Chapter 48: SissyFifteen years of practid training and pretending were stripped away in a moment. Ever since Persephone’s death I’d pyed nid voluntarily ed myself in s of civility and good behaviour. The scorpions, the slimy and horrible things that lurked within-- I locked them away all those years ago uhe harshest of bondage and taught myself tet what I ked deep down within. The price of David’s Saunders existence was the suppression of everything I’d ever been before.

  Those s and shackles fell away, and I released a cry of exultant, savage joy.

  I forced the attack to the side. The bde cut deep but sliced lengthwise, sshing through the prosthetic but only nig the real flesh beh. The taut skin of the breast split and the innards swelled out like the meat of a sausage. Intense pain fred ay chest and then suddenly cut off. An oily bck fluid abruptly sprayed from the ruptured breast and caught Fosters across the face.

  He hissed in pain and surprise and briefly dropped his guard. I threw my entire body forward, smming my shoulder into his chest. He staggered back a step. The knife sshed upwards, blindly, nearly catg me across the shoulder but I used my momentum to slip past the man, hitting the floor, rolling out into a low crouch across from him.

  The bastard moved away, nearly doubled over, the knife held between us, his other hand swiping at his fabsp; Bck slime from the split breast dribbled and bubbled down my front. Instead of pressing the attack I took advantage of his distra to grab at the zipper of the corset. I ya down and air rushed into my lungs. If only there was time to uhese crippling stilettos from my feet. . . .

  Fosters straightened opposite me. His fad eyes were bright red and teary but promised pain. “You should have run while you had the ce, bitch,” he hissed. The knife rested loosely in his hand.

  When I touched one delicate fio the edge of my mouth it came away red with lipstid blood. I wiped my hand against the blouse that hung loosely from my frame. Slowly rising from my crouch I couldn’t suppress a grin, thin and cruel, from spreading ay fabsp; The bastard had about eighteeimeters of height on me, maybe twenty kilos, a longer read a knife. He probably had a gun as well, though he wouldn’t use it unless absolutely necessarily; Fosters liked to kill with his hands.

  Through bleary eyes he watched me warily--but not warily enough. Fosters still had absolute fiden his ability to take me down at his leisure, and why shouldn’t he? Everything he knew about me suggested I was an easy mark: a b thirty-nine-year-old piece of shit with a normal past, a corporate middle-manager who’d just spent the st three weeks prang around in drag. But it was lies, all of it, pretty little packaging cealing a violent past. Otherwise he’d be taking me a hell of a lot more seriously. He’d be scrambling for that gun. Because after more than a goddamn decade denying myself utterly this most exquisite pleasure . . . yeah, I was going to enjoy this. I really was.

  I was going to tear this motherfucker to pieces.

  We both moved forward simultaneously. He threw a zy jab, aesting me. I leaned bad avoided his fist and when the cross came I blurred forward, spping his arm away and twisted in, elbow aimed for his head. Momentary surprise fshed in his eyes but he reacted quicker than expected; he dipped beh my attad his kabbed upwards seeking my armpit. With one knee I knocked his hand aside at the wrist, but my back foot swayed in stiletto heels; I fell back a step and from his low stance his foot snapped out, aiming high. I twisted aside but his kick clipped my hip, staggering me.

  I hit the far wall but trolled the impabsp; He rushed forward, knife ready. The bastard tio uimate. I recovered quickly and threw out a quick, low kibsp; Knife already extended in attack, the tip of my foot caught his hand ahe on flying. Unfazed, Fosters stormed through the attack, one heavy fist catg me in the side. I grunted as fractured ribs on the mend fred with pain but retaliated with a quick strike of my own, easily blocked. A flurry of up-close blows between us: quick punches, opens hands sliding to wrists, elbows, defleg each other’s attacks. A frozen moment, both our arms held in chebsp; Between the frame of our interlocked limbs Fosters smiled once again, still feral but different now: his animalistic thrill was underscored by a very human delight in the challenge he’d found and the surety of his victory. There was no special empathy in my uanding: the same manic grin illuminated my face as well.

  His head smashed forward seeking the bridge of my nose. Shifting backwards I used my shoulder to lock his and used the energy to throw him into the wall. The impact smashed a hole ier, but he twisted quickly, arms raised defensively, to face me. My hair swirled in a golden halo as I shed out with a massive bad. It would’ve torn his jaw off had it hit. tinuing to twist he ducked beh my strike and threw out a quick uppercut. Dropping an elbow, I took the hit on the meat of the arm and stretched out, the edge of my open hand seeking his colrbone. Fosters dipped his shoulder and uncoiled like a spring, throwing his whole body forward. He caught me square on and I barely mao throw his weight aside as we both hit the floor.

  I found my feet but the shoes and skirt slowed me. He surged across the room and nded a massive side-thrusting kick square to my chest. Paied through my torso as the other prosthetic exploded; bck slime spattered everywhere. I went flying babsp; The gss door shattered behind me. I tumbled into the examination room. Hitting the floor, I slid several feet before lying there, dazed and winded.

  Gss ched underfoot. Fosters stepped into the room. I could almost hear the tight g and ung of his fists as he approached. The bastard was taking his time. He thought he had me beat. The way things were going, he was right. These fug clothes were crippling me. I could barely stand or walk, let alone fight. Far worse: it had been too long. I’d lost my edge; my instincts were dulled from disuse. I’d kept the body in shape but the spirit had weakened.

  Suddenly Fosters lunged forward, foot stomped down for my head. I twisted my neck aside and my legs found his, sweeping them out from beh him. Gss cerated my bad side as I rolled away; gss slivers cut into the palm of my hand as I pushed away and found my feet even as he found his.

  The rger man shed out with an kick; I slid beh it and riposted with a quiap of my own to the groin. It would’ve dropped a lesser man but he merely grunted and fell back a step. I pressed my advantage, rushing in with a sequence of quick punches. He mao block a few but slipping within his longer reach I nded a few solid blows to his side. My small frame tradicted the strength I threw into those punches: Fosters dropped baother step and I felt something give beh my knuckles.

  Showing the paialiated with an almost desperate swing. I ducked and hammered his abdomen. Fosters threw a hook. I jammed it at the shoulder and pounded his jaw with a rising elbow. Even as he fell back against a table, sending books and papers flying, a surprisingly fast kick scythed out for my head. I danced back out of reach.

  Blood trickled slowly from between ched fingers. Ooze drenched my tattered front, soaking the unzipped corset bd burning the skih. My stogs were in shreds, shaven legs slick with sweat and blood from a dozen minor cuts, framed by snapped suspehat swayed like dispirited snakes about my thighs. Not te away, Fosters slowly straightened. His face remained burned red, eyes swimming with tears. He lightly touched at the er of his lip and found blood. He stared at the red spot staining his finger and then his eyes slowly slid over to me.

  “No more fug around,” he growled.

  As he indulged in dramatics, I took advantage of the brief pause to dig into a hole torn in the side of my skirt. With a loud rip the fabric gave way and I created a thigh-high vent. Renewed fidence flowed through my veins. This douchebag was absolutely correo more fug around. It was time to show this asshole just who the fuck he was dealing with.

  I took the offensive. Threw a blistering bination of high and low strikes. He shouldn’t have been able to blobsp; He did. Maybe he’d been holding back; maybe he got lucky. I barely dodged his ter. I whipped out a crest kiake a little room. His leg jammed mine and his fist smmed into my abdomen and something nearly ruptured down there. His sed punever nded. I caught the arm and tried for the throw. He reversed; so did I; our arms blurred across each other without finding purchase; a soft spot; my arm slipped through, elbow clipping his face--blood spurted from his nose--and my hand grappled his ned threw him forward on the recoil. He smashed into a medical cart and puter and hit the ground, equipment crashing around and atop him.

  Fosters tossed the cart aside with a furious yell. He threw the puter at me as he rose. I ducked and charged forward. The s exploded against the wall behind me in a shower of sparks. My punch fell short; he blocked and nded a quick roundhouse that had my vision swimming a me sprawling against the examination bed. An axe kick scythed down and I desperately rolled aside. Catg the edge with his heel, Fosters nearly flipped the heavy, steel-frame bed end-over-end and it crashed heavily to the ground on its side. An opening: the dey left his midriff unguarded. With a wild yell I unloaded the stro kick I could muster into his sternum.

  Disaster: the heel of my base foot wobbled, snapped. Teimeters of stiletto heel stabbed into Fosters stomach even as I felt my other ankle pop, dislocate--break. Pain fred up my leg and spine and I couldn’t suppress a despairing cry as I hit the ground heavily. Even drained of its full power my kick sent Fosters tumbling across the room; he crashed into a row of ets and amidst a show of gss colpsed to the ground.

  Gritting my teeth and crawling through the burning pain, I forced myself to roll over and rise to my feet.

  Fosters didn’t stand. Suit jacket undone, broken gss sh across his broad shoulders, the white shirt beh stained red; and the shoulder holster empty. He’d decided to end the fight. Painful crity desded and I watched in near slow-motion as, from his sprawled position, his arm swung around, the ugly .45 ready in his grip seeking a quid to the fight. Blood ran in criss-crossing rivulets from his crushed nose, from his split lip and forehead and stained his manic grin an ugly red.

  The moment released us. The pistol roared and fred. With desperate strength I threw myself away. Pain exploded in my side as I grabbed the edge of the bed and fell behind the metal frame. A sed sh out and ricocheted away. Heavy wetness soaked the corset from beh and dribbled down my leg and fire filled my lungs and my strength rapidly began to fg.

  No. No fug away. I wasn’t going to die. Move. Move, dammit--quick, the bastard was getting up! I focused on the pain--made it the only thing that was real--for a brief moment of utter whiteness I felt it all: the wet throbbing in my side that ey pounding pulse; the burning of my lungs with ever breath; the jagged hurt in my ankle; as long as there ain I was alive. In the tre of that pain I found my instinbsp; A bullet smmed into the underside of the bed and tore a jagged fist-sized hole and nearly took out my hip but suddenly I was moving again.

  I unched myself away from the bed with my good foot. Something exploded behind me. The broken, heelless shoe hit the floor; bone grinded against bone, ligament snapped and my leg gave out but force carried me forward to the ter even as the fl behind me erupted. I seized the ter edge and pulled myself over. Fosters dashed forward to catch me oher side but with the sure, strong arms of an acrobat I reversed my momentum and twisted across the surface as if riding parallel bars. I briefly touched my good foot down, tightly coiled beh me, to the edge of the tertop--and unched myself through the air, arms reag for my enemy even as he charged towards me.

  A final, wild shot nced out, clipping my shoulder. I smmed into Fosters--my fist broke his jaw--velocity carried us bad we hit the row of equipment behind. Fosters bore the brunt of the impabsp; The gu cttering across the room.

  We colpsed to the ground and id nearly side-by-side for an exhausted, dazed moment. Tried to rise--failed. I felt the blood p out my side. Not now. One hand grappled for something to hold and found purchase on a bookshelf and I used it to haul myself upright.

  Fosters staggered to his feet. He clutched a heavy length of metal snapped away from an equipment frame brokeh his weight. His moves were far slower than before; so were mine. The metal bar swept in a low arc, aiming for my bloodied side. I threw up the useless weight of my leg; the metal bar smmed into my shin and splintered bone.

  I dropped to the ground. Fosters stumbled forward. The metal bar hammered down. I threw up one desperate arm as a shield, the other scrabbling for purchase, for some kind of on. The bar hit my arm and gnced off and the entire limb went numb. He raised the on again and brought it down again. Another hit and my forearm broke and my other hand closed about something and with a demoniacal howl I jaifed forward and drove the impromptu on into Fosters’ foot.

  He roared with pain and the bar dropped to the floor with a loud g. My hand released the severed Jimmy Chou spike, now firmly imbedded in the arch of his foot. Before I could pull him down his hands dug into my hair and yanked me to my feet with such ferocioushat my scalp bled and the hair extensions tore and ripped away.

  “You fug,” his fist pulped my nose, “little,” another punch sealed my eye, “bitch!” he screamed, and with a final hit he sent me flying into the far et. My face shattered gss and surgical implements cerated my arms and hands. A moment ter--was it a moment?--I think I bcked out--Fosters charged across the room, metal bar raised high--I couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, couldn’t see--that same lucky hand closed around something--the metal bar ected with the side of my skull even as I pushed forward, my arm filing out wildly. . . .

  Everythi bck.

  My eyes snapped open. I was lying on my side on the floor across broken fragments of gss and pstid in a slowly growing puddle of blood. My eyes relutly focused on my hand, lying limply open. Ay palm rested a slender metal instrument that gleamed dully in the light. The tip beaded red. A scalpel.

  I heard a faint gurgle. Grudgingly, painfully, I slowly shifted towards the sound. Fosters y slumped against the wall. Both hands clutched at his throat and wild eyes stared in disbelief. Crimson welled from between his fingers and overflowed and ran down his front.

  I dragged myself closer. I stared deep into his eyes and with a great sense of fulfilment, watched him die. He pulled one hand from his throat and grappled futilely for me. I caught his arm by the wrist and yanked him forward until our foreheads touched.

  “This sissy just kicked your sorry ass,” I whispered.

  Fred at me with venomous hatred until his eyed dimmed, and finally closed, and his body crumpled and slid to the ground, dead.

  Author's Notes:

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