Hell Hath My Fury
Look what you made me do – Taylor Swift
Ria dragged the cigarette from her lips as she studied the bloodied man kneeling before her. She savoured the acrid smoke for a moment before blowing out rings and lowering her smoke. Her hand was shaking. Seeing it she stubbed the smoke, hard, on the tray beside her and fished out another one. After several attempts, plus an arch look from her head of security Flynn, she lit the cigarette and dragged the smoke into her lungs before she leant forward. She reached out with a manicured hand and lifted the man’s swollen chin.
“So, care to repeat what you just said – carefully,” she said with barely contained rage.
He trembled beneath her touch. Rightfully so. The city knew of her infamous temper and what it meant to cross her. After all, she’d clawed her way to the top with bloodied talons. She’d started as a underage prostitute hooked on drugs, stuck under a guy who liked to beat errant or defiant girls. Ria had been both. When she had her chance she got clean, blew the brains out of her pimp in front of Daario Gregari, the former mob boss. He hadn’t killed her, like she expected. After that, she saw her chance and fought her way to the top, ruthlessly and brutally. Eventually, she inherited the gang and took control of the city. No one had a line of bodies bigger than her.
There had only been one gang that posed a thread; a new group from Boston who wanted to expand. Their leader was mysterious, never seen, but supposedly very clever and infamous in his own right. She never expected that he’d been right under her nose the whole time.
“Eric Carmichael is the boss of the Delaney gang. I…I was part of his security.”
Flynn had tracked down a group of people who they’d thought were part of his ring. It had been a fluke – at least, it seemed like one – that they caught the man. Personally, it seemed far to be good to true.
She drew out her phone, scrolled for a picture of Eric, then showed it to the man. “This him?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
With a deep breath she finished her cigarette, mulling over her options. Flynn shot her a waiting look. He wanted orders. She flicked a hand, dismissing the man before her. Without blinking Flynn fired a single shot into his head and was off barking at the men outside the office to clean up the mess. Ria stretched back in her chair, a plan forming in her mind.
“Boss?”
“Yes, Flynn?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Start a war. My usual Monday.”
The first stage of her plan was a ruthless attack on every business that had even been rumoured to have been involved with the new gang. Businesses were burnt, warehouses raided, tips given to the cops, bribes made. Ria watched over it all from her office. By Friday she drove over to Eric’s modest apartment downtown. He told her he was an artist. The outside matched; a second level apartment in a refurbished warehouse, the balcony lush with foliage and unique wind chimes. Her first visit a few months ago she’d been enchanted by the chaotic whirl of colour, how it fought and blended, coexisted and didn’t all at once.
As she rode up the elevator she started to see all the signs that it was a lie. The front door with fresh paint, a polished number, a doormat that was too new – too everything. When she knocked the door swung open. Eric was there, shirtless, his hair wet from the shower. He smelt of aftershave and the lingering tang of paint. There was some smudges caked in his hands that the water hadn’t removed.
“Ria, hey. I wasn’t expecting you…”
She breezed past him. “I know but I had a hard day at work. I wanted to see you. Is it okay?”
“Always,” he said but there was a flicker of caution in his eyes.
She knew he must know who she was, that he was playing her. Had he figured out that the game was up?
“What are you working on now?” She asked, walking over to a covered canvas.
As she reached for it she heard him behind her; then –
A sharp prick in her neck. She spun but it was too late. She spiralled into darkness.
When she woke she was tied up to a chair, her wrists bound tight. There was no blindfold on her face. As her eyes groggily lifted from the ground she found him sitting on a chair, staring at her, the kind man she’d cared about gone. The illusion was shattered. Inside her mind she felt her resolve sharpen.
“So, you know.”
“Your men were sloppy,” she said with a smirk.
In a flash he was on his feet and she barely registered his hand before she felt the sting of his blow. Blood pooled in her mouth. She spat it on the ground and grinned.
“You punch like a girl,” she taunted.
As she spoke she was working her wrists, shimmying out a blade she had in her sleeve – one he’d missed, clearly. His mistake.
“I cared about you, Ria.”
She struggled exaggeratingly against the bonds. “Oh, yeah, I’m feeling the love right now.”
“You were coming to kill me, weren’t you?”
“The thought crossed my mind. So, what will you do now? Am I to die in this crappy shit heap?” She said with mock indignation.
He sighed. “We both know how this ends.”
The blade in her sleeve came free. She caught it and sliced through her bonds. As he looked away, his mind drifting for a moment, she exploded from her chair, running straight at him. He reacted, diving to the side but she was on him. Desperately, he grasped at her hands, stopping her from driving the blade into his neck. They wrestled, rolling here and there, a tangle of limbs and blows. Once, he almost got his hands on her neck but she was trained. Years on the street had hardened her. She fought dirty and she fought mean. Every cheap shot in the book she could do she did. As she drove her hand into his groin, he recoiled, stunned. In a blink she flipped back onto her feet and had drawn his gun. He barely had time to think before she flicked off the safety.
“You were right, Eric. We both know how this ends.” She wiped the blood from her mouth, spitting again on the ground. “I am the Queen of this city, this is my land. You were an idiot to think you could beat me.”
She fired, just once, and the deed was done. The Queen walked from that apartment, her throne once again safe.
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