L.L. Foster - The Kindred

“It takes a real pathetic bully to push around little kids. And you three look about as pathetic as anything I’ve ever seen.”

One man, taking the role as leader, smiled at her. “You play a dangerous game, sweetness. My dogs are hungry for fresh meat.”

Gaby didn’t even bother looking at the vicious animals. “I’m not playing, asshole. And a word of warning—if you let the dogs loose, they won’t make it, and that’d be a shame, because I have nothing against animals.”

Antagonism brought one of the guys forward. “Bitch, are you stupid or insane? Cuz if we turn even one dog loose, you’re fuckin’ hamburger.”

Gaby stayed a mere inch beyond the reach of the dogs’ snapping jaws. “So on top of being a wimp, you’re a coward who needs animals to protect you. What a laugh.” But Gaby didn’t laugh; she didn’t even smile.

Most times, she wasn’t sure she knew how.

Dark eyes flared, and a strong jaw locked. “J.J.,” the man said in an ominous but commanding whisper, “maybe you ought to show her how we deal with stupid bitches who don’t know the right way to use their pretty mouths.”

Showing large white teeth, J.J. stepped around the dogs with a swaying walk and a shitload of attitude.

Exhilaration sizzled along Gaby’s nerve endings. She let him get close enough to take a swing, which she ducked without effort.

Having a strong propensity toward violence, Gaby relished the attack.

She loved to fight, especially at times like this, when she knew she fought against rampaging cruelty and injustice.

Hoping the girl had left the scene, Gaby came back up with a punch to the guy’s balls. Then she planted another, just for good measure. Given the unnatural force of her fisted strikes, he’d be lucky if he ever pissed again, much less fathered children.

And that, too, she figured to be a public service.

He doubled in on himself and would have fallen forward in a pain-induced stupor if Gaby hadn’t planted a solid kick to his face, sending him backward.

She saw a tooth go flying, sprayed by blood and spittle. His jaw hung loose, clearly dislocated. One eye bulged grotesquely from the socket.

Well. She’d done adequate damage with that one. Old J.J. went down and he wasn’t going to get back up anytime soon.

Smelling the blood and seeing the violence, the dogs jerked at their restraints with berserk fever. They concerned Gaby because if they got loose, they could be a threat to the children who remained nearby, held in place by gruesome curiosity.

It broke Gaby’s heart to hurt an animal, any animal, but these beasts had been raised for barbarous aggression. They were a threat to the children, to anyone who got within their reach, and she couldn’t have that.

Looking up at the remaining two men with incandescent fury burning in her eyes, she grated, “You’ll fucking well pay for what you’re about to make me do.”

Jaw slack and face livid, the head honcho stood there staring at J.J.’s bloodied, unconscious form.

He regained his focus with a burst of indignation and theatrical antics. His face contorted as he stormed forward.

“Fucking whore!” he shouted. “Now you done it. You fucking well deserve what you get.” And with a toss of the leashes, he let loose the dogs.

Gaby had her knife out before the first dog reached her. The animal didn’t get a chance to get his teeth into her flesh before she cut his throat in a wide arc that opened to reveal muscle and sinew. The wound smiled wide, gushing blood and limiting the dog to mere gurgles before he stumbled, crumpled, and fell to his side.

Leaping in the air, fangs bared, the second dog tried for her throat. A kick to the muscular head staggered him, giving Gaby enough time to sink her knife into the thick chest. She planted the blade hard enough to lift the dog off the ground, and as he descended again, she twisted the knife, ripping through the canine heart.

With no more than a faint yelp, the poor creature fell back, twitched, and went still.

Gaby’s chest ached and her heart squeezed tight with the awfulness of what she’d just done, what she’d been forced to do.

Sadness suffocated her, making it near impossible to swallow around the clogging anguish and remorse.

Even now, in death and sticky with blood, the dogs were beautiful animals—and they’d never had a chance, thanks to the inhumanity of men.

Tears burned her eyes.

“Whore! Fucking cunt!” Strutting toward her, the leader drew out a gun and took aim. “You’ll pay for that, bitch. I’ll bury you!”

Gaby spun to the side—and the bullet grazed the middle of her right forearm. Heat exploded and a strange numbness tried to settle in.

It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let it matter.

The burning pain only served to incite her inherent response.

Knife still clasped in her hand, she threw it with venomous accuracy and it sank hilt-deep into the shooter’s shoulder. Pain forced him to drop the gun from his slack hand and it scuttled over the paved lot, out of his reach.

“Tylek,” he hissed through his teeth to his cohort, “kill that crazy bitch for me. Make her pay. Make her fucking suffer.”

Tylek looked a little wary of that order, but he dutifully mustered his courage.

Duty, Gaby thought. It ruled so many. It made some do the most foolhardy things—like challenging her.

“That’s right, Tylek. Come make me pay.” Using the fingertips of both hands, she beckoned Tylek closer. He was the biggest of the three, but he posed no legitimate challenge.

Not for her.

Balancing on the balls of her feet, Gaby took a loose limbed stance. When Tylek leaped at her, she went to her back with him, rolling and using her feet to launch him away. He landed on his back, giving her an opportunity to move over him in a dominant position.

With a knee planted squarely in his groin, she took aim and punched him in the throat. He gagged hard, wheezed for air he couldn’t get.

Somewhere in the distance, police sirens split across the gray, depressing day with shrill intrusion. No way in hell did Gaby intend to be anywhere nearby when the cops showed up and started asking questions. Luther would have a fit, but she could deal with him.

Being arrested she couldn’t abide. Not ever.

She rose from Tylek and kicked him in the temple to ensure he wouldn’t get back up. Dispassionate, Gaby watched him go blank; his eyes rolled back in his head and he lolled to the side.

Knowing the shooter, despite his incapacitating wound, would scramble for his weapon, Gaby made a point of beating him to it. She kicked the gun out of his reach, but ever aware of the children, she didn’t move it so far that any of the kids might get hold of it.

“You’re making a big mistake, bitch. I swear to you, I’m going—”

Without real effort, Gaby stomped his chest, cutting off his threats and knocking him back on his ass. “I’m getting tired of you calling me a bitch.” Another kick to the chin leveled him flat.

Relaxed, comfortable, Gaby knelt over him. “So big shot, what’s your name?”

“Fuck off.”

Gaby stared down at him, and with the knife hilt in her hand, she worked her fingers tight around it and bore down steadily until she felt the tip of the blade meeting bone.

He howled in agony, trying to fend her off without success.

Dispassionate, she studied him, saw his state of shock brought on by loss of blood and amplifying pain. Softly, she said, “I won’t ask again.”

Breathing in compact, gasping breaths, he nodded with grudging reluctance. “Bogg.”

“You shitting me? What kind of stupid name is that?” Knowing the extent of his injuries, Gaby didn’t really expect an answer. She studied the ink on his neck. “And your gang?”