Chapter Text
Prologue: Not a Woman
I stand, gun pointed at his head.
The weight of the pistol feels comfortable in my grip. A few weeks ago, I would’ve sworn to never seen a handgun before--not outside of one of those movies Tom likes and I hate, or in some horrible fever dream. The thought of holding one, let alone firing it, would have left me in terrified hysterics. Now the ugly thing nestles easily in my grip. The feel of the cold metal is once again familiar: its textured grip, the deadly weight.
But then, many new things have become familiar in the past two years: the flash of glossy pink on the painted nails resting at the pistol’s trigger; the sweep of long blonde hair at the edge of vision; the taste of lipstick. The precarious balance and high arch of stilettos, now comfortable. I’ve learned to love my breasts, their feel and touch and weight—the way they move and the pretty bra that cups them, and even the feel of a man’s hand over them.
But that empty feeling between my legs? Not that . . . that will never be familiar. Now one of the bastards responsible sits tied to a chair, hands behind his back, face bloodied and back bowed. I stand, gun pointed at his head. There is beauty to the simplicity of the image. My slender bared shoulder and outstretched arm, a delicate silver bracelet flashing in the flickering half-light of the dirty little room. It is not indecision that causes the tremble in my arm. There is a meter of empty space, and then Tom’s face, bruised eyes squeezed shut in fear. Not for the first time I admire the elegance that reveals itself in the ugliness of violence. After all I’ve endured: finally, revenge.
The moment he opens his eyes I’ll shoot. I want to see the look in my husband’s eyes one last time.
“Oh, God. Please, no, not this.” His voice pleads and I thrill at the power I hold over him. It’s been so long since I’ve felt powerful. The bastard keeps his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m so—it doesn’t—have to be this way. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t answer. I imagine that the gun begins to feel heavy. In some ways I’m a lot weaker than I used to be.
“Cindy,” he says. “Please.”
“My name is not Cindy,” I hiss.
He takes a deep, shaky breath. “David,” he says.
“Say it again.” I want to shout but my voice catches in my throat and finally escapes hardly louder than a whisper. This has already gone on for too long, and there isn’t much time. The sound of violence outside the room, of other dramas unfolding, lives ending, retributions being paid or earned, favours owed and paid—steadily grows. “Open your eyes.”
“David,” he repeats.
“Look at me!”
He opens his eyes. He looks straight into me. His eyes are blue but so clear they seem nearly transparent. They are the most alluring feature of a very attractive man. A woman could easily lose herself in those gentle depths. I did, once.
“I’m so sorry,” he says.
But I am not a woman. I squeeze the trigger.
Chapter 01: Doing the Right Thing
“You’re doing the right thing,” Agent K said. “Something good.” Her name was Special Agent Katherine Smith, and she was my guardian angel. I’d taken to simply calling her K. It annoyed her, which is why I did it. Tall and slender in a sleek grey suit, she stood by me and her grip on my shoulder was strong as she looked down and straight into me. “Trust me.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one stepping in front of a packed courtroom in front of Jeremiah-fucking-Steele, accusing him of murder. This guy wasn’t some backstreet thug who’d knocked over a liquor store. He was a rich—terribly rich—and powerful—extremely powerful—man, a pharmaceutical magnate and all-around nasty piece of work. The media mill churned out endless rumours that had him involved in all kinds of stuff. Shady stuff, you know?
He was also my boss.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t scare easily. Growing up, I got involved in some pretty heavy shit, the kind of shit you bury deep and do your best to forget about. I’m not particularly proud of my past. I’m not ashamed of it either. But if the people I know now found out the stuff I’ve done? That’d probably be the last of the few friendships I enjoyed.
Now, one of the few unquestionable wisdoms I’d cultivated from my youth—a lesson learned through pain and loss—was knowing who -not- to fuck with. I knew better than to mess with a mean bastard like Jeremiah Steele. Squealing on him was asking for a whole world of pain and retribution. Agent K reassuring me I was doing the right thing sort of missed the point. I knew full well what I’d gotten myself into and I had my own goddamn reasons for doing so, and it being the “right thing” wasn’t really one of them.
See, I’m a mean bastard myself. I really am; I’m not a nice guy. Now, being an asshole has done me well in my current line of work. It’s a different world than when I was a kid – but not that different. Back then I ran with a gang and did… other shit. Now I’m a director for NeoPharm, I mingle with execs and all that shit and it only takes a peek beneath the surface to see this corporate existence isn’t exactly holding the moral high ground. Sure, there’s the Saville Row suits and Nikke Sekkei offices and the fountains might as well spew Moet for all the conspicuous wealth on display. Even better, there’s always some fine, young piece of ass walking through the office in a tight skirt and heels, ready to cash in a fine meal, a few stiff drinks and the right line of chat for a good fuck. But all that corporate respectability’s nothing more than a thin veneer laid over the self-serving pricks and back-room politics going on, the relentless, empty grabbing at power and wealth, like Chanel sprayed over a pile of dogshit.
Seriously, I thought I was an asshole, but then my old company got bought out by NeoPharm, and our new corporate overlords? They made even me feel good about myself. And yeah, NeoPharm. You buy their products. You’ve got their vaccine inside of you. They saved the world, apparently, and now it’s the boss’s flagship holding company and I swear, sometimes it feels half the world’s a subsidiary of Jeremiah fucking Steele’s corporate empire.
I was starting to look for another job when it all started, this whole, twisted fucked up series of events. If only I’d gotten out faster. I’d taken my time looking for a job. The Earth was still barrelling headlong into self-immolation, plagues and pandemics ran rampant and people were more fucked up than ever by the internet, by drugs, by their own hopeless expectations–but fuck it, the economy was strong and a healthy pay check made me picky. I just didn’t want to work for a scumbag like Steele. Like I said, I’m an asshole but even I’ve got my limits. Some things I just won’t do. I’d like to think I’ve got a, you know, code or something, although that makes it sound far grander than what it is. It’s not like I’ve ever sat down and thought it through or made a book of it. Trust me, I’m not that clever. It’s not the bloody Hagakure or anything like that. I’m no damned samurai. But I know what I think is right, and what I think is wrong.
For instance, I’ll never backstab a friend. Ever. Way I see it, that’s the worst thing a man can do, because a friend--a real friend? One you can trust with your back?--is the most valuable thing you’ll ever have in this world. When you get down to it, there ain’t much I wouldn’t do for a friend. This I’ve learned the hard way, and even if I’ve not got that many, I take care of the ones I’ve got.
And so, yeah, I didn’t need this Agent K telling me I was doing the right thing. I mean, I saw Jeremiah fucking Steels blow some guy’s head off, right there on the top floor of our corporate HQ.
Did I same ‘some guy’? Ha! Georgio Antazzi wasn’t just some guy, any more than Sakura was just some girl I once worked for. And yeah, I said Antazzi--that guy, the son of Antonio Antazzi, mob boss and underworld psychopath. Georgio: the apple of his father’s eye, the billionaire golden boy, the one who’d gone legal and done good.
Seeing those two together carried all kinds of implications. The video footage off my phone made those implications concrete: underworld connections, the intimidation and murder of corporate rivals, the movement of highly illicit substances across internal and international borders. And then there’s the scintillating dialogue overheard between the two before Georgio became a red smear across the floor; the clip of Steele unloading three bullets into the other man’s head was the stuff of the prosecution’s wet dreams.
So, yeah, chance to take down the bad guy? Especially when that guy’s your boss? Of course I’m going to do it. Even if only half the rumours are true, the guy had it coming. Agent K figures that with my testimony there’ll be enough on Steele to take him down, and hard, especially with all the extra inquiries that’ll be launched into his shady dealings. And if the legal system doesn’t get him, she figures, then the backlash he’ll suffer from his allies and enemies should do him in. Even a man like Steele has to worry about the likes of Antazzi. Agent K seemed to have some kind of personal grudge against that Steele which was fine by me.
Me, I’m not so sure anything I say or show in that courtroom’s going to make much difference. Men like Steele, they get away with murder and theft and worse the way a sexy girl with a pretty smile dodges a speeding ticket.
So why do this?
Two reasons: because I can’t stand the fucker; and because of Tom.
Now, pissing off a guy like Jeremiah Steele can get you worse than killed. I was, in some ways, an ideal candidate for bearing witness against the man. I’m lucky, I guess, that I don’t have any family to worry about. Mom and I aren’t exactly close; or to be more precise, as far as she’s concerned I disappeared or died years ago, and I doubt she cares. I didn’t exactly have a lot of friends, and the few I’d consider close I hadn’t seen in years. More to the point, they can take care of themselves: any dumbass going after them will deserve whatever they get.
And as for me--well, fuck it. I felt strangely ambivalent about walking away from my job, my condo, and the shit I’d accumulated over the past ten years. I’d worked hard to get where I was, and felt some pride in that. Yet at the same time, I felt like I could just walk away from all that shit and not miss it at all.
So, yeah, normally the thought of putting myself forward for something dangerous wouldn’t have me too worried. After all, even though I haven’t had to in years, I knew I could make myself disappear if necessary. It’s one of the few benefits of a messed up childhood: you learn to take care of yourself.
This was different, though. This was Jeremiah Steele.
I’ve rubbed shoulders with the powerful before, with the but nobody in this guy’s league. The dude’s seriously dangerous. Vengeful. Even if only half the rumours are true, you don’t get away from this guy. Unfortunately, rumours are usually only half the real story. In my experience, it’s the really scary stuff that people don’t know about.
Really, my only real concern in all this is Tom. I dragged him into this and if anyone finds out he’s fucked. He’s way out of his league with this shit, and yeah, I feel guilty for dragging him into this. But if I do this thing, hopefully he’ll come out okay and escape Steele’s attention.
“You ready?” K asked.
I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
Chapter 01: Doing the Right Thing
“You’re doing the right thing,” Agent K said. “Something good.” Her name was Special Agent Katherine Smith, and she was my guardian angel. I’d taken to simply calling her K. It annoyed her, which is why I did it. Tall and slender in a sleek grey suit, she stood by me and her grip on my shoulder was strong as she looked down and straight into me. “Trust me.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one stepping in front of a packed courtroom in front of Jeremiah-fucking-Steele, accusing him of murder. This guy wasn’t some backstreet thug who’d knocked over a liquor store. He was a rich—terribly rich—and powerful—extremely powerful—man, a pharmaceutical magnate and all-around nasty piece of work. The media mill churned out endless rumours that had him involved in all kinds of stuff. Shady stuff, you know?
He was also my boss.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t scare easily. Growing up, I got involved in some pretty heavy shit, the kind of shit you bury deep and do your best to forget about. I’m not particularly proud of my past. I’m not ashamed of it either. But if the people I know now found out the stuff I’ve done? That’d probably be the last of the few friendships I enjoyed.
Now, one of the few unquestionable wisdoms I’d cultivated from my youth—a lesson learned through pain and loss—was knowing who -not- to fuck with. I knew better than to mess with a mean bastard like Jeremiah Steele. Squealing on him was asking for a whole world of pain and retribution. Agent K reassuring me I was doing the right thing sort of missed the point. I knew full well what I’d gotten myself into and I had my own goddamn reasons for doing so, and it being the “right thing” wasn’t really one of them.
See, I’m a mean bastard myself. I really am; I’m not a nice guy. Now, being an asshole has done me well in my current line of work. It’s a different world than when I was a kid – but not that different. Back then I ran with a gang and did… other shit. Now I’m a director for NeoPharm, I mingle with execs and all that shit and it only takes a peek beneath the surface to see this corporate existence isn’t exactly holding the moral high ground. Sure, there’s the Saville Row suits and Nikke Sekkei offices and the fountains might as well spew Moet for all the conspicuous wealth on display. Even better, there’s always some fine, young piece of ass walking through the office in a tight skirt and heels, ready to cash in a fine meal, a few stiff drinks and the right line of chat for a good fuck. But all that corporate respectability’s nothing more than a thin veneer laid over the self-serving pricks and back-room politics going on, the relentless, empty grabbing at power and wealth, like Chanel sprayed over a pile of dogshit.
Seriously, I thought I was an asshole, but then my old company got bought out by NeoPharm, and our new corporate overlords? They made even me feel good about myself. And yeah, NeoPharm. You buy their products. You’ve got their vaccine inside of you. They saved the world, apparently, and now it’s the boss’s flagship holding company and I swear, sometimes it feels half the world’s a subsidiary of Jeremiah fucking Steele’s corporate empire.
I was starting to look for another job when it all started, this whole, twisted fucked up series of events. If only I’d gotten out faster. I’d taken my time looking for a job. The Earth was still barrelling headlong into self-immolation, plagues and pandemics ran rampant and people were more fucked up than ever by the internet, by drugs, by their own hopeless expectations–but fuck it, the economy was strong and a healthy pay check made me picky. I just didn’t want to work for a scumbag like Steele. Like I said, I’m an asshole but even I’ve got my limits. Some things I just won’t do. I’d like to think I’ve got a, you know, code or something, although that makes it sound far grander than what it is. It’s not like I’ve ever sat down and thought it through or made a book of it. Trust me, I’m not that clever. It’s not the bloody Hagakure or anything like that. I’m no damned samurai. But I know what I think is right, and what I think is wrong.
For instance, I’ll never backstab a friend. Ever. Way I see it, that’s the worst thing a man can do, because a friend--a real friend? One you can trust with your back?--is the most valuable thing you’ll ever have in this world. When you get down to it, there ain’t much I wouldn’t do for a friend. This I’ve learned the hard way, and even if I’ve not got that many, I take care of the ones I’ve got.
And so, yeah, I didn’t need this Agent K telling me I was doing the right thing. I mean, I saw Jeremiah fucking Steels blow some guy’s head off, right there on the top floor of our corporate HQ.
Did I same ‘some guy’? Ha! Georgio Antazzi wasn’t just some guy, any more than Sakura was just some girl I once worked for. And yeah, I said Antazzi--that guy, the son of Antonio Antazzi, mob boss and underworld psychopath. Georgio: the apple of his father’s eye, the billionaire golden boy, the one who’d gone legal and done good.
Seeing those two together carried all kinds of implications. The video footage off my phone made those implications concrete: underworld connections, the intimidation and murder of corporate rivals, the movement of highly illicit substances across internal and international borders. And then there’s the scintillating dialogue overheard between the two before Georgio became a red smear across the floor; the clip of Steele unloading three bullets into the other man’s head was the stuff of the prosecution’s wet dreams.
So, yeah, chance to take down the bad guy? Especially when that guy’s your boss? Of course I’m going to do it. Even if only half the rumours are true, the guy had it coming. Agent K figures that with my testimony there’ll be enough on Steele to take him down, and hard, especially with all the extra inquiries that’ll be launched into his shady dealings. And if the legal system doesn’t get him, she figures, then the backlash he’ll suffer from his allies and enemies should do him in. Even a man like Steele has to worry about the likes of Antazzi. Agent K seemed to have some kind of personal grudge against that Steele which was fine by me.
Me, I’m not so sure anything I say or show in that courtroom’s going to make much difference. Men like Steele, they get away with murder and theft and worse the way a sexy girl with a pretty smile dodges a speeding ticket.
So why do this?
Two reasons: because I can’t stand the fucker; and because of Tom.
Now, pissing off a guy like Jeremiah Steele can get you worse than killed. I was, in some ways, an ideal candidate for bearing witness against the man. I’m lucky, I guess, that I don’t have any family to worry about. Mom and I aren’t exactly close; or to be more precise, as far as she’s concerned I disappeared or died years ago, and I doubt she cares. I didn’t exactly have a lot of friends, and the few I’d consider close I hadn’t seen in years. More to the point, they can take care of themselves: any dumbass going after them will deserve whatever they get.
And as for me--well, fuck it. I felt strangely ambivalent about walking away from my job, my condo, and the shit I’d accumulated over the past ten years. I’d worked hard to get where I was, and felt some pride in that. Yet at the same time, I felt like I could just walk away from all that shit and not miss it at all.
So, yeah, normally the thought of putting myself forward for something dangerous wouldn’t have me too worried. After all, even though I haven’t had to in years, I knew I could make myself disappear if necessary. It’s one of the few benefits of a messed up childhood: you learn to take care of yourself.
This was different, though. This was Jeremiah Steele.
I’ve rubbed shoulders with the powerful before, with the but nobody in this guy’s league. The dude’s seriously dangerous. Vengeful. Even if only half the rumours are true, you don’t get away from this guy. Unfortunately, rumours are usually only half the real story. In my experience, it’s the really scary stuff that people don’t know about.
Really, my only real concern in all this is Tom. I dragged him into this and if anyone finds out he’s fucked. He’s way out of his league with this shit, and yeah, I feel guilty for dragging him into this. But if I do this thing, hopefully he’ll come out okay and escape Steele’s attention.
“You ready?” K asked.
I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
Chapter 01: Doing the Right Thing
“You’re doing the right thing,” Agent K said. “Something good.” Her name was Special Agent Katherine Smith, and she was my guardian angel. I’d taken to simply calling her K. It annoyed her, which is why I did it. Tall and slender in a sleek grey suit, she stood by me and her grip on my shoulder was strong as she looked down and straight into me. “Trust me.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one stepping in front of a packed courtroom in front of Jeremiah-fucking-Steele, accusing him of murder. This guy wasn’t some backstreet thug who’d knocked over a liquor store. He was a rich—terribly rich—and powerful—extremely powerful—man, a pharmaceutical magnate and all-around nasty piece of work. The media mill churned out endless rumours that had him involved in all kinds of stuff. Shady stuff, you know?
He was also my boss.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t scare easily. Growing up, I got involved in some pretty heavy shit, the kind of shit you bury deep and do your best to forget about. I’m not particularly proud of my past. I’m not ashamed of it either. But if the people I know now found out the stuff I’ve done? That’d probably be the last of the few friendships I enjoyed.
Now, one of the few unquestionable wisdoms I’d cultivated from my youth—a lesson learned through pain and loss—was knowing who -not- to fuck with. I knew better than to mess with a mean bastard like Jeremiah Steele. Squealing on him was asking for a whole world of pain and retribution. Agent K reassuring me I was doing the right thing sort of missed the point. I knew full well what I’d gotten myself into and I had my own goddamn reasons for doing so, and it being the “right thing” wasn’t really one of them.
See, I’m a mean bastard myself. I really am; I’m not a nice guy. Now, being an asshole has done me well in my current line of work. It’s a different world than when I was a kid – but not that different. Back then I ran with a gang and did… other shit. Now I’m a director for NeoPharm, I mingle with execs and all that shit and it only takes a peek beneath the surface to see this corporate existence isn’t exactly holding the moral high ground. Sure, there’s the Saville Row suits and Nikke Sekkei offices and the fountains might as well spew Moet for all the conspicuous wealth on display. Even better, there’s always some fine, young piece of ass walking through the office in a tight skirt and heels, ready to cash in a fine meal, a few stiff drinks and the right line of chat for a good fuck. But all that corporate respectability’s nothing more than a thin veneer laid over the self-serving pricks and back-room politics going on, the relentless, empty grabbing at power and wealth, like Chanel sprayed over a pile of dogshit.
Seriously, I thought I was an asshole, but then my old company got bought out by NeoPharm, and our new corporate overlords? They made even me feel good about myself. And yeah, NeoPharm. You buy their products. You’ve got their vaccine inside of you. They saved the world, apparently, and now it’s the boss’s flagship holding company and I swear, sometimes it feels half the world’s a subsidiary of Jeremiah fucking Steele’s corporate empire.
I was starting to look for another job when it all started, this whole, twisted fucked up series of events. If only I’d gotten out faster. I’d taken my time looking for a job. The Earth was still barrelling headlong into self-immolation, plagues and pandemics ran rampant and people were more fucked up than ever by the internet, by drugs, by their own hopeless expectations–but fuck it, the economy was strong and a healthy pay check made me picky. I just didn’t want to work for a scumbag like Steele. Like I said, I’m an asshole but even I’ve got my limits. Some things I just won’t do. I’d like to think I’ve got a, you know, code or something, although that makes it sound far grander than what it is. It’s not like I’ve ever sat down and thought it through or made a book of it. Trust me, I’m not that clever. It’s not the bloody Hagakure or anything like that. I’m no damned samurai. But I know what I think is right, and what I think is wrong.
For instance, I’ll never backstab a friend. Ever. Way I see it, that’s the worst thing a man can do, because a friend--a real friend? One you can trust with your back?--is the most valuable thing you’ll ever have in this world. When you get down to it, there ain’t much I wouldn’t do for a friend. This I’ve learned the hard way, and even if I’ve not got that many, I take care of the ones I’ve got.
And so, yeah, I didn’t need this Agent K telling me I was doing the right thing. I mean, I saw Jeremiah fucking Steels blow some guy’s head off, right there on the top floor of our corporate HQ.
Did I same ‘some guy’? Ha! Georgio Antazzi wasn’t just some guy, any more than Sakura was just some girl I once worked for. And yeah, I said Antazzi--that guy, the son of Antonio Antazzi, mob boss and underworld psychopath. Georgio: the apple of his father’s eye, the billionaire golden boy, the one who’d gone legal and done good.
Seeing those two together carried all kinds of implications. The video footage off my phone made those implications concrete: underworld connections, the intimidation and murder of corporate rivals, the movement of highly illicit substances across internal and international borders. And then there’s the scintillating dialogue overheard between the two before Georgio became a red smear across the floor; the clip of Steele unloading three bullets into the other man’s head was the stuff of the prosecution’s wet dreams.
So, yeah, chance to take down the bad guy? Especially when that guy’s your boss? Of course I’m going to do it. Even if only half the rumours are true, the guy had it coming. Agent K figures that with my testimony there’ll be enough on Steele to take him down, and hard, especially with all the extra inquiries that’ll be launched into his shady dealings. And if the legal system doesn’t get him, she figures, then the backlash he’ll suffer from his allies and enemies should do him in. Even a man like Steele has to worry about the likes of Antazzi. Agent K seemed to have some kind of personal grudge against that Steele which was fine by me.
Me, I’m not so sure anything I say or show in that courtroom’s going to make much difference. Men like Steele, they get away with murder and theft and worse the way a sexy girl with a pretty smile dodges a speeding ticket.
So why do this?
Two reasons: because I can’t stand the fucker; and because of Tom.
Now, pissing off a guy like Jeremiah Steele can get you worse than killed. I was, in some ways, an ideal candidate for bearing witness against the man. I’m lucky, I guess, that I don’t have any family to worry about. Mom and I aren’t exactly close; or to be more precise, as far as she’s concerned I disappeared or died years ago, and I doubt she cares. I didn’t exactly have a lot of friends, and the few I’d consider close I hadn’t seen in years. More to the point, they can take care of themselves: any dumbass going after them will deserve whatever they get.
And as for me--well, fuck it. I felt strangely ambivalent about walking away from my job, my condo, and the shit I’d accumulated over the past ten years. I’d worked hard to get where I was, and felt some pride in that. Yet at the same time, I felt like I could just walk away from all that shit and not miss it at all.
So, yeah, normally the thought of putting myself forward for something dangerous wouldn’t have me too worried. After all, even though I haven’t had to in years, I knew I could make myself disappear if necessary. It’s one of the few benefits of a messed up childhood: you learn to take care of yourself.
This was different, though. This was Jeremiah Steele.
I’ve rubbed shoulders with the powerful before, with the but nobody in this guy’s league. The dude’s seriously dangerous. Vengeful. Even if only half the rumours are true, you don’t get away from this guy. Unfortunately, rumours are usually only half the real story. In my experience, it’s the really scary stuff that people don’t know about.
Really, my only real concern in all this is Tom. I dragged him into this and if anyone finds out he’s fucked. He’s way out of his league with this shit, and yeah, I feel guilty for dragging him into this. But if I do this thing, hopefully he’ll come out okay and escape Steele’s attention.
“You ready?” K asked.
I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”