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What do you tell a brawler with two black eyes? Nothing. Candy already told them twice.

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Secrets & Truths

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Tony shuffled through a stack of papers as Candy pushed into his office. Only a glance spared in her direction gave any indication that he saw her. His hand made no immediate movement from his documents toward the shortened stack of cash that was her cut for the week. Candy, hating to take up a seat before the desk, was forced into a lean against the wall. She stared dulled daggers at his scalp as he kept her waiting.

“Your performance is off.”

Her teeth clenched at his neutral tone. He had yet to look away from his papers, but at her continued silence he set them aside. A groan of sound escaped the green leather chair as he shifted into a relaxed lean and steepled thick finger. Flat brown eyes regarded her without expression. Candy felt like she was sitting at a table for a high-stakes game… and he knew her hand.

Tony had never told her directly he knew her folks, he played it off like he hired for out of the goodness of his heart, just giving a random punk a chance. It’d only taken a bit of digging to find the truth. She hadn’t been very happy about it when she’d figure it out, but she kept that between herself and the wall she punched a hole in. She never brought it up to him, letting him play his game of charitable stranger.

But now…

The Bear and Sick Salina—her parents—had gone missing on a job.

Missing didn’t mean dead. Didn’t mean not-dead either. Missing just meant missing and Candy didn’t want to talk about it. She was an adult. She could handle herself. She didn’t need a shoulder to cry on or lean against or an ear to talk to. She needed her cash and a beer and a face to punch. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, she waited.

He folded.

Tony sighed and leaned forward, tossing the stack toward the front of his desk.

“Take it. Go.”

She didn’t hesitate or move her eyes back to him once the money was out for the taking, her hand moving to snatch up the bills on her way to the door. She left without a word or a backward glance.

Tony shook his head and poured himself a shot of whiskey.
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Boundaries

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Friday’s collection had come and gone without a sign of Candy. Tony moved her share from the Thursday night fights from his desk and into the safe behind it. The night before had more than made up for her lack luster performance from the week prior. Candy had been brutal, more so than usual, even when considering the time she’d put The Pyro in the hospital after rearranging his face and most of his internal organs. This time the body count had gone up to three. It was likely the fighter that had grabbed her ass in the locker room before the night’s events wasn’t ever waking up again. It was all good for business, meant more money for her and for him. He’d give her a week to collect before it went to his own profits—those were the rules for any fighter. He was a businessman, not a bank, and people had the tendency to vanish into thin air in these parts. No use letting good green go to waste.

Tony didn’t have to wait the week, however. Saturday afternoon saw Candy pushing into his office, interrupting his exchange with one of his bodyguards and asserting herself as though the office belonged to her and not the man sitting behind the desk.

“Marco. Out.”

Marco was all muscle and not a lot of bite or brain. Tony could tell the man had a soft spot for the woman that didn’t make a habit of showing anyone much kindness. It showed in his first reaction to her command, which was to follow-through to her bidding. The hamster in his head must have started moving and reminded him who was in charge of his financial livelihood—that which supported a younger sister and ailing mother—as he stopped and looked, puppy-like, to Tony for direction.

Tony waved him out without comment, turning his attention from the bulk of his employee to the visage of the woman. Red knuckled, cut and bruised—it looked like business as usual with Candy.

“Here for your cut then?”

Beefy hands pressed the back of his desk, causing his chair to slide on squeaky wheels so that he could turn to open the safe before she even started to answer.

“My cut and a word.”

Fingers paused in the pattern of digits that would unlock the safe.

“That so. What about?”

“My parents.”

Tony had a gun beneath his desk, it’d be tricky to get to but not impossible. This wasn’t a business built on mutual trust and there was no way of knowing how the daughter of two deadly assassins would treat an ‘old friend’ in the light of their disappearance. Perhaps he’d been wrong in bringing this particular wolf pup into his den? They could write that on his grave, had a heart and died regretting it. He kept silent, mulling over his options as he turned through the last through numbers and opened the safe. Stack of cash procured, he turned back to the desk and used one hand to toss the cash to its metal surface.

“What about them?”

She stood with arms crossed. It didn’t take a lot of searching to see the resemblance to her parents. There was the hard untrusting nature of her mother’s that glinted in her eyes, the steel brute of her father that etched itself into the line of her jaw. A lone wolf, cut off from the pack. It gave her nothing to lose, it make her unpredictable. He waited with a hand on cold steel for what would come next.

“Until there are bodies, there’s nothing to talk about.”

The line in the sand was drawn plain and clear. Whatever history he had with her folks, whatever friendship had formed, started and ended with her parents. She didn’t want his friendship or his help in this time of uncertainty. She wanted her job, her cash, and her space.

His hand under the desk joined the other within view and laced fingers. Tony bowed his head in acceptance of her wishes, lifting his head to lock eyes with her again.

“That all?”

“That’s all.”

She leaned forward, picking up her cash.

“See y’round Ton’.”

Cash in hand, he watched her pull the door to the office and make her way out. Marco lips moved to form some word of hello or good-bye, but aborted as she passed him by without any thought. He stood mouth ajar at the missed opportunity as the door to the outside shut behind her.

“Marco! Quit gaping an’get back to work!”

“Y-yes boss.”
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Waiting.

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Two months. Her parents had been gone for two months. Candy was constantly pushing the thought aside. Drinking helped. Fighting helped. She let it be a little worry that she could try to get away with ignoring, while it went digging into her skull from the back of her mind. Her words to Tony repeated and repeated again—Until there are bodies, there’s nothing to talk about. Following her failure to attain ShadoWeaver, those words were repeated at a higher frequency.

Sleep didn’t help. Too often other fighters at The Brawler commented about the hours she seemed to be keeping. Don’t you sleep? Don’t you ever go home? You look like a zombie. Following a thrown fist and a broken nose, those questions and comments died down. Candy burned the oil of her sleep deprived body and mind for as long as she could, eventually crashing. Childhood memories danced before her then, mixed in with so many other thoughts. There were people out there that were more than happy to hurt her parents. With or without the opal, if she wanted answers, she was going to have to start doing her homework.

Information required cash. Cash required wins. Wins required sleep. And sleep, to be at all effective, needed to be dreamless. She found someone to hook her up, though even with the fear of her put in them it was a risk. It was one she’d take. Now she slept, now she won. Now she was getting somewhere. Information. Every file she put together was studied with every care. She applied her mind to it as much as she applied it to studying the fighting techniques of those she went up against. Anyone with the slightest reason or connection to her folks was examined. The information she gained there compared to what little she knew about the job they’d been on when they vanished.

Maybe her folks were fine. They’d drop her a line out of the blue and she’d have to deal with the waste of wages and time. But she wasn’t the sort of girl that put a lot of weight into happy endings. Truth of it was, Prince Charming was a psychotic tool and the heroine had to decide between putting a bullet through his brains and dying. Maybe her folks were okay… but maybe they weren’t. If the later turned out to be the case, Candy wanted to be ready. Because if her parents weren’t okay…

Time would tell. In the meantime she had training, fighting and calling. She showed up for all her gigs and then some. She’d keep going like business as usual, at least until the other shoe dropped.
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Unhappy Endings (1)

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((Warning: Graphic Content))

The warehouse stood toward the edge of a clearing, looking many years removed from any sort of official use. Its gravel road stretched out overgrown with weeds and other plant life. Windows sat boarded up against the elements and possible intruders. Even so, the door offered little resistance when Candy pushed her way inside. After the cost of every bribe to get scraps of information, the time it’d taken to track down this safe house, the effort she’d put into studying the blueprints until she knew every detail by heart—it all seemed too easy just to walk in unchallenged.

Gun in hand, she moved with practiced care down the hallway, checking each room as she went. Eyes scanned over every surface, looking for some indication of her parents’ presence come and gone. Halfway down the hall, the smell hit her. Someone or something had been there and someone or something still remained to some degree. Other rooms forgotten, she went at a steady pace to track the source of the scent. Stopping at the door to one of the large storage rooms, Candy lowered her gun to point at the ground. Soft and sorry, her voice sounded in her ears.

“Shit.”

She’d found her father.

Shirtless and shoeless, his remains dangled heavily from the manacles set around his wrists. Grey slacks, stained with blood, still held a smart crease and mocked the scene with that small hint of tidiness. Fresh cuts and burns mixed with numerous old scars that marred his flesh. One unhealed wound bisected the black bear print tattoo placed over his heart on his chest. A gaping hole sat in the center of his forehead. A path of dried blood ran from the bullet wound, down one edge of his nose, and over his lips. His captors left disappointed, that much Candy read from the curve of the smile he wore in death.

Rage didn’t come. Nothing offered itself for her to rage against. Auto pilot took over her moments, putting the gun away and seeking out a crate she could use to reach her father’s wrists. Picking the locks on the cuffs proved easy enough, catching and navigating The Bear’s body to the ground without dropping him ended up being the hard part. Somehow Candy managed. The second set of shackles, hanging open and spotted with blood, didn’t go unnoticed—but she could only do one thing at a time. Only be in one place at a time.

With her father’s body on the ground, she fought against the rigor mortis to put his arms at his side. Once that was done, Candy knelt beside him. One hand rested over the tattoo on his chest as the other moved to lower his eyelids over lifeless green eyes. Her mother said she fell for those eyes before anything else. Tears threatened, bitterness rising to wash her away. Like so many other emotions she pushed them back into the pit of her being. She knew as well as her parents did they were never destined to die at a happy old age.

Air filled Candy’s lungs as she took a deep steadying breath, held it, and then released it slowly. She found her feet again as attention turned toward the second set of chains. Her focus trailed from there to the ground. More blood. It ran in a trail from where she stood off toward another hallway, leading the way for her feet to follow. Candy didn’t bother getting her gun out again.

Seven doors, the first six led to empty rooms. Beyond the frame of the seventh doorway, Candy found her mother. Sick Sylvia, mistress of torture and the extraction of information. Would those she guided to the grave find some sense of justice to see her now? Gagged and bound to the iron frame work of the bed. The dirty, naked mattress soiled all the more from the pool of blood beneath her body. Blouse and pencil skirt laid torn open to expose her skin. Black hair framed Sylvia’s face in a chaotic mess Candy had never seen in it. Despite the rest of the scene that small detail stung more than anything else. Her mother’s end came from the deep gash through the arteries of one thigh, a slow death from bleeding out. By the line of her mother’s jaw and the set of brown eyes, Candy could tell the woman died vowing to make those who’d done this pay.

Into the room Candy went, feeling the unsatisfied wrath of her mother surround her—another task for another time. Frayed fabric pulled to cover Sylvia’s exposed body before Candy produced a switchblade to cut her mother free. Another fight against the hard settling of death and the cumbersome weight, she brought her mother from the room and placed her beside The Bear. Her parents rested together, as they should, and some semblance of rightness returned. Only a little. Not enough.
Last edited by Candy Hart on Sat Nov 26, 2011 1:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Unhappy Endings (2)

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The information of the building’s layout didn’t go to waste. Candy employed it to set up a connection of explosions that created a mausoleum of rubble to house the bodies of her parents. She saw no need to do any more for their burial. She would let her parents rest where they fell and keep the knowledge between herself and those who had brought them to this point. Like the detail of a murder kept out of the papers, this knowledge would be hers to use against the perpetrators.

Fire brightened the darkness of the night’s sky. Heat from the flames stole a bit of the chill from the air, but couldn’t reach deep enough to take it from Candy’s heart. Thought followed thought through her mind, tracing memories far from the last few months. Little did the events of those months matter now—an unsuccessful challenge for ShadoWeaver, a successful challenge for FireStar. All for the hope of having some tool to use to follow the trail her parents might have left behind… only to see her arrive too late to accomplish anything.

Thoughts returning to the here and now, Candy’s eyes dropped from the dancing inferno to the weight of the red opal resting in her palm. Useless. She’d been unable to bring any sort of spark or reaction from the stone since her claiming of it. The spark that started the burning fire kindled from the Zippo lighter that sat in her pocket. Candy couldn’t help but wonder… had she not waited to gain an opal, had she not wasted time preparing, had she gone out sooner to track them down… would the fate of her parents have gone any differently? Or would she only track them down to suffer alongside them? More questions, no answers. In the end it was what it was and she couldn’t change any of it.
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Auld Lang Syne (1)

Post by Candy Hart »

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?


December 31, 2011

9:57 PM

The lobby of the plaza exuded high spirits, the eagerness and hopefulness of the bodies packed within. Music played, people mingled, libations flowed and the minutes ticked away to the New Year. Few noticed or cared when Richard made his way from the throng and to the elevators, going up to await the stroke of twelve in the privacy of his executive office. His yearly ritual involved a glass of well aged scotch and a peaceful solitude.

10:03 PM

The seal broke on the bottle of scotch with a comforting familiarity, followed by the chink of glass against glass and the movement of ice. The glass fit in his hand like a welcomed lover. His eyes turned to the view offered as he moved out onto the private balcony. The city continued to grow, reaching toward the sky, but few had gone high enough to block his point of observation. Only the brightest of stars could be seen above. Below the flowing river reflected the surrounding lights of the city, unable to pull them down within its hungry currents.

10:08 PM

The sensation snuck up on Richard. He felt unsteady, foggy. A puzzled frown, he looked toward the glass of scotch. His grip slackened, unable to contain the weight of his drink. Glass, ice, and scotch hit the hard floor of the balcony. The world tipped. At the edge of his vision, he thought he saw a shadow move. Blackness came.

11:12 PM

His head throbbed, inside and out. The attempt to touch a hand to his skull proved futile. His shoulders ached. Arms stretched behind the chair with wrists bound tightly together. Opening his eyes brought the sight of his body wrapped in black chord. He could feel it digging into him, restricting his mobility completely but for the movement of his head.

The interior of his office surrounded him. A woman stood the mini bar, looking at the label of an unopened bottle of scotch. Some sound from his direction must have caught her attention. Richard found himself facing ghosts. For a second his heart stilled with icy fear. The rationalization that the being before him had to be flesh and bone did little to assuage his trepidation.

She had her mother’s eyes, full of cold and calculated detachment, but the hard edge that set her lips into a line had been well learned from her father.

“Good to see you’re awake, Dick.”

Nothing in her tone made Richard think anything good would follow.
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Auld Lang Syne (2)

Post by Candy Hart »

January 1, 2012 -- 12:02 AM

Richard sat motionless. Blood from two bullet holes in his head leaked a river of red that mixed with the rest of the damage done to his face.

A brute. Just like your father. You lack your mother’s finesse.

Candy relived the moment when her anger got the better of her. The moment of sweet justification as Richard’s life came to a sudden—well deserved—end. Sweetness followed by irritation that he could no longer suffer through further punishment. She wondered if her mother ever felt that way. She knew her father must have.

She’d be among the living right now were it not for him.

She went back for him.

What happened to her was his fault.


The memory of Richard’s voice lacked none of the venom it carried when actually spoken. Him. Her father. Hatred carried there fully unmasked after years of being hidden away. How many times had the man sat at their table, shared their meal, and secretly wished for the death of the man he smiled at?

All for love…

Love. His way of speaking the word burned harshly in Candy’s mind. Her father died, because another man loved and coveted his wife. Her mother died, unwilling to abandon the man she’d promise her life to. He brought them in, but the trap belonged to another. That name never passed his lips.

I took what she wouldn’t give me freely…

After all the others…

Her last…


Nothing would pass Richard’s lips again. Candy tried to ignore the fact that he lured her into losing her temper. Like father like daughter. Better to focus on the positive—one down.

And an untold number to go.
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All Roads (1)

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January 28, 2012

Candy left Jay, the inn and the Arena behind. Heading in a direction solely due to her desire to be away from him and the thoughts she almost let slip—thoughts she didn’t want to own up to herself, let alone in front of him. The comments from Apple and Teagan couldn’t easily be shoved from her mind. The desire to put her fist through a wall tempted her need for release, but then she might be down two arms. With a challenge coming up in about a week, Candy managed to rein herself in.

Steps slowed once she reached a point well away from the factors behind her mood. The useless butt of her cigarette flicked at a wall and replaced with a fresh one. She took a look around to see where she ended up and, from there, figure out where she’d go next. Not The Brawler. Even with Jay’s message to pass along to Tony, Candy didn’t feel like going around there—too much potential for doing something counterproductive to healing.

Two calming drags from her cigarette later, Candy headed off in a new direction. She needed to see if any new leads had been found…



January 29, 2012

Several folders sat waiting on the top of the stout coffee table. Candy sat on the couch, staring at the folder in her hand. The text mocked her from the page. Ash at the end of her cigarette built up and threatened to drop off on its own accord. She muttered and smashed the smoke in the clear ash tray that patiently waited, before heading to the kitchen for a beer.

Did all roads lead to the same place?



January 31, 2012

Candy stood outside Jay’s apartment building, comfortable with the knowledge he wouldn’t be around. A black hoodie covered her head and blocked her facial features from certain angles. Cigarette perched on her lip as she skimmed over the names labeling mailboxes. She noted that the assortment of variously written names didn’t include Jay’s, before checking for the name from the folder. Not there. But another name caught her attention and she pulled out a slip of paper from her jacket pocket, comparing it to the list of aliases. Bingo.

Stepping back and away from the building, Candy looked over the outside. Three stories, the front door remained locked for security and getting in involved having a key or getting buzzed in. She touched her arm, now just out of its sling. Time enough to work out a way in, a name on a mailbox didn’t mean her mark would be around any time soon. She took in the surrounding area, scouting out a place to sit and watch while she waited. Her shift at the Outback didn’t start for hours…
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All Roads (2)

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February 6, 2012 — Sometime after Midnight

Candy spent the time leading up to the Firestar challenge split between training for the upcoming match and stalking her prey. Each activity required the bulk of her focus and she shut out most other concerns. She breezed through The Brawler for her check-in with the Doc and relayed the message Jay insisted on passing through her rather than doing it for himself. Some ire showed in her features and Tony refrained from making any comments on that fact that might have ended up with her fist in his eye. Rachael’s weekend morning training sessions were intense, the readiness Candy felt for action forced into the drive she put into training the recently gained emerald holder. No slack. Just like her father taught her.

I’m a force to be feared.

Cold water splashed over her face, bit into the cuts she hadn’t noticed during the challenge. Candy looked over her features, noted where the bruising was already showing, as she pushed her hair back with damp hands. Her voice? Firestar? It sounded in her mind with promises of violence. She knew exactly who she’d want to release that violence on. The face of her mark burned in her mind. She recalled all the paths he walked, each bar he haunted. Teeth pressed tightly together. She put her hands to the cool porcelain of the sink and held tight.

Stick to the plan.

Candy reminded herself. Returning her gaze to her reflection, she licked her lip. Revenge wouldn’t be enough. Not this time. She wanted answers too.

“Answers take patience.”

Her mother’s words solidified Candy’s determination. Jay would be back that day. Or, at least, he had said as much. She would have to watch her prey away from the apartment. Eyeing her features, Candy gauged how long she would have to wait for the bruises to heal.

Patience.
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All Roads (3)

Post by Candy Hart »

February 17, 2012

Eyelashes brushed against the bristles of the mascara’s applicator as Candy added the final touch. Her hand lowered and she examined herself in the mirror. Honey blonde hair framed her features. The shadow and liner pulled the green from her eyes and made it pop. A reddish hue painted lips that curved in a manner that differed from Candy’s usual broken smile. For the first time ever, Candy saw her mother in her own reflection.

Cool.

Calm.

Ready.

--

Heeled boots sounded against the sidewalk. The lingering chill of winter whispered against the pattern of crochet patterned tights, peeked beneath the length of the short black leather skirt she wore. Candy approached the bar from the end of the block, preparing herself for the bustle of the crowd within. Halfway there she realized her mark stood outside, leaning against the wall while a girl in strappy heels and pink dress yelled at him. The exchange ended with her slapping him across the face before storming off. He didn’t follow.

Noting the pack of smokes he pulled from his jacket, Candy approached the bar. She canted her head with an amused and curious look at his vanished companion, “Rough night.”

“You could say that.”

“I did say that.” Feigning a vulnerability she didn’t feel, she huddled into her red hoodie against the chill of the night. “Can I bum one?”

The spark of his lighter lit the features of his face, rough and hard. He checked her over. He didn’t look convinced of his interest, but he sounded ready to get there. “Why should I do that?”

“Cause you’re not the only one down a date tonight.” The smile she gave him shone with invitation, pleasure at their good fortune to run into each other on such a chilly night. She shifted, pulling strands of blonde hair off her cheek. The hand that left her pocket left the unzipped hoodie to open and revealing the red bodice top she wore beneath.

Candy watched him take it in. His stance turned toward her with interest as he offered her the requested smoke and his name.

“Eddie.”

Candy leaned in, lighting up from the partially extended lighter he held up between them. Once the cherry came to life, she remained close to him.

“Kate.”

Getting smacked once that night didn’t put him off the chance of it happening again, he nodded his head toward the other end of the block. “Got a place near here. Drinks. Interested?”

Her eyes glanced toward the bar, but a smile already showed. She nodded and indicated for him to lead the way. “Yeah. Didn’t feel like a crowd tonight anyway.”

--

Panic. Candy tried to keep it at bay as he pinned her against the door of his apartment, their mouths press together in a heated kiss that left some part of her feeling numb with fear. Hard and rough not just in his appearance but also in his presence. Something about Eddie reminded her of Jesse, the scent of him beneath the booze and cigarettes. Firestar felt it—wanted to answer the inner pleas of Candy’s buried emotions. Burn it all down.

No.

No. I’m in control.

I’m the one in control here.


She hooked her hands into his jacket, pulled him closer. His hands slipped beneath the part of her hoodie and pressed against the bodice. Lips trailed away from her mouth and down the curve of her neck, she tilted it to him. One hand up and curling into his hair as her other pulled the syringe from the hidden pocket of her bag.

Her grip in his hair tightened. The needle stabbed into his throat, the plunger pushed, before he picked up on the change. Startled he stumbled back, his hand holding his neck and the syringe still buried in it.

“What the—“

Eddie pulled the needle from his neck. Looking it over as anger exploded into his features.

“You stupid b—“

He came at her, swinging a heavy fist that landed and knocked the back of her skull against the door. Candy gritted into the pain she knew too well and the taste of copper in her mouth. She smiled darkly at the second fist he aimed. Ducking it, the fist went above her head as she planted her shoulder into his gut and pushed him away from the door.

The pair fell to the floor, his head taking its turn to ricochet off a hard surface. More noise for the neighbors to ignore. Eddie had a reputation that discouraged anyone else in the building from saying or doing anything about what they heard from his place.

Candy pulled herself up to straddle him on her knees, landing her own hit that left his vision going dark. That mixed in with the drug that started to work its magic, left him sluggish and unable to respond. Even as the lights went out, she punched him again.

--

Eddie woke up with a nasty headache and a feeling like his couldn’t breathe. Quickly he found himself tied to a chair, sitting in the middle of the room. The gag in his mouth hurt his jaw.

Candy sat at the counter of his kitchen, looking like a waiting viper in no hurry to strike—her prey right where she wanted him. Around them the place had been tossed and anything worth finding couldn’t have remained hidden after the thoroughness of the search. On the counter beside her sat two items: one of his guns and the carved box where he kept his trophies. The box sat open, Candy’s attention fixed on the necklace she’d found among its contents.

“This belonged to my mother.”

On a silver chain a crystal icicle hung, wrapped in twisted silver vines with tiny thorns. One of a kind. A custom gift her father had commissioned to be made.

Her voice carried no emotion, but her hand tightened around the chain and she turned her eyes to him.

His time to panic, the necklace and the girl before him, it all clicked in his mind. Richard, found dead at his office on New Year’s Eve. He shook his head, mouthed muffled pleas she couldn’t hear. He tried to offer her something, anything, to keep himself alive—begging with his eyes. Candy stood up, moving toward him. With the gun left behind, Eddie thought he still had a chance. Foolishly the thought lingered even as the blade punctured into his gut. Once. Twice.

Lips put to his ear as she softly whispered, “Dick’s death was quick. Yours won’t be.”

She stepped back, taking in the disbelief in his eyes. Then his rage appeared for another round, not that it would change anything. Candy went back to the counter, took out a packet of cigarettes and lit up.

Hours passed as he bled out and she watched—waiting for the final flicker of life to be extinguished.

--

Candy left the apartment just before dawn, glancing down the hallway of the third floor. Steps sounded on the stairs. With a few scraps of information tucked away in her bag, she headed in the opposite direction toward the fire escape in the back. Her mother’s necklace hung around her neck and rested over her heart.

She’d have to hurry to the Outback, get there before Rachael arrived for training. A quick shower and change… no one would ever know.
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The Price We Pay

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July 18, 2012 -- Sometime After Midnight

Covered in sweat from the workout, Candy sat on the weight bench in the Manor's recently added gym. The towel pressed to her forehead pulled away, leaving her staring at her own reflection. Matt Simon's words pushed through into her thoughts, get a grip on that thing in your mind... it's messing with your memories. A bitter chuckle cut through the silence of the night.

"It's -my- mind, a*hole. You think I don't know I'm not alone?"

Her words filled the room, too late and too far away to reach the man they were meant for. Deep within, FireStar chuckled.

She thought back to it, Matt's presence as he stood facing her—the steps that carried her closer. Then, a gap in time, she stood closer to where Matt had been and he stood nowhere in sight. Another black spot to her memory, the hot tendrils of FireStar losing his grasp on her. They had a deal and he wasn't keeping to his end of the bargain.

Not yet anyway...

Candy knew the cost, she knew what people saw and thought. Much as Simon tried to hide the occasional gossip column, it all got back to her. Violent. Dangerous. Nutter. Stupid. Ravin' Heat Bitch. The words didn't faze her—maybe because some were right, maybe because it worked in her favor to have people think that way about her. Let them under estimate her.

Only one man mattered to her now.

Memory works in mysterious ways. She could put herself right back into that day—feel the hands of the detective on her arm, see the expression of understanding dawn on her targets face only feet away. All the time, all the effort, all the waiting ruined in one single moment. She had Jay to thank for that, but she didn't even care enough to unleash her anger on him. Dragging him down wouldn't get her mark back, wouldn't change all the hard work he unraveled with only a few words. Hurting Jay, returning the favor of all he'd done to her, would only result in pulling her further from her goal.

Find the mark.

Find out everything he knows.

And hurt him.

Make him pay for the part he played in the deaths of The Bear and Sick Sylvia.

Make him beg for death.

And when his pleas are finally answered... let it be a painful one.
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