- aiming his gun at the one person she desperately wanted off her property.  Oh hell no...  Right elbow clunked hard into the fender of the Mustang, pushing off instantly to regain her balance, she knew where the shot was going… no time to tell her brain no… absolutely moving on instinct as she moved into its path to block his aim.  She was invincible wasn't she?  He was already firing.  Cry of pain was sharp, small frame jerking at the force of the bullet.  Breath sucked in… still managing to get two shots off in a flurry of pure adrenaline and fury.  One, missed and zipped off the pavement.  The other… splintered the fucker’s forehead open.

     

    She was already falling backward, stumbling from the force of the shot, skinning elbows even through the flannel.  The entire thing had happened in one fluid motion, left fingers pulling off her left hip, bright red in a rush… then the pain, heaving her chest in fierce gulps.  Fire.  Absolute fucking fire in her left hip, penalty of the shot aimed for someone else's chest, and her prideful stupidity... or fierce instinctive protectiveness of a budding family?

     

    Just like her father.

     

    Stoic strength was gone this time… too close, too much firepower… fucking too close to it and it had hit bone.  Holding it tightly, small frame rolled to her right side to sob once into the cement… then again… rolling again onto her back, right heel slamming into the ground several times as she tried desperately to catch her breath and was only rewarded with hot tears and tight sobs...

     

    Jesus…

    Link to comment

    The flicker over her expression was telling but he didn’t back down. He wasn’t a child that needed a mother grabbing his chin to look at his scratches either.

     

    Child.

     

    The thought came to the forefront as dark eyes passed to Bills who seemed not to want to meet his gaze at all. She was a walking "prick", so busy being a bad ass to make up for something she thought, or she thought the world thought she was lacking. Frankly, they were damn lucky it WAS Matteo that had come to check on them. Someone like Lucky had come he would have cracked her across her cheek already. Most of the family still sat steeped in Italian mob machismo. Matteo, took more after Gaspari than them. Likely one of the reasons several of the more dominant characters in the family still questioned his relatively high position.

     

    " I don’t need a lecture on what bullet holes do… and who said anything about tomorrow? You may be king of your kingdom, but your feet are firmly planted in mine. Don’t tell me my business agai."

     

    A child that one of the family was going to kill with that puffed up snarl. As she went to the car his eyes narrowed at Bills. The older man knew what the expression meant. She could claim what she wanted but SHE was smack in the middle of Bakkhos' kingdom whether she liked it or not. And likely that very fact was why it had taken so long for the shop and her "family" to be targeted. The riff raff stayed away knowing it was under Bakkhos protection and only after they confirmed Bakkhos had no active interests in the area did they dare to act as they were sure Bakkhos wouldn’t "see" their invasion.

     

    His patience was greater than most in Bakkhos, but it wasn’t saintly either. He was done here. She wanted to get herself killed with her stupidity that was her business. He had no trouble telling Gaspari as such. He expected more from De Luca's kid. De Luca had been incredibly smart in the few encounters they had, saw things others didn’t and Gaspari listened to what he had to say. He was strategic which was likely why Gaspari was keen to have him as Boss. He would have accepted healing to ensure he and his people were at their best when they exacted revenge, he wouldn’t have kept an unnecessary handicap just for pride's sake.

     

    Gaze caught Frankie who shrugged a bit at the Senior Capo with a sheepish grin as though to say "now what?". Head shook and nodded towards the healer's car, dismissing him despite the immediate facial cringe of Bills that seemed to cry "please wait".

     

    " Push it into my bay. Shouldn’t even try to start it until we see what the fucker’s bullet did. I don’t go back on my word…"

     

    Like hell. He would have it towed off the lot tomorrow. Her word wasn’t worth shit after she flew off the handle and got her ass killed and his baby wasn’t going to be a casualty of it. But it also wasn’t worth arguing with her. As she passed him, hands slid into his pockets, gaze at Bills a last time before glancing at the girl that ignored his presence now.

     

    [matteo]…ya sure…. am headin' out with Frankie since we aint needed anymore.[/matteo]

     

    He had noticed the kid was sitting in his running car, he clearly had picked up that the Capo didn’t have a ride out of here now. There was the faintest nod at Bills as he moved to exit the bay but steps halted at the movement behind. He turned in time to see the gun level at him, dark eyes narrowed dangerously a breath all he needed to evaporate and appear at the fuckers head and crush it under his heel. But the stubborn "child" moved the same moment he was about to crawl through space.

     

    Fuck.

     

    Gunfire had Frankie flying out of his car across the lot as Matteo only had to take a single step to see this was over, her second shot had found its mark. She was lucky he wasn’t the ass that Lucky was. Lucky would have stood over her as she riled in pain and asked if she wanted no help still, he would have laughed and asked until she finally said the words that she wanted it or bled to death on the floor.

     

    Matteo wasn’t Lucky.

     

    Three long strides and he was there, crouching down as Frankie came running. She was hyperventilating, unable to catch her breath. Hand turned over, his index finger curling before he snapped a hard wrap of his knuckle on her sternum, knowing the surprise "pain" there would redirect from her hip and cause her to inhale hard.

     

    [matteo]Breathe dumbdumb..[/matteo]

     

    Words were soft, kept away from the others who were frantically scrambling around the car to get to her. Thumb pressed down on her sternum to make it hard to sob, forcing the ribcage to expand to the sides, forcing calmer flow of air.

     

    Frankie had managed to sprint from across the lot and make the Capo's side before the men in the boy itself had made it around the car. The Capo stood and caught Bill by the shoulder as he came barreling around, giving the healer a little room to work his magic on both wounds now, the lanky boy's hands causing skin to heat up under the cerulean light.

    Link to comment

    It was happening again, how strange the world was when it was ending.  Moments could stream by so quickly, the next felt like forever.  Odd conversations, snapshots in time that seemed so inconsequential bubbled up from nowhere to be everywhere.  She didn’t hear Bills’ footsteps or see the shadow of Mr. Weasel kneeling next to her.  The world was too bright for that, disoriented, dark eyes on the type of sky filled with layers of overcast cold clouds.  Light bounced through them, the dark and the pale, giving the illusion it was a low fog trying to touch the ground.  That point when pain became too much, had passed.  It was beyond pain and into numbness. Hip broken?  She didn’t know…

     

    She did know she was stronger than this, but her consciousness was thin.  Sobs were gone, chest barely moving but refusing to give up, the initiation into pain was met with a wall it couldn’t get past- as of someone beyond a door refused to allow it to open.

     

    Dark lashes fluttered and parted at the sudden snap on her sternum, breath sucking in, pupils widening to take in the information that didn’t quite line up with her reality.  He had been leaving.. they both had been leaving- pissed off and puffed up, lips pressing to a thin line at the feel of his thumb pushing the air out of her lungs.

     

    "Breathe dumbdumb.."

     

    Brows instinctually snapped downward….she hated this man…taking another slow breath, it was helping.  His words were quiet, but too clear, not registering the consequences of that at the moment.  The world came back as another breath was drawn, the cold of concrete, the scent of…

     

    “…brakes need work too Merlin…” all business, mumbled out in an exhale. She could smell it, the worn pads and stiff brake lines.  She could also smell fluid, a miniscule amount, her head right next to his baby’s rear tire.  “..gonna cost extra..”

     

    Scrape of boots as he disappeared were too loud, the drop of a bag too close sending her world into a post blast ring.  Too fast, the pause in the universe had ended… barreling forward suddenly without knowledge to stop it.  Frankie!

     

    No no no!

     

    Small hands had snapped into fists, Bills moving toward her without a second thought,  It was one of the only moments the old biker would ever throw the man’s orders off, his eyes had caught the bright purple bouncing away from her skull and spinning under the car as her head had smacked the pavement.  She wore them when her ears hurt, she had a head injury, Frankie would open a floodgate of hellish, excruciating sound into her head.. they didn’t know.

     

    His knees hit the ground just after she tried to push Frankie away, callused hands grabbing her wrists to subdue and immediately cradling the side of her head against his thigh to muffle her ear.  She relaxed, he knew and understood… the old ass had not sold her out, not completely anyway.  Nod was quick to Frankie from the old man to let him set to work.  He would explain in a minute.  She was not a petulant child, she would protect any of them, with her life if necessary.

     

    Groggy.  It was the only way she could describe it.  Fingers were moving under his hold in single letters, the biker’s lips quirking slightly.  Gibberish.

     

    *npc* She’s deaf.

     

    He said simply as he watched Frankie work, finally explaining.

     

    *npc* Gio squirreled money away before the world ended for the surgery.  One side took, the other didn’t.  Must’ve gotten hurt pretty bad last night, was wearing an earplug- it just fell out.  Frankie would’ve  just opened a fire alarm straight into her head… not everything you see boss is a ‘fuck you’.  She’s different.  Sees the world different.

     

    Her breathing stabilized, the old biker was quiet for a while as the healer finished… watching the new tools of the mob with Frankie’s talents, and Monk’s consciousness fade out.

     

    *npc*  ..old school… you knew the peacemaker side of Gio, she knew the warrior.  Lives by the code he taught her.

     

    He left it at that.  There was so much more the Capo didn’t know about De Luca.  Brows lowered. Watching her gibberish fingers, she was talking about a diner.

     

    *npc*  You have Gio’s car…you got a nickname, you family now.

     

    He reached under the car and retrieved the bright purple earplug, checking it for dirt and carefully putting it back in.  She was out like a light.  Would probably wake up pissed and groggy.  He picked up the mighty mouse with crackling aged knees and disappeared to put her on the couch in the lobby, pulling something from her belt and returning.  Sigh was long as hand slid into his pocket and he surveyed the mess.  Lots of work to do.

     

    *npc*  Gina, at Carter’s by the bridge.  Dunno if that means anything to you, what she said before nighty nite.

     

    He held the butt of a well-worn Browning out to him, knowing it was empty.  Engraving distinct, but well loved and cared for.  The other of a pair.  It was not a truce, there was no truce to make,  It was a promise of loyalty. 

     

    *npc*  Give this to Gaspari.  When he wants to see her she’ll come get it.  The guys and I will take care of this mess and get your car into her bay.  She'll be on that '67 before sun comes up tomorrow, just a heads up.

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    She was annoyed by his voice but even so began to calm down as the pressure on her sternum forced the breathing to slow and grow deeper. The shallow gasps would have dropped her consciousness rapidly with the blood loss she had going.

     

    "….breaks need work too Merlin….gonna cost extra.."

     

    A smirk flicked the corners of his lips, chuckle faintly rumbling in his chest as he continued to push down on her sternum with his thumb to force her to continue her slower breathing.

     

    [matteo]..ya?... why am I not surprised.[/matteo]

     

    As Frankie turned the corner around the car he moved out of the way to let the healer work only to have Bills push past him to interfere. Dark eyes watched the older man move to protect her ear before nodding for Frankie to continue.

     

    [npc]She's deaf.[/npc]

     

    That wasn’t exactly news there Bills. Brow lifted faintly as he listened to the old coot's protective explanation.

     

    [npc]……She's different. Sees the world different.[/npc]

     

    There was a clear pause in the dark brown eyes. He knew someone else in Bakkhos that described. Bills was probably unaware he had come face to face with her at the club since she was an addition after the death of Gio. Gaze dropped to the more regular breathing that signaled the mouse was out. Frankie often had that affect on people.

     

    Hand reached down to the lanky kid's shoulder waiting until it was grabbed by a hand that was decidedly pale, the grin on the youthful continence almost apologetic as the ashen color of his features warned the healer paid a price for his practice. Strong arm helped Frankie up onto his feet, hand moving to pat his shoulder and stay there "innocently" while the kid worked to keep his feet under him. The Capo didn’t let go until Frankie gave him a nod that he was ok. Words were quiet to Bills.

     

    [matteo]….itsa code that the whole family knows Bills, but we also know that code applies differently t'family.[/matteo]

     

    Eyes watched her micro weight being lifted and moved to the couch adding quietly…

     

    [matteo]…he shoulda taken the time to teach her that too.[/matteo]

     

    [npc]….. you family now.[/npc][matteo] I always was Bills.[/matteo]

     

    Smile hinted at the corner of his lips as the statement came very matter of fact, hands sliding in his pockets almost in mirror of Bills own stance as they both surveyed the destruction of the place. Nod was slow as he mentioned Gina and Carter's. He was familiar with the place. Words were quiet.

     

    [matteo]…. I will take care of it.[/matteo]

     

    The promise of family. Hand slid out of his pocket to accept the Browning, bouncing it slightly in his palm. He knew the gun, the other rested under glass in Gaspari's office.

     

    [npc] Give this to Gaspari. When he wants to see her she’ll come get it. The guys and I will take care of this mess and get your car into her bay. She'll be on that '67 before sun comes up tomorrow, just a heads up.[/npc]

     

    Nod was slight as he looked over his shoulder at his "baby".

     

    [matteo]… I suppose it'll be safe in 'er hands. Aint like I can drive 'er outta here.[/matteo]

     

    Grin was lopsided as shoulders shrugged. Eyes glanced to Frankie who was making his way towards his car, kid needed rest.

     

    [matteo]….gonna head out with Frankie, be sure he gets home. Then gonna check on that diner.[/matteo]

     

    Moving out of the bay he paused and glanced over his shoulder at older man.

     

    [matteo]….be by in couple days to check on 'er..[/matteo]

     

    He didn’t specify if he was talking about his car or Kett as he turned, gun lifted up and waved slightly as he added.

     

    [matteo]…will let Gaspari know what happened and give 'im Gio's Brownin'[/matteo]

     

    Frankie's car was already rumbling ready to go when the Capo slid into the passenger seat and they roared off. The Capo left with a lot to think about this region that lay inside his territory.

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