Page 17 of The Fire We Make

A rough hand squeezed her jaw hard and the smell of vodka assaulted her nose as she was pinned against the brick wall. “Bitch do you know who I am? You ‘bout to piss me off trying to play captain save a hoe. Get the fuck on before you get hurt.”

The edges of Joy’s vision blurred. Heat crawled up her skin igniting her veins, and her hands shook — not with fear, but with a need she could never quite control.

She tried to push it back, to steady her breathing, but the voice she’d spent years trying to outrun, whispered from a dark recess of her mind. It demanded blood as retribution on behalf of the woman and herself.

Seemingly on its own volition, Joy’s foot lifted and her heel slammed into the man’s groin, making him release her with a howl and crumble to the filthy concrete.

His companion shoved the woman aside to charge Joy but was met with the same fate as his friend with a punch to his jaw for good measure.

Reaching under her dress, Joy pulled out her gun from where it was holstered. The cold metal felt heavy in her hand but it was a familiar weight. A comforting weight.

Click Clack

Bow

The rhythmic sounds of the pistol cocking then firing turned into a sweet melody. The scream of surprise then howl of agony that followed only heightened her delight.

Click Clack

Bow

The gun bucked once then twice in her hand, and she saw rather than aimed the two shots that pierced the man in the groin then the chest.

The man fell to a bloody, unmoving heap landing at his friend’s feet before he could up his own weapon in self defense.

The wound in his chest close enough to his heart to ensure certain death but far enough to ensure he would feel every second his lungs filled with blood.

The only man left standing, the one who’d hit her, stood frozen beside his friend’s body, a look of horror plastered on his face.

Thick silence filled the alley.

Joy blinked and paused for a moment, then another.

When no commotion was made and no one came to see about the gun shots, she stepped closer.

Her high heels clicked against the ground. The muffled thump of music hit her ears and her steps unconsciously synced with the fast paced beat coming from inside the club.

The familiar coppery tang of spilled blood invaded her nostrils when she approached the man and she paused.

“What’s your name?” Joy asked sweetly.

“P-Perry,” the man stammered. Joy would give it to him, he did his best to appear stoic but Joy saw the fear. She had a sixth sense for it, and could always recognize it.

“Well Perry,” Joy started, pulling the pair of gold brass knuckles from her clutch then throwing the bag aside. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can whoop my ass, I’ll let you live.”

“What?” he gawked.

“You seem to like to prey on women who can’t defend themselves. That’s some pussy shit to me and pussy niggas dont get to live where I come from. But if you can whoop my ass and prove me wrong, you won’t join your friend in hell.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding,” he chuckled. The fear he’d had a moment ago was replaced with disdain. For her. For the woman he’d almost violated.

That wouldn’t do.

Joy lifted her gun and pointed it at the man. She cocked it, depositing a bullet into the chamber then aimed at his head. “Fight me or I’ll loosen your brain from your skull.”

He chuckled and flicked his nose with his thumb. His demeanor was the picture of arrogance but the fear was evident in his eyes.

“Aight come on crazy bitch,” he laughed, then swung. The hit was sloppy, adrenaline and his party favors impairing his movements. Joy effortlessly ducked under his arm and sent an uppercut to his jaw. He landed a punch to her stomach and in return, Joy sent her heel into his groin knocking him down a few inches onto his knees.