The overcoat shaped her dainty frame and any stray tendrils of golden blonde hair were safely tucked into a drab black hat that effortlessly accented her disguise. There were not many girls in her field, and that was for a reason. She found that it was for the best if she did not to draw any unwanted attention.
She tugged once at the revolver tucked safely in her black trousers right beside her badge, as if for reassurance before ducking her head and entering the old warehouse. It was rusty and uninteresting and wouldn’t have drawn attention if it weren’t for the distinct rumpus of a fight club.It wasn’t a place she frequented. Her missions mostly revolved around dark, eerie alleyways and boat loads of backup.
The sound of cheering got louder as she got nearer to the center of the warehouse, or what Billy would call the arena. She could hear his name being chanted over and over, sometimes with an array of abuses following it. Big, voluptous men tore around the ring where two people ruthlessly punched each other. It took her a few seconds to recogonize one of the two, behind all the layers of murk and blood.
Billy, one of Nevada’s most wanted underground felons, currently under radar.
Billy, her brother.
He dived punches after punches on the man in front of him, who despite all his girth looked tawny and helpless. She was drawn to it, all the gore and violence. That was something they’d always had in common, though they’d chosen completely different paths: cat and mouse, prey and predator: detective and criminal.
Long before she realised she was right near the ring, staring right at him. Billy never knew this, but she’d done this before. Come by undetected, watch him and leave undetected. But today was different. Today she had to talk to him and she did not know how to do that without drawing anyone’s attention.
That plan however went down the drain, when an overzealous supporter knocked the hat off her head and her delicious blonde her hair fell down in twirls. She tried to make a beeline for the exit before any of the drunken bastards could notice her but Billy seemed to one step ahead because her saw her before she turned. With one final punch, he knocked off the guy in front of him and dived out of the ring after her.
“Ah sis, are you here to take me in this time?”, Billy said once they were in the quiet corner of the warehouse, smirking through the cigarette in his mouth. He knew she wouldn’t do that, she couldnt. Yet, he eyed the handcuffs hanging from her belt.
She ignored what he said. “They’re after you Billy. You screwed up this time. Screwed up bad.”
He rolled his eyes, dropping the cigarette and crushing it with his feet. He had changed alot since the last time they’d talked, long long before the last time she’d seen him. He had scars, irreparable white scars. His face was tired and the girth coated his dark circles. “Oh, miss goody two shoes is concerned now, is she?”
She couldn’t ignore the remarkably bitter tone even if she tried and heck if it didn’t stab her heart. She moved her hands to touch his face and trace his scars. She saw the vulnerability in his eyes. Before she could reply though, she heard the blaring of the sirens and saw his face contort into anger and realisation. It killed her. But she knew the game was over. His game was over.
He turned to run and she should have run after him to catch him. She couldve. But the look on his face stumbled her and she let him get away.
She’d done her part, anyway.