“Serpien is sleeping,” she said. “Drive retrieved. And tell wardrobe I need new heels. These have blood on them.”
She smiled. “I’m dressed for a photoshoot . The fight is just cardio.”
She was the Hi Kix Kick Ass Model Habit. A mouthful, yes, but so was a roundhouse to the teeth. By day, she graced magazine covers in Milan. By night, she was a mixed-fighting retrieval agent for a shadow syndicate that paid in uncut sapphires. Her habit? She never lost. And she always, always kicked high. “Serpien is sleeping,” she said
“Kandy,” he hissed. “You’re not dressed for a fight.”
The neon snake sign of the Serpiente casino coiled and uncoiled above the Bangkok rain. Inside, the air was thick with jasmine smoke and bad intentions. Kandy didn’t breathe it in. Kandy tasted it—like old silver and betrayal. These have blood on them
Kandy knelt beside him, pulled a tiny magnetic scalpel from her hairpin, and sliced open the skin at the base of his skull. One click. The fang-drive was hers.
The fourth and fifth came together. Kandy flowed between them like water. Elbow to the jaw. Knee to the liver. Axe kick to the collarbone. Each strike was precise, elegant, and utterly devastating. The sixth man hesitated. She stepped inside his guard, grabbed his wrist, and used his own momentum to throw him into a slot machine. Jackpot. Bells rang. A mouthful, yes, but so was a roundhouse to the teeth
It was the habit of never, ever finishing a story the way anyone expected.