Chapter 1

“And just what are you going to do about it bitch?” the heavily muscular man wearing a tank top asks as he withdraws a knife.

“This,” Grace Fairchild, a woman with fiery red hair, answers while pulling out a pistol. She points it at the man’s head and before he has a chance to object, she pulls the trigger.

He falls back onto the floor. The strip club goes silent. The dancers stop dancing, the patron keep watching, just not the dancers anymore All eyes have turned to the woman and the now dead man. A few of the man’s friends stand up from their respective tables, reaching for their own weapons. Seeing two possessing pistols, Grace fires a series of rapid shots into them both, dropping them just like their late friend.

She slides her pistol away and thrusts her hand out to the side. In an instant, a sleek, red knife forms in her hand. “Let anyone who thinks he best me, face me!” she shouts. “Or ... leave now and live.”

Those of the man’s crew that are still standing, look to each other. None are really sure how serious this woman is or whether she can actually take them all on. Four of the crew eventually put their weapons away and turn, leaving the club. The remaining five step forward.

“You can’t take us all on, bitch,” one of the men threatens.

“Very well,” she sighs. “I’ll send you to your deaths then.”

The five men laugh amongst themselves as they spread to surround the lithe woman. Then the first attacks her from behind with a thrust of his knife. Grace spins around with the tip of her sleek blade pointed downward, effectively blocking the attack. Using the momentum of the turn, she continues and blocks the next attack to her exposed back and then the next in the same manner. She lets the men stay on the offense, not that it matters in the slightest.

Grace could have disarmed them, taken hands or even heads off, but she chooses to have a little fun with them. After a while, Grace starts to get bored and fluently from defense to offense. Playtime is now over. The next knife comes at her. She blocks with hers and in that instant, the sleek knife grows to a full length sword. The man’s eyes go wide with unbelief.

“It’s over,” Grace says smoothly.

Then she is stepping in toward the man, producing her pistol out of what might as well have been nowhere. She gives him a wink and pulls the trigger, shooting him through the chest. Without missing a beat, Grace turns and fires at the approaching man to her immediate right. He faces a fate similar to the first. His knife falls out of his hands and he stumbles back falling onto a table. The table quickly gives under his weight, snapping in two and burying the man beneath its remnants.

The remaining three men stop their approach and step back slightly. They grip their weapons tighter. Two have knives like the others while the last has only a broken bottle. None of them have pistols. The club doesn’t allow them. Once again they split apart and one of them faces her while the other two approaches from opposite sides.

“You sick bitch,” the one facing Grace growls. “You think you’re so great? We’ll see how smart you are when we fuck your corpse.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Grace mocks. She slides her pistol away again and gestures for them to attack.

The thug looks to the other two and gives them a curt nod before charging. Grace waits until the last possible moment. She steps back as the two men at her sides thrust in, one with a knife and the other the broken bottle. Her sword shortens and vanishes in the blink of an eye, leaving her free to grab both the men’s wrists. She pulls them together, using their own momentum to stab each other.

Now with all his allies dead or dying, the last remaining ma of the group continues his mad charge in desperation. But before he can even take two more steps, Grace whips around her hand. From it a thick red tendril shoots out, slamming with such force into the man’s head that it flies backward, along with the rest of his body.

The red tendril retracts back, disappearing as if it never was. She runs her fingers through the air, into a fist before releasing her invisible grip. She smiles and asks, “Is there anyone else that wishes to challenge me?”

“I think I’m up for that challenge,” a deep voice says from behind her.

Grace turns to see the bouncer, a large man built like a tree. She recognizes him from when she first came in. It’s odd for the bouncer to get involved in a bar fight. The only explanation is that he was promised pay. The confirmation to her thought comes next.

“It seems the boys from Jax’s crew you’re ruffing up need some assistance,” he informs her.

Grace crosses her arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Mmm hmm,” the big man hums his agreement.

“I take it they’re paying you too,” she says.

“Yep,” he grunts. “They’re paying me five hours work for two minutes of my time. Who could pass such an offer up? I am sorry that I will have to mess up that pretty little face of yours though.” He then pulls out a knife the length of her forearm.

With a slight smile, she says, “No, it’s too bad I’m going to have to mess up your handsome face.”

The man stops for a brief moment. Her words are just enough to give him pause. She knows the gears in his head are turning as he runs through different scenarios of how this can turn out.

To help him along and get it over with, Grace says, “If you plan to use that knife then I suggest you get it over with. I won’t even use my gun. So hurry up, I don’t have all day. Or maybe you wizened up? Then you can take your piece of shit ass back to that door and get back to your work.”

The rough and tough looking bouncer, easily twice her size, grunts and leaps forward striking out. Grace slides to one side allowing the knife blade to harmlessly slide past her. She brings up her hand, grabbing the man by the wrist. Her arm comes up, striking at his and effectively snapping his arm at the elbow. The knife is instantly knocked free to clatter on the floor.

With near lightning speed, Grace reforms the sleek, red sword and spins to cut through his leg at the knee, dropping him to the floor. She continues with the momentum, turning the blade, lashing out for the man’s descending head. She misses by mere inches as he ducks down at the last moment.

His arm hangs limp at his side, the bouncer pulls another knife out with his remaining hand and swings upward. Grace has to jump backward to avoid the blade. “Give it up asshole,” she spats. Grace smiles and fires three shots into the man’s chest, sending him backward to the floor. “He had his chance,” she mutters to herself as the sword shortens once again back to her hand.

She looks around, searching for anyone else foolish enough to attack her. The dancers and the patrons visiting the club seem to be on edge waiting for the same thing. But no one else steps up. And after a full minute goes by in silence everyone realizes it is over though most of the dancers and patrons are unsure what comes next.

Grace scans the faces all around her. Most are either scared or so indifference, but one catches her attention. A dancer still clothed in a school girl stripper outfit. She must have just gotten on stage when the fighting began. She has a look of defiance on her face.

Is this the girl I came looking for?

She catches the girl’s eyes and they lock. They stand there staring at each other for a moment before the girl steps off the stage. As if drawn by some unseen force, the girl slips over to the fiery red haired woman, right into her arms. Her inhaling of Grace’s breath is unavoidable.

“You’re like a lioness. I like cats, especially such big ones,” the girl says.

Grace nods her understanding and pulls the girl’s soft, yielding body closer. She presses her mouth to the stripper’s and feels the girl melt into her arms. The stripper’s jaw goes slack as Grace teases the girl’s mouth open to receive more of her probing, stabbing tongue. Then with a wet suck, Grace pulls back from the girl’s mouth to see a heavy lidded, lusty expression.