Burman was in chaos when Rex kicked Dixie sprawling across the floor.
"Get up, kid." Rex's hands were jammed in his pockets, tongue running over his teeth. He lunged forward, another kick aimed. Dixie rolled clear, sprang up, and unleashed a whip-kick aimed low at Rex's legs.
Rex sidestepped, but Dixie was already closing in, lips pressed tight, dark eyes locked on him. She dodged his counter-kick and threw a punch without hesitation.
Two hooks grazed the sweat-dampened tips of Rex's hair. A straight kick slammed into his torso.
It barely rocked him. Instead, the rebound sent Dixie crashing back to the floor.
"Straight kicks against heavyweights," Rex sneered, brushing the shoe print from his shirt. He looked down at Dixie, who was grimacing in pain. "Kid, you've got some nerve."
"…"
Dixie pushed herself up, wiped her mouth. Eyes downcast, she was strategizing her next move when a torrent of ice-cold water crashed over her head.
She gasped, instinctively looking up—taking the full force in her face.
"Cough! Cough!...!"
Sputtering, she used the water streaming down her filthy face to wipe it clean. Rex crushed the empty plastic bottle and tossed it towards a bin.
"Wash up. Now."
His boot nudged Dixie, still sprawled inelegantly on the floor. She shook her head like a drenched puppy, water droplets flying. They traced paths down her grimy cheeks and into her collar.
"…I can still fight."
"Bullsh*t."
Rex's massive hand clamped onto the back of her neck, hauling her bodily off the floor. Dixie's feet dangled. Her eyes flew wide; limbs flailed uselessly for a second.
"Don't look up when something's pouring down on you." Rex held her suspended, his blue eyes glacial. "Next time, I'll gouge out your eyes."
Dixie stopped struggling. She pressed her lips together, seriously contemplating the threat. Rex strode towards the bathroom, carrying her like a misbehaving kitten, and unceremoniously dumped her inside.
"Hurry up. Wash and get out."
Dixie scrambled up and slammed the door shut.
Rex leaned against the doorframe outside, slowly cracking his knuckles.
Sheltered from his gaze, Dixie stared at the outline of his back through the frosted glass. She hesitated only two seconds before turning and efficiently stripping off her soaked clothes.
She peeled away the filthy shirt and pants, twisted the faucet. Freezing water cascaded down.
A shiver racked her frame.
After a minute under the icy spray, Rex's phone rang outside. Dixie's dark eyes snapped to attention. She leaned forward, pressing her ear against the damp door.
Rex answered. Dixie held her breath.
The caller sounded frantic. The words were muffled, rapid-fire Spanish, laced with tension. Rex listened silently, his back muscles shifting subtly under his shirt.
"F*ck!" Rex snarled, slamming the phone shut. Fury vibrated in his voice. "Just what I f*cking need!"
Without a glance towards the bathroom, Rex pocketed his phone, cursing under his breath. He stormed upstairs, kicked open the training room door, and was gone.
Dixie waited, barely breathing, for a few moments. Confirming he'd truly left, she cracked the bathroom door open.
"…"
Jensen? Was that Jensen on the phone?
Dixie shut off the water, grabbed the nearest clean clothes—likely Rex's spares, baggy on her frame—and yanked them on. She slipped out of the training room, down the stairs, and crept towards the main floor dance hall.
The dance floor was empty of revelers. Instead, several hulking figures, stained with blood, milled about, shouting over each other. Assault rifles were slung over their shoulders.
Dixie froze at the sight of so many weapons.
The men yelled, words like "Burman" and "Big Boss" punctuating the chaos. Dixie swallowed hard, ready to slip away unseen.
She'd barely taken a crouching step back when Rex, hefting a sniper rifle, spun around. His gaze locked onto her instantly.
"Kid! Stop right there!"
Rex drew his sidearm, barking the order. The blood-splattered men turned as one, their eyes fixing on Dixie.
She froze. Didn't dare breathe.
Any one of them could end her with a single, effortless shot.
"F*ck! Who's this brat?" a black man swore, pulling his pistol.
Others followed suit. A chorus of chilling clicks and clacks echoed as rounds were chambered.
Dixie trembled. Her heart hammered against her ribs under the aim of six or seven guns. Her dark eyes were riveted on Rex.
Rex's ice-blue gaze held hers. Click. He racked the slide of his own pistol.
Dixie's breath hitched. The thunderous pounding of her heart, amplified by terror, felt like it would tear her eardrums.
"What are you doing here?" Rex leveled his gun at her, eyes narrowing.
"…"
Dixie's ears were ringing, but she caught his voice. She swallowed, forcing every ounce of will into staying calm. "…Training room… empty," she managed, her voice strained. She met Rex's stare head-on. "I… I was looking for you…"
"Rex, you know this kid?"
"Enforcer trainee." Rex's pistol didn't waver, its barrel coldly pointing at her. "What did you hear?"
"I don't know…" Dixie hunched lower, adopting a defensive posture. "I just got here… didn't understand anything…"
"Didn't understand? So you did hear?" A large white man raised his gun, scrutinizing her.
"…" Dixie didn't answer, meeting his gaze with wary defiance.
Caught red-handed. Saying I heard nothing? They won't buy it.
She couldn't stake her life on the mercy of these killers.
"Just waste her. It's just a kid," the black man started.
But Dixie was already moving. She exploded upwards. The trained men reacted instantly. BANG! BANG! BANG!
Dixie hit the floor, rolled like a wild animal, and darted under the staircase. Bullets PINGED! and SPARKED! off the metal railings above her.
"Sh*t!"
She heard the curse. Footsteps and the *clack-clack* of reloading approached her hiding spot. Dixie braced her hands on the floor, teeth clenched, ready to burst out—
A woman's voice cut through.
"What's going on?"
Sherry.
"Some kids. Eavesdropping."
Sherry wiped blood from her cheek, turning to Rex. "Dixie?"
"Yeah." Rex's expression tightened. He holstered his gun with practiced ease.
"Leave her. You lot, East District. Now." Sherry commanded.
Someone hesitated. "Sherry, what the hell's happening? Why's East acting up so suddenly?"
"…" Sherry pulled out a cigarette, lit it with the muzzle flash of her pistol. "Big Boss is dead. His son, Louis, took over Burman. East is his turf now."
"…"
A suffocating silence fell. Sherry lifted her eyes through the smoke, scanning their conflicted faces. They were deep in thought when her cold laugh sliced through the quiet.
"If East pushes in here… you all know exactly what happens to you." Sherry took a drag, her beautiful eyes narrowing to slits. The big men instantly straightened their spines under her predatory gaze. "Thirty minutes. East District 'Steel Mill'. I don't like latecomers."
"Yes!"
The men scattered. Rex said nothing, throwing one last, unreadable look into the dark stairwell corner before turning to leave.
The roar of motorcycles faded as they sped away from the Burman bar. Sherry exhaled a plume of smoke, eyes narrowed.
The Big Boss was dead. Her position was precarious.
Beauty here was built on power. Without it, they'd gladly trample that beauty underfoot.
Rumour had it Louis had a top enforcer, an ex-mercenary, arriving in days.
Burman was a tangled mess of factions. Sherry, representing West District 2, had been granted management of this small bar by the Big Boss. Deals, trades—as long as it didn't spark conflict, almost anything went.
But now, that incoming mercenary would take over the Burman bar.
"…" Sherry crushed her cigarette single-handed, flicking it away. Smoke curled from her red lips, veiling her sharp features.
She'd just barely contained the East District skirmish. Louis wouldn't back down. She needed more men sent over.
Jensen's crew might not hold.
It would likely come down to Rex.
Sherry wiped blood from her hands and walked towards the shadowed stairwell where Dixie hid.
There was no sound from the dark recess. But the moment Sherry crouched down, a shadow shot out.
Sherry's hand shot out, clamping onto Dixie's arm. Dixie struggled fiercely—then froze the instant she felt warm, wet blood soaking into her sleeve.
"…You're hurt."
Dixie stared at the still-bleeding wound on Sherry's arm, her eyes widening slightly.
"Flesh wound. Nothing serious."
Sherry released her grip. She sank down to sit on the floor beside Dixie, mirroring her posture. Leaning her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes, stretching her limbs. Sweat and spattered blood mingled, tracing paths down her pale neck.
Dixie was silent for a moment. Then she ripped a long strip from the hem of her oversized shirt. Gently lifting Sherry's arm, she began wrapping the wound.
Sherry looked down at Dixie's obediently bent head, her damp hair dripping. Sherry leaned closer, inhaling. The scent of clean laundry drifted from Dixie's collar.
Rex's detergent.
"You and Rex…"
Sherry's voice came from above. Dixie startled, jerking her head up. Sherry dodged just in time to avoid a collision.
"…What?"
Dixie looked bewildered. Seeing her expression, a flicker of amusement crossed Sherry's pale green eyes.
"Nothing," Sherry said, patting her blood-stained pants pocket. Finding no cigarettes, she sighed and gave up. She winked at Dixie. "Rex is alright. You can trust him… a little."
"…"
Dixie didn't respond to that. She looked up at the blood streaking Sherry's cheek. Her dark eyes shifted, seeming to weigh something.
"…You're in trouble. Aren't you."
The easy smile on Sherry's face faltered for a split second. Then one eyebrow arched. Her pale green eyes narrowed, leaning in with a predator's stillness. "How'd you figure that out, little one?"
Dixie met Sherry's gaze. She pressed her lips together, wrestling internally before speaking softly: "I heard… them say the 'Big Boss' died. You… you were his person."
"…"
Sherry's other eyebrow lifted, intrigued. She reached out, pinched Dixie's chin between her fingers, bringing her face close. Her nose almost brushed Dixie's cheek. A faint, dangerous smile touched her lips.
"Telling me all this, little one… aren't you afraid I'll kill you?"
Dixie was forced to look up, the half-wrapped bandage still dangling from her hand. Her dark, unreadable eyes studied Sherry's blood-smeared face.
Silence. Dixie just watched her, lips pressed tight.
"Hmm?" Sherry gave Dixie's chin a little shake. "Tsk, tsk." The predatory glint faded into weary boredom. "Not talking again? Is that fear? Or something else?"
Dixie seemed to still be processing. She let her head be shaken, offering no resistance, but no answer either.