“If you think you’re going to get answers out of me, you’re obviously used to dealing with pussies.” Rumi locked her eyes onto the man taunting her. His chest was heaving, panting for oxygen between dry coughs produced by the...
“If you think you’re going to get answers out of me, you’re obviously used to dealing with pussies.”
Rumi locked her eyes onto the man taunting her. His chest was heaving, panting for oxygen between dry coughs produced by the shock of her gun. A tiny pool of blood puddled around the back of his head, the darkness of the crimson matching that dripping from his nostrils and coating his lips.
She looked him up and down, silently admiring the damage she and Keating caused. “And you’re obviously one of them,” Rumi countered. “And one working with a hacker who helped you and your partner track down your targets. Who are you? And what gang are you two affiliated with?”
A deep, sardonic chuckle escaped from her opponent’s mouth, exposing his blood stained teeth. “Eat shit and die, cunt.”
Without speaking, Rumi pressed her stun gun against the gunman’s shoulder and pulled its trigger, unleashing a burst of electricity into her attacker’s body. She remained perfectly still on his torso as he nearly raised off the floor, his limbs stiffening under the effect of electrical currents racing though him. Rumi watched the back of his head lift off the floor, eyelids squeezing tightly as screams stayed trapped behind clenched teeth and pride. When Rumi released the trigger, she felt his frame relax beneath her, his head returning to the floor with sheets of perspiration dampening his forehead and dark brown hair, the smell of scorched flesh assaulting her nose.
The gunman’s eyes snapped open, exposing green eyes that shone with malice. “Kibaszott kurva!” he grunted, gasping from the onset of shock.
“Again. Your name and the group you work for,” Rumi requested sharply, “unless you really want me to go in on you.”
“You think this harms me?” the henchman asked, laughing harshly between a chain of coughs. “You can shock me until the batteries die and I still won’t tell you a fucking thing, Rumi Peterson.”
A chill ran down Rumi’s spine at the sound of her name. She was aware of F.I.T.E.’s reputation in the Red District due to the organization’s line of work. But she also made sure that her identity and that of her comrades were undisclosed so no one knew about this element of it. Especially those associated with the black market. How did he find out?
“Yeah—I know who you are. Even as you hide your face, you’re visible. But the fact that I said your name is the least of your problems. Understand that shit.”
Rumi mentally cringed as a couple more coughs rolled from the henchman’s mouth while he turned his head to the side to spit out the blood that almost suffocated him.
“Who are you people?” Martin asked calmly.
“I am Benjámin Andrassy,” he responded, placing a hand on his chest and letting it fall to his side. “The man in your living room is my brother, Áron, for whom I apologize for inflicting upon you bodily harm.”
“That’s nice to know, but your apology won’t give me two new teeth. I want to know how you found me. Did you or your brother hack into my computer?”
Benjámin shook his head, allowing a lock of hair to brush over his forehead. “No. We received the information from an anonymous source. Afterwards, we were instructed to find your residence, apprehend the woman, kill you and make it look like a burglary gone wrong. Once we completed the job, we would be paid.”
“Paid?” Lianna asked, shifting her attention to the other man. “By whom, Benjámin?”
“I do not know, Friend.”
“You don’t know?” Martin intersected. “How can you not?”
Lianna turned to Martin again and shot him an irritated look. “Hoonii!”
“Look, Lianna. I get it. He somehow got you to trust him, but you know what? I don’t.”
“I understand why you don’t believe me,” Benjámin said, “but I assure you that I am telling you the truth.”
“Well, this whole encounter is unbelievable right now,” Martin countered bitterly, “especially since your shithead brother could’ve fucking killed me. And if it weren’t for the woman and an empty bottle for his skull, he would’ve.”
“Woman?” Benjámin asked with innocent confusion. “What woman?”