He didn't have a knife.

That, Brandy Sankt decided, arms and legs tied to a chair and covered in blood, was the only thing she liked about this whole situation.

Nollie threw another punch at her, and at this point, she was too tired to dodge. She took it head-on. It connected solidly with her left cheek, Nollie’s Messengers ring leaving a sizeable cut.

Brandy was starting to regret putting such a huge gem on her gang’s ring. It was supposed to be ironic – literally “married to the job” – but if poetic license was going to get her killed, she’d rather not make the pun.

“He never came back from the Dryden job you swore was an easy score,” he said, raising his blood-covered fist threateningly. “So I ask you again, Sankt: where is Raxton?”

“Where is Rats-Man?” Brandy clarified.

He punched her again, thankfully with the left hand.

“Ooh, harder,” cooed Brandy.

“Stop,” Nollie growled, and clamped a filthy hand over Brandy’s mouth. She licked it.

“WHAT IN GODS’ NAME IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Nollie roared, shoving her chair back. It smacked against the wall with a resounding crack and fell forward.

“You're the one beating me, your boss, up in my own basement,” she pointed out. Her cut cheek oozed blood onto the floor. “What, did that Dryden job not pay enough? Did a dozen diamonds not soothe your hurt feelings? Did your mother finally realize what a bas –”

He kicked her.

Brandy spat blood on his shoes. She raised an untied hand and ran it across her mouth, grinning a Cheshire-esque grin. Her teeth were red and glistening. “I'm done here,” she said simply, and ripped her feet free from their bonds.

Nollie took a step back. Brandy’s hair was wild, brown shot through with gold, stained red and covering half of her face. The other half was maniacal; something hungry lived in those blue eyes of hers, and right now, it was in control. She was broken and in pain, but she felt alive.

“Take your weak as ash knots,” she spat as she pushed herself off the ground with hands stained by her own blood, “and your unbolted chair –” grabbing the chair “– and your lack of appreciation for my amazing power moves –” shoving it in Nollie’s face “– and get out of my face and my gang before I decide to shank you.”

Nollie laughed. “Get out of your gang?” He raised himself to his full 6 feet height, flexed his powerful arms lined with dozens of faded gang tattoos, and laughed. “Your gang?”

Brandy still hadn’t dropped the crazy grin, but anyone could see that the girl in the too-large leather jacket paled next to the behemoth that was Nollie. Well, that is, anyone with reason. And Brandy wasn’t known for being reasonable.

“Why, yes, Nollie, my gang,” Brandy sneered. “Care to know why?”

Nollie rolled his shoulders. “Not really. But I’ll pity you and let you make the first move.”

“Tsk,” she said, summoning all the courage of a person she used to know, “don’t you know you always let the villain monologue?”

In a blink, she was gone.

Nollie felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around to see the end of Brandy’s ponytail.

“Missing something?” Brandy said. She perched on a shelf behind him, holding his watch.

“What –” he sputtered. He checked his wrist. It was back. He gaped at the shelf where she was perched lazily. His astonishment quickly turned to anger, and he charged.

Brandy leapt off the shelf. She blinked and shifted just a few centimetres to the left, just enough to throw off Nollie’s balance. She landed on his head and left a neat boot print. Teleporting to the ground, she swiped her leg at his ankles, but unfortunately for her, he’s not that dumb, and she’s not that strong.

Nollie grabbed her by the collar and hauled her to her feet. He snarled, a gold tooth flashing wickedly. “You have horrible breath,” Brandy said, thinking wildly. “Bye now.”

She teleported, wall to wall, no rhyme or reason. Nollie was spinning like a madman trying to predict where she was going to strike next.

She appeared behind him and punched him full force, head-on, left hook. He took it without a second thought, and clamped a hand on her arm. She bit him and teleported away.

They were evenly matched. His hand blocked her fist, she jumped clear of his kick. Brandy was trying to do what she does best – pull a dirty move – but there just wasn’t enough time to plan them.

She couldn’t keep teleporting. Her eyes were getting tired and she couldn’t risk losing her sight in the middle of a fight.

Her movements were getting sluggish, and she was letting blows in. Too much force in a punch, and she’s slammed against the wall. One moment too late, and she paid for it with a kick to her already cut cheek.

Ashes, she cursed. She was not going to let this dumb brute best her. He might’ve been stronger, but this was her house, and she knew its contents like the inside of a lock.

The next time he backed her into a wall, she picked up the ugliest wizard statue you could possibly imagine and stabbed his neck with its stupid pointed hat.

It didn’t pierce. Brandy was weak as ash.

Nollie’s hand closed around her throat. She closed her eyes. They were tired, and she was done.

“Where is Raxton?” Nollie asked one more time.

“Running with the Red Cloaks now,” Brandy snarled. “He’s gone and betrayed you and he’s not coming back.”

His fingers tightened around her throat. “I don’t believe you.”

She tried to shrug and look unconcerned but failed. “Then don’t believe me, but that’s the truth.”

Nollie’s eyes were blazing with anger, as red as the ruby on his ring. “If you won’t tell me what happened,” he said, inching a wicked blade out of a holster inside his coat, “then let’s see who will once their precious little gang leader’s innards are strewn all over the stalls of the Market.”

Ash. He did have a knife.