Cigarette smoke hung low in the airless room, weaving its way over the men’s heads, seeming to settle on their shoulders.
The men’s eyes were all drawn to the small stage where a lone woman danced in a slow sultry style, her smile begging them to watch as she twisted her body around the pole in the most imaginative of poses.
“Bloody hell, where did you get her from,” Verone mumbled his cigarette dangling from his lips.
“You like the new girl then,” he said with a quiet rumble of laughter.
“Hell yeah, she’s gorgeous.”
A sudden explosion of noise behind them had the door bursting open, slamming back in to the wall. The girl on the stage screamed, grabbing her clothes she ran quickly off the stage.
“What the?” said Verone turning towards the door.
A fist landed in his face knocking him out of his chair, he landed on his backside tipping up the table and drinks on the way down.
Chairs scraped back, men stood glaring at the shadowy figure bending over their compatriot on the floor.
“What the hell,” said Verone rubbing his bruised jaw; he looked the figure up and down noticing the black boots and long black jacket curving around a long lithe body. His eyes keep moving upwards until he hit the shadowed face. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”
“You know who I am Verone,” said a vicious voice.
The men began to circle the shadowy figure, slowly closing in; none noticed the smirk crossing the strangers face.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“How the…” he said standing back up he finally caught a look at her face, “you’re supposed to be dead,” he scowled.
“No such luck for you.”
“What do you want?”
“Justice!” she replied glaring at him.
“I ain’t going anywhere with you, bitch,” he snarled.
The men’s attention taken; all eyes were on Verone. The woman let out a belly laugh and slowly one by one she knocked the men out, unconscious, broken or sore until only Verone was left standing.
“You coming, or do I have to take you down too?”
Sighing Verone picked up his hat scowling at his so called idiot friends groaning from the floor.
“Fine, but you won’t get away with this Maisey,” he snarled.
“Yeah I will,” she laughed grabbing his wrists and cuffing him, “I always do.”
Maisey Ryder was one hell of a woman, tough from birth; when she’d fought hard for her life. Now as an adult she still fought and demanded respect from all who worked beside her. Not that she worked with people very often, she didn’t really get on with others. There again she didn’t work very often either.
She was a wanderer, never seeming to be able to settle anywhere for long. She travelled and saw the world. Her bread and butter, the occasional bad guy who she’d haul in to local police departments in towns she wandered through.
Tall, with dark curly hair, her small slim waist gave her a curvy figure which many had to have a second glance at. Maisey enjoyed life as much as she knew how. The admiring glances made her smirk, though some she found enjoyable.