Some girls get in a bad place and they never get back up again.
They hit the bottom and never crawl back to the top.

Some girls get hit and don't hit back.

But not Spencer Carlin.
She might have been raised to be a good little girl, but there were other lessons she learned pretty quick, too.
Like how to shimmy out her window when the fighting got too loud.
Like how to roll her own cigarettes, thanks to that first (and last) boyfriend, his kisses rough and tasting of tobacco.
Like how it feels when a fist connects with your jaw.

It's painful, yes.
It's even more liberating, though.

Some girls go in the 'wrong' direction and get used up, tossed aside like garbage.
Some girls have words stamped on their foreheads - words like 'victim' and words like 'soft'.

But not Spencer Carlin.

If you hit her, you better aim to kill.
Because if the situation were reversed - and she'll make sure that it is, one day soon - you'll find her punch to be lethal.

/ / / /

It's not a thing, you see.
But it is.
It's not an every day thing, but Ashley wouldn't mind if it was.

Not like a lover, because who needs one of those?

But Spencer isn't just good, you see... She's really fucking talented. And Ashley's thighs still ache, two days later, sitting on this bar stool in this tattered establishment as guys watch a busted up television and leave a million more rings on the wood.

They are betting on the baseball game. They are letting guts grow bigger.
She's relishing the discomfort in her muscles and nursing her beer with a lazy grip.

It's not a thing.
But it's something.
Spencer is the flick of the wrist and Ashley is merely the match-tip.
They'll grow hot and they'll burn up and fade to dust.

Just like buildings after Ashley is done with them.
Just like every other amazing orgasm ever had.

Because it's not a thing, you see.

But it is.

/ / /

She makes her threats and they are not idle ones.

That's something you learn pretty fast if you work for her.
The rules are not just phrases, not just sayings to ensure complacency among the rats.

It's a subtle kind of order and that's her first class seat.
That's her car and her suits. That's her name and her bond.
That's her gun in the middle of the night.

And as much as she likes the feeling of warm skin trembling, of sweat hitting her tongue, of a voice begging in the half-light, Spencer has no qualms in cutting Ashley Davies down where she stands.

Ashley knows this, from her shadowed corner, booted feet silent on the floor and breathing kept to a minimum.
She knows the look behind the look - Spencer's eyes not appearing familiar due to semi-frequent sex, but due to things that Ashley has seen many times before... in other gazes, in other warehouses.
Everyone has a look like that in this line of work.

The face of retribution. The face of a boss.

But Ashley isn't late just for the hell of it.
And she isn't going to step out of this hidden place until the client leaves.
Because, while her loyalty is to the cash in hand, she can't help but want to get on the good side of Spencer Carlin.

It offers protection. It offers steady work. It offers a chance for so much more of what Ashley is growing to crave - pushed around by the blonde's body, unzipped and almost disregarded, taken until there is nothing left to give.

It offers the deepest and darkest of wants being realized, again and again.

Still, the client needs to leave before Ashley makes her presence known.

Because this client, Ashley knows him way too well.
And the term 'snake in the grass' was written just for him.

/ /

He likes to make deals and watch them unfold and then he'll play the ace up his sleeve.

It's all a game to him, paid for by parents who don't know or don't care.
He doesn't just snort the line at that VIP table.
He arranges the drops and picks the dealers.

And the cops don't give a shit, because when you've got more money than God, who is going to spill your secrets?

Nobody. That's who.

He would dance around the clubs and snatch up names and kiss a lot of lips.
He would turn crime into a joke, where only he knew the punch-line.
And for a while, it could be nice to be in his lime-light.

It would hit you and you'd glitter for a bit, too.

He always liked to hug her from behind and press too close and she didn't mind so much, except that his embrace was always cold instead of warm.
Always more of an act than an occurrence.
But it's not like she cared much.
She wasn't even a mention in the streets yet, just a girl with hot hands and a big mouth.

And if she could get in good with Aiden Dennison, then her life would be set.
That's the motto of her world, after-all.

Meet the right people and make them need you.

Ashley didn't know, though, that Aiden was never the right person to meet.

/

"I told you what would happen if you did this again."
"You can't trust this new client, okay?"

But Spencer snaps her fingers and Ashley first instinct is to run, which wouldn't get her anywhere in this place.
The next instinct is to fight back, to kick and punch and knee however many groins she has to in order to avoid what is surely coming her way.

"I'm serious, Spencer, this guy is bad fucking news. He'll screw you over somehow, I can promise you that!"

Spencer tilts her head, one ear listening to Ashley's voice go from raspy to high-pitched and the other one listening to the sound of feet on the concrete - the sound of swift justice as her hired thugs near the brunette's tense body.
Then it is the sounds of struggle and cursing, Ashley trying to battle when there is no chance.

Spencer leaves nothing to chance.
Not in moments such as these.

"Spencer, please, I-" But one of the men slams his fist into Ashley's stomach and the girl stops talking, leveled to gagging to breathe and spit coating her lips as she coughs and doubles over.

"You'll say anything. You'll do anything. You don't think I've heard this kind of shit before, Ashley? I could write a book, call it 'Excuses Made Easy For Dummies' and make your little display here the first chapter."

Spencer feels a delicious grin smooth over her lips. It is returned by one of the lugs holding Ashley, until Spencer raises one eyebrow and he looks away, chastised for thinking she wants his opinion at all.

It is this, at the end of the day, that she likes, though.
Oh, power. So seductive and strong.
The universe is hers to wield - her fingers plucking the strings and tugging them upward, side to side and any which way she damn well pleases.

"I mean it... Aiden is not to be... messed with..."

Ashley has to struggle just to say that, because taking in air is kind of hard now and she feels like throwing up and tears of agony have welled up in her eyes.
One of the guys grips her jaw and tilts it up, squeezing until it seems like the bone might pop out and she knows that would hurt like a bitch.

Spencer is watching and their eyes meet.
One pair pleading. One pair as cold as ice.

"First name basis, hmm? What is he to you, Ashley?"

She jerks her head away from the guy and now her face throbs and pulses with an intense discomfort never quite felt before.
But she forces the words out as best she can even as she tastes blood from where the edge of a tooth dug into the tender flesh of her mouth.

"He's a piece... of shit. That's what... he is..."
"Sounds personal. Is it?"
"Not... like that."
"Then what is it like, Ashley?"
"I did... a job... for him, once, and... things got... out of hand."

Spencer's touch can do a lot of things to a person.
It can turn them on. It can lull them into a false sense of security. It can tease and taunt.
But it can wound a person, too.

That warm palm is around Ashley's neck as quick as lightning.

"The time for being vague is over. Tell me everything and tell it to me now. Then we'll see if you stay alive until morning."

TBC