But she wasn’t fucking average.
No, she wasn’t even in the realm of normal, and because of that, Luther hadn’t discounted her theory of a tattoo artist being involved. But neither did he want Gaby harassing tattoo parlors on her own.
The side investigation, Luther claimed, required finesse and subtlety.
They both knew she possessed neither virtue, and so he went with her. She didn’t mind his company, but she thought he could have done something more important, especially since the legwork hadn’t panned out. Yet.
Gaby was so drawn into her own thoughts that she didn’t see the duo of ragtag youths until they stepped out in front of her, blocking her path.
Slowly she looked up and took their measure. Oh yeah. This confrontation showed promise.
Few people in the quiet, disadvantaged area of tenement housing and crime cared when others got victimized. It was an everyday way of life. At the sign of impending trouble, a vagrant scurried away. Two hookers made a point of turning their backs. Across the street, sitting on a stoop, an obese woman in her nightgown smoked a cigarette and rocked a baby.
No cops. No one to care.
There were only two guys, probably between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one. Given their sneers and aggressive postures, they wanted trouble.
A gift from heaven.
Because Gaby had trouble to spare.
Chapter 9
A stiff wind carried the odor of fetid refuse. It wafted around Gaby, but it didn’t come from the men. No, an overturned trash can was to blame. The bodies attempting to intimidate her were outwardly clean.
Their insides, their rotten morals and foul intentions, had no discernible odor. But Gaby knew. She saw beyond their young, handsome faces and healthy physiques to the burgeoning savages within.
Gaby anticipated the conflict to come. She could use a brawl right now. Physical combat had proven to be the preeminent release for her churning discontent.
That is, she’d found battle to be the greatest release before Luther showed her the draining effects of sex.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the lethargy and peace of mind imbued from carnal intimacy with Luther.
The realization of yet another drastic change Luther had perpetrated caused Gaby’s shitty mood to ramp up a paramount degree.
Slowly, savoring the possibilities, she removed the earbuds and turned off her music. She tucked them into her pocket alongside the new cell phone Luther had presented to her, the phone he insisted she carry on her person at all times.
It was a fucking leash and they both knew it, but what the hell? She could give a little on that score. If the cell phone ensured he could reach her whenever he wanted, the opposite was also true. She could contact Luther at any time.
And she would, just to emphasize that their relationship worked both ways. If he worried for her, well hell, she worried about him a thousand times more.
Luther was a prodigious specimen among ordinary people, but his skills didn’t come close to hers, and that made him far more susceptible to injury.
Utilizing her keen insight, Gaby surveyed the two males who’d separated to block her way. Their low-hanging jeans displayed a laughable amount of underwear, and their shirts were meant to show off tight upper bodies.
Cruelty and belligerence were now comfortable window dressings for them, but to Gaby, their insecurities remained so transparent that she almost pitied them.
Almost.
“Everyone has a choice,” she told them. “You see life, see the injustice, and you can either mimic it or you can do better.” Giving them a fair shot, she said, “Now, decide.”
After sharing a look, one of them said, “What the fuck is she talking about?”
They laughed as one, finding strength in unity. “Bitch, are you loco?”
The darker and more handsome of the two slid a suggestive gaze over her. “She’s butchin’ it up, for sure, ain’t you, girl?” His sleazy grin matched his sleazy perusal. “Wearin’ them ragtag clothes and hiding all the good stuff. But underneath there, mama’s got all the right parts, don’t ya?”
Mustering serene but disdainful mockery, Gaby said, “Just spit it out already. What is it that you fuck-heads want?”
The other boy was taller and looked like a basketball player with his long, lean, muscular physique. Laughing at her, he said, “The skinny cat has claws.” He crowded into her space with cocky obnoxiousness. “I like it. What d’ya say, girl?” He cupped a hand over his package. “You know you want some of this.”
She snorted. “Yeah—just like I want my eyeballs clawed out with an ice pick.”
He got closer still, and now she could smell him, the scent of testosterone, pot, and nervousness.
Oh yeah, he was nervous. And high. His pupils were so dilated, his eyes looked black. Even in the cool air, sweat popped on his forehead and upper lip.
Idiot.
At her insult, his chin jutted and his chest puffed up. “Check that fuckin’ mouth, woman, or I’ll take you right here, right now.”
Next to him, Gaby felt short but not in the least threatened. She leaned in, saying with ominous threat, “Are you really so anxious to lose your cherry that you want to take me on?”
“Lose my cherry? Bitch, you’re trippin’!” His voice shook with fury and insult. “I get laid anytime I want.”
“Using force, I’m guessing.” Gaby stifled a yawn. “No woman would lie down with the likes of you otherwise.”
His clouded eyes narrowed. “Using force,” he agreed on a snarl. “When the mood strikes me.”
Gaby considered giving him some slack for being a moron, for being a product of his bleak environment, but she said aloud, “Nah.” His bragging agreement that he wasn’t above forcing a woman, whether true or not, hit a nerve.
And with that, she punched him in the face, hard and fast. A direct hit from her equaled the same force as getting plowed by a baseball bat. His nose shattered, his head snapped around, and bright red blood sprayed out in a wide arc.
Her victim staggered into a crumbling brick wall and barely managed to stay upright. He clutched a broken pipe for balance while cursing her in lurid terms.
Wide-eyed with disbelief, the darker boy stared toward her.
Gaby flexed her knuckles. Oh yeah. That felt awesome. But she wanted more. A lot more.
“Well, c’mon, girls.” She taunted them both with a come and get it gesture. “I have other things to do today.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” the second boy muttered through bared teeth as he raised his fists.
He lunged forward and Gaby kicked out the knee on his lead leg. He buckled in surprise, yelled out, and fell to the ground.
Amused, Gaby raised a brow. “Well? Is that it?”
The bloody-faced fellow, whose nose now looked like a football it was so swollen and discolored, pulled a switchblade. It snapped open with a quiet snick.
So dumb. He held it wrong, Gaby noted, and a pellucid aura of fear undulated around him.
Why did the biggest cowards always think they had more to prove?
She tsked—and withdrew her own knife. “Mine’s bigger, sweet cheeks. And I’m willing to bet it’s been used a whole lot more than yours ever has.”
His eyes rounded as comprehension sank in. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Your worst nightmare. Your conscience. Or maybe just the one who’s going to put you on a different path. Up to you.”
Instead of taking the offer, the idiot jabbed out, trying to gig her. Gaby dodged his lame attempt with ease and retaliated with a series of fast, flawless slices along his arm, his chest, and low on his abdomen. The cuts were superficial, but still they had to burn.