Shadow Touched (Editing)

1. NAIMA

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

The only sound I hear is my fist hitting his face. All I see is the look of terror in his eyes. He's probably been whimpering at my...ministrations for a while now. I don't care. I need information, and this guy has it. Despite having asked really nicely, this idiot decided to play hardball. In this case, hardball is the surprising speed with which my fists manage to hit his face. Repeatedly.

Violence is so unseemly. But it's all I've left. Well, I suppose not all. I could've fucked the information out of him.

Any mercenary worth her weight in salt knows that most men are their chattiest post-coitus. Halfway to falling asleep is sometimes the easiest way to pump a man for information. No pun intended. Unfortunately for this guy, I'm not in the mood, mostly because he's disgusting, and I do have some standards. Also, Keaton's here—and I know for a fact threesomes are not his thing.

The sound of scurrying feet pulls me back to the task at hand. I peek down the alley to see a scrawny cat chasing a big fat rat. The rat waddles its way down the laneway, jamming itself into a nearly imperceptible hole in the wall. I watch them tussle, the cat pawing at the space the rat's escaped to, letting out a little sigh as I do. I can't believe this guy still hasn't talked.

"Tell me," thwack!

"Where," thwack!

"You," thwack!

"Stashed," thwack!

"The," thwack!

"Necklace," thwack!

"You," punch. "Fat," kick. "Bastard!"

I'm getting into this now, that is until a hand gently taps me on the shoulder. I release the tight grip I have on the idiot's collar and turn to see Keaton, eyebrow raised, lips pursed, and arms crossed.

"Merce," he says, "I'm starting to think this guy's nothing more than a low-level thug."

I sigh again. Keaton's right. I knew it after the third punch. Actually, I knew it before we even sought him out.

"Also," he continues, a frown slowly forming on his face, "It's not polite to comment on the bodies of others." He gives me a pointed look.

"I'm sorry," I say. "He is a bastard, though. You agree with that, right?"

"Aye," he gives a low chuckle.

I look back at Fat Bastard. His one eye is swelling shut, and his thin bottom lip bleeds steadily. With his good eye, he looks back and forth between me and Keaton, outrage on his face.

"Y-you're mad, the two of you!" He stutters.

"Yeah," I say as I get up, brushing dust from my pants. "I could've told you that."

I turn my back on him, leaving him sprawled on the ground.

"Let's go find Viper," I say to Keaton. "We're going to need to regroup if we want to get paid."

~*~

"I said I'd get you the necklace. I'll get your damn necklace." I throw my hands up to emphasize my frustration. You'd think a seasoned criminal would know how stealing works.

I've been sitting in Habib's opulent—I want to call it an office—meeting room. It doesn't really look like one. It's the only room in his manor house that I've ever seen. I assume it's his space for dealing with low-level criminals, which, now that I think about it, is rather rude, considering I am far from a low-level criminal.