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  The air behind the club contradicted its classy interior with the scent of garbage, urine, and spilled alcohol. Nia’s face cringed as she held her breath, the various odors merging into a pungent aroma that bored into her sense of smell like a drill. She stopped moving and listened to the air, picking up the sounds of humming engines and boots grinding into the asphalt.

  She locked her focus on the edge of the Jazz Hall’s roof. She crouched and sprang upward, grinding her heels in the cinderblock wall behind her, and then springing off of it, launching herself to the gravel-covered surface of the roof. She straightened herself out and stealthily approached the edge of the roof, overlooking the narrow street, and saw several armed soldiers flitting about. They were taking triangular attack positions in front of the club with assault rifles aimed at the door, their jeeps forming a half circle around the bit of street in front of the Jazz Hall, blocking anyone from entering or exiting. Nia shook her head.

  Why did it have to be you, Vincent? You’re Corp Hudson’s head of security. Couldn’t you have sent one of your yes-men out here? I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.

  Nia glared at Vincent. He had a bullhorn in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He walked about while he spoke into his amplifier, looking left and right, clearly uncertain of Nia’s precise location.

  “Nia. We don’t want to have to bust into that nightclub, but we will and you know that. We know how much you like that place, thanks to your friend, Charlie. I would like for you to surrender so it doesn’t have to get nasty.”

  Damn, Nia muttered to herself. I can’t let them hurt any of those innocent—oh, shoot, I forgot it was raining. Now my hair’s going to get all frizzy. I have to make this quick, or I’ll be right back in the hairdresser’s tomorrow.

  “Mr. Marks!” one of the soldiers suddenly shouted. “Up there, on the roof! It’s her! It’s Nia Black!”

  Vincent looked up and aimed his flashlight. The soldiers aimed their weapons, all of them staring at Nia as she stood straight up on the roof.

  “What’s up, Vince?” Nia yelled. “Is this how your boss handles business? You come down here with all these armed soldiers, scaring all the innocent people in the club, barking orders to them like you’re still in the military just because a man behind a desk told you to?”

  “That man pays my bills,” Vincent shouted back. “Not to mention all the other great things he does for this city. I’d gladly follow his orders if it means keeping the peace. But not you; you’re just a little girl with guns who never grew up. You refuse to understand that you can’t just do whatever you want in this world.”

  “Yeah, you’re always calling me immature and all types of names,” Nia griped. “You never showed me any respect at all…no wonder we’re not together anymore.”

  “We’re not together anymore because you put this…street life over our relationship. You had me. You didn’t need to keep robbing people and blowing things up for pocket change. You wouldn’t have had to work a day in your life, but instead you kept causing trouble. And when one of those people you robbed happened to be my boss, I couldn’t ignore it.”

  “I’m not meant to be somebody’s little woman, Vincent!” Nia squealed. “You wanted me to become your happy homemaker, but I can’t live like that! My freedom is all I have, and I won’t let anyone take that away from me, not even you.”

  “Okay, Nia,” Vincent sighed, “This is getting too dramatic, and my men are starting to laugh at our little soap opera, so let’s change the subject. Fact is I’m not out here to argue about our relationship right now. I’ve got orders to bring you to the big man. Now, are you going to come down from that roof peacefully or are we going to have to bring that nightclub down, right out from under you?”

  Nia rolled her eyes. “Man, please. I could just go back the way I came behind the building and you’d never even know which way I would go after that. Left, right, into another building, down the sewer, whatever…you blow it up if you want to. It’ll be on your boss’ hands if you do.”

  Vincent smirked, and then snapped his finger. Two of his men approached him, dragging a third man along with them.

  “You’re so worried about innocent people,” Vincent said, “What about this guy?”

  “Charlie? Do whatever you want to him. He’s the whole reason I’m in this mess.”

  “Well, that’s only partially true. Fact is, he didn’t want to help us, but it was his life, or yours. We got to him, he begged for his life, we made a deal. You know how it is. But hey, we have him, we have the weapon you stole, and we have you right here too. So come on down, or your little friend will pay for working with you.”

  “Give it a rest already!” another voice shouted from inside a van behind Vincent. “She’s not buying it!”

  “Whoa, wait a minute, Gunner,” Vincent began.

  Nia started hearing a whirring sound. Her heart started pounding.

  “Vincent! Get away from the van!”

  Instinctively, Vincent did so. So did his men, dropping the limp Charlie to the ground.

  Nia clasped her palms to her mouth, her eyes wide in shock as she watched a screaming torrent of bullets rip through the van from inside. Charlie Ross’ body danced in place, horrifically shredded with hellfire.

  A boot-clad foot smashed aside the van’s bullet-riddled rear doors. A shirtless, muscular man with freshly crew cut, platinum-dyed hair leaped from inside and landed on the street, splashing water mixed with oil and blood as his boots hit the asphalt. He was wearing the pants and boots of a military uniform, but nothing else. But what really caught Nia’s attention was what appeared to be a mini-gun grafted in place of the man’s left forearm, and a bandolier with a seemingly endless strand of bullets wrapped around his bicep, feeding into the weapon.

  The man walked toward Vincent, grasped the handle of the mini-gun attachment with his right hand, and raised it toward Nia.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Gunner? You were brought here only as support,” Vincent griped. “You were only supposed to come out if things got out of hand!”

  “Things are out of hand, Marks,” said the man known as Gunner, “You two would be talking back and forth all night if I didn’t do something. You can spend all the time you want clearing up your little issues after we bring her in.”

  Nia tightened her fists and flashed teeth. She was seeing red.

  Her initial plan was merely to escape. But when she saw what happened to Charlie, how callously Gunner killed him, and how he nearly killed Vincent and who knows who else, Nia needed to make sure he couldn’t harm anyone else.

  She reached behind her back, coiling her fingers around the two gun handles sitting in her holsters.

  “Mr. Marks!” one of the soldiers shouted as he and his comrades aimed their rifles toward the roof. “The girl! She’s going for her guns!”

  “What?” Vincent growled. “No, no, damn it, Nia!”

  Vincent turned and ran behind the van as Nia aimed her Baby Eagles at the soldiers down on the street. The soldiers opened fire at Nia, and she raced to the side.

  The soldiers’ bullets chattered against the roof’s edges, leaving holes in the brick and cinderblock, sending plumes of dust and smoke flying into the air.

  Not one bullet came anywhere near Nia.

  Nia aimed her guns and crossed her arms over one another, firing back at her attackers. Each one of her shots tore through a soldier’s leg, arm or shoulder, sending them tumbling to the ground and their rifles skittering away.

  She noticed that Gunner stood in the middle of the fray, looking down at the street with his mini-gun arm at rest, as if waiting for something.

  Then, as Nia took out Vincent’s last guard, Gunner immediately lifted his head and looked toward Nia with a frantic glare in his eyes.

  “Now that the peanut gallery is out of the picture, we can have some real fun.”

  Nia ejected the empty clips from her pistols and reloaded them, raised one of
her Baby Eagles and fired. Three shots pounded into Gunner’s shoulder, red droplets diluting in puddles of rain on the street. With each shot, Gunner staggered back.

  Then he stood straight again.

  Nia’s eyes went wide. He wasn’t hurt at all.

  “Yeah,” Gunner smiled. “I like it when they put up a fight. See, they gave me something, baby. Something that makes my muscles real dense, and I don’t feel much pain either. Something about subduing my nerves or something. Not even you can do anything to me, girl…me, on the other hand, well; I think I can do a whole lot to you.”

  Hudson…turning people into living weapons, Nia thought, seething. He just gets more and more disgusting.

  Gunner drew one foam rubber earplug from his pocket and pushed it into his left ear canal. He repeated the action using the same hand—the only hand he could do it with, plugging his right ear. He pulled a small trigger on the underside of his gun-arm, and with a subtle whir, the mini-gun’s multiple barrels began spinning.

  Then he opened fire.

  The bullets screamed from his weapon like lasers, tearing through the stone and brick buildings like a weed whacker.

  Nia leaped from the roof, somersaulted in the air and landed on the sidewalk, immediately sprinting out of the way, as Gunner tilted his weapon in her direction and continued to fire, a chain of exploding cars and leaping sparks erupting behind her as she shielded herself from flying debris with her arms. The thundering force of the weapon quivered the air.

  “Run, bitch! Run!” Gunner clamored.

  Nia circled around Gunner as he traced her with his gunfire, the high-powered bullets from his weapon tearing through everything in their path, from the passenger cars on one side of the street to Vincent’s jeeps on the other.

  “Gunner!” Vincent screamed. “Not our cars, you idiot!”

  “Huh? I can’t hear you! The gun’s too loud!” Gunner shouted back as his shots shredded more vehicles.

  Nia leaped behind an SUV as Gunner’s shots chattered on the other side, the vehicle trembling with every bullet.

  Nia exhaled. This ain’t never going to end until he blasts my ass into confetti or until I find a way to stop him.

  Gunner turned toward Vincent, his spinning weapon slowly grinding to a halt. “What, man? You want her down, don’t you? Just let me do my job!”

  “You’re shooting our vehicles, you moron,” Vincent said. “Let me handle this!”

  “Forget it! You didn’t bring me here just to watch y’all have your little soap opera. My job is to take the bitch down, and that’s what I’m going to do!”

  A truck tilted a bit toward Gunner with a tinny squeak. Something hit the top.

  Vincent looked up.

  “Gunner—!”

  But it was too late.

  Nia Black pounced from the roof of the SUV.

  Gunner saw the sole of a heeled boot speeding toward his face. Before he knew it, with a whap his head jerked backward and he slid across the wet asphalt on his bare back, his gun grinding across the ground in a wave of sparks.

  He shook his head and looked forward, seeing the blurry image of a small woman charging toward him. He immediately climbed to his feet and wildly swung his gun arm out like a massive club, his arm whooshing through the air. Nia, her heels skidding against the wet asphalt, swung back her spine and bent under his attack like a limbo dancer. The mini-gun sailed just above her lips, the pull of its wake nearly yanking hair from her head. His arm clanged on the ground behind him, the overwhelming momentum of his brazen attack throwing him off-balance.

  Nia saw her opening and immediately unleashed an onslaught of strikes to his body. She punched him, kicked him, elbowed him in the jaw, leaped and kicked him, but all she did was knock him around like a bobble-head; he never once lost his balance.

  Vincent Marks could only stare with his fists clutched.

  When Nia stopped, Gunner turned to her with a sick grin on his face. He didn’t even bleed this time.

  Nia frowned.

  He began to heft the gun-arm again for another melee attack.

  She took a breath, stared into Gunner’s eyes and winded her foot back.

  She swung her foot toward her enemy; it met its mark with a sickening thump, and he stopped in his tracks.

  Vincent cringed.

  Gunner’s face went blank as Nia’s foot slammed into his groin with the force of a 9-iron, crushing his testicles flat. All use of his appendages failed at once and he stumbled to the ground, every action and every thought muted by a throbbing that spread throughout his body. He’d never felt such pain before. It was as if someone dropped a cinderblock square on his manhood, and he could only beg and plead in his mind for the pain to cease, groaning in misery and clutching himself as best he could.

  “I figured you wouldn’t have your nerves ‘subdued’ down there,” Nia said.

  Her face as fierce as a lion, she turned her attention to Gunner’s left arm. She raised her pistol, pressed it directly on his forearm just at the breach between his arm and the gun. The heat still present on the barrels sizzled on his skin. Gunner grunted and glared at Nia.

  “Oh, you ain’t hurt yet,” Nia grumbled.

  She pulled the trigger!

  Gunner howled in agony as the bullets eviscerated his flesh, his blood spattering on the ground, raining on the street and Nia’s legs.

  “You felt that, huh?” Nia screamed. “Stupid-ass gave up your humanity to be turned into a walking gun—and the damn experiment didn’t even go through all the way?!”

  Nia sheathed her pistol, took the mini-gun apparatus in both hands and pulled with all her might, pressing her boot into Gunner’s chest.

  With one solid yank, Nia tore the mini-gun from his arm, blood and sinews flailing in the air and spilling on the street.

  She took the weapon in both hands, winded up and swung it like a golf club, smashing it into Gunner’s head and sending him flying across the street! He crashed back first into a ruined automobile and crumbled to the ground in a bloody pile.

  Finally, Nia dropped the mini-gun on the ground and slammed her foot into the barrels, stomping it out of shape until the weapon was nearly unrecognizable.

  Nia instantly shot an icy glare at Vincent Marks.

  “These are the kind of people you work with? This is what you gave up on us for? This is what you call ‘keeping the peace’?”

  Vincent stood in silence.

  “If anything, I’m the one doing good out here,” Nia continued. “You’re the one who’s afraid to see real life.”

  Nia walked toward her bike and lifted it from the ground. She sighed in relief, realizing the only reason it survived Gunner’s onslaught was because someone knocked it over and Gunner’s shots passed over it.

  “Damn repair shop is going to charge a fortune for these dents, and I ain’t even get no money tonight.”

  Vincent seethed, and pulled out his Beretta.

  “Nia. Stop!”

  She swung her leg over her bike, started the engine.

  “Nia…I’m warning you.”

  Nia looked Vincent in the eyes, and shook her head. She slapped her goggles on and took off.

  Vincent sighed and lowered his gun before turning to his soldiers, who were still squirming on the ground, groaning in agony.

  “Pick yourselves up. Let’s head back. I’ve wasted enough time here. At least we got the prototype back.”

  The men dragged themselves to what vehicles remained after Gunner’s brazen attacks. Vincent stood still, watching the road where Nia’s bike had long since vanished.

  Four

  Nia Black drove into the backstreet leading to a run-down neighborhood. While the city government made pledges to attack urban blight and clean up the city’s look, it was hard not to doubt their sincerity when passing through neighborhoods such as this one.

  Condemned and dilapidated houses lined the back streets. Every other corner was a hangout for local hoods and drug dealers. The air reeked
of marijuana, gun smoke, and alcohol. The sounds of gunfire and sirens ran rampant. The police could barely make a dent in the criminal element here, filled with people most uncooperative and unfriendly toward law enforcement. While there was a lot to dislike about the area, it also made for a perfect haven for a wanted criminal like Nia.

  As she rode through the back streets of the ghetto, ignoring the lewd comments of the many street thugs gawking at her body as she passed them, and greeting the lower-class mothers and children she saw every day, Nia wondered if it would ever change. Those in power too often ignored areas like the inner city in favor of focusing on developing the nicer parts of town and helping the rich get richer. Every time she passed through, she thought of ways she herself could try to make things better.

  But those thoughts quickly faded when she finally reached her home, Nia’s innate selfishness taking over. As much as she cherished the thrill of the action that filled her nights, she always looked forward to rest and relaxation in her room after a hard night of dealing with her shady affiliates and ruthless enemies. She eagerly anticipated her bed, where she would be able to forget the day’s events easily, clearing her mind for the next day, the next mission.

  Nia parked her bike behind Bobby’s black jeep, stepped off and secured it with a steel chain to protect it from the local hoods; hardly necessary given her reputation, but better safe than sorry, she always thought. She approached the door and entered the modest home where she was renting her room. As she stepped in and quietly shut the door, she could hear yelling from upstairs, where Bobby and his girlfriend, Nia’s landlord, lived.

  Uh oh. Sounds like trouble in paradise, again… Nia thought with a groan. Those two stay arguing.

  It all started a year ago.

  After Nia Black broke up with Vincent Marks, she moved out of his apartment and sought a steady home. She spent many nights bouncing from motel to motel, but soon grew tired of it.