Scott delivered their lunches just as G-Baby returned with his paper.
“Y’all finished so a man can eat his lunch?” G-Baby asked.
“Your timing’s perfect. We’re all done. While you were gone, we all decided to become nuns.” Deja batted her eyelids at him.
“I could only wish!”
“Uncle G, on the way over here, Nikky asked me a question I don’t know how to answer. You have the most experience watching the streets change, so maybe you can help her out.”
“What’s that?”
“With Lewis and Jackson gone,” Nikky said, “what will happen in the hood?”
G-Baby blinked several times and looked off in the distance for a moment. “Well . . . the next few months will be a bad time to be in the street life. The police and coroner will probably be busy for a while. I’ve seen the leadership change a couple times and it can get bloody. My guess is, we’ll see a lot more drive-bys and turf wars; a bit of a mess in general.”
“Do you really think that will happen?” Michelle asked.
“Yes, unless one of the lieutenants is strong enough to take over, like in that movie with Denzel. But I don’t think so. It’s not like I know any of the players, or want to know them. What I’ve seen in the past has always been bloody. Young fools get all riled up and stupid, running the streets, shooting and . . . well, it could be ugly for a while.”
“All of that makes sense,” Nikky said. “But really, I’m sorry I asked. That’s depressing, even for the hood.”
“Who knows? Maybe somebody strong enough will step up and keep the lid on things. We can only hope. There’s a lot more good people in the hood than bangers and thugs. In time, it’ll work out.”
“Yeah, but it’s the in-between times that scare me,” Nikky said.
“Yup, that’s the problem, all right. Now, I’ve got a question for you,” G-Baby said to Nikky.
“What’s that?”
“When did you become a big thinker, who worried about big social issues?”
“Ever since Michelle came home and brought these issues to my attention,” she said.
“Well, I don’t know much about big social issues,” Deja put in, “but I do know y’all are ruining my lunch with all of this talk about who’ll do what to who. It’s not like any of us will have anything to do with that stuff.”
“I agree.” Nikky nodded, holding up her hands. “I don’t plan on being involved in any kind of craziness. But I’m also not moving over here where the rent’s four times what I pay now and twice as far from my job. Unfortunately, that keeps me in the mix, and G-Baby’s shop is dead in the middle of the action. We’re gonna be there if we want to or not. What happens when that stuff kicks off?”
“Dive for cover when the shooting starts,” G-Baby said. “That, and have lunch here at Scott’s on a regular basis.” He held up his remaining sandwich. “This pastrami is pretty good.”
Surrounded by people she loved, Michelle leaned back in her chair, looked around the diner, and let out a long, deep breath. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and much to her surprise, the slight tension in her stomach, once a constant part of her for over three years, slowly melted away. The smile at her lips crept into her eyes.
“What’re you smiling about?” Nikky asked.
“Just how good it feels to be here with all of you and though it was as hard as hell, to finally have my revenge.”
Thank you for reading Hard Revenge, the first book in the Michelle Angelique series where Michelle got her revenge. But is the score fully settled? Does she get even?
Keep reading for a peek into Michelle’s next book, Hard Betrayal.
HARD BETRAYAL
************
One: A Worthy Opponent
THE SMELL OF LEATHER, SWEAT, RUBBER AND LINIMENT wasn’t the first thing Trevon noticed. It was the lack of an upscale, modern entry, then the bare cement floor, plus the single, raised boxing ring dominating the center of the room. Those things all came first. Last, the unmistakable smell of a serious gym for serious athletes sunk in, demanding recognition.
Trevon caught Deja’s eye. He waved and walked over. “Sup?”
“Hey, Trevon.”
He looked around. “This is a real, no-bullshit gym.”
“What did you expect?” Deja asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe something a little more — well, I can’t say ladylike. Not when she’s getting into a ring. I guess I thought something less old-school. You know, with lots of treadmills and mirrors; the kind of gym that smells like a spa and sells smoothies in custom-printed cold cups.”
Nikky looked up from her phone and tipped her head. “Sup?”
“Hey,” Trevon replied.
An Asian man with close-cropped, black hair wearing a black referee shirt and black pants climbed into the ring.
Nikky tilted her head toward the ref. “I’m pretty sure that means they’re about to get started.
Michelle came out of the dressing rooms wearing her Muay Thai kickboxing clothes and gear. Except for bare feet and headband her outfit closely resembled any American female boxer; loose shorts, tight halter top, and padded gloves. Bouncing like an excited boxer she skip-hopped toward the ring.
“Hey, Michelle!” their voices chorused.
“Hey.” Came the friendly, but rather abrupt reply. Without pausing, she bounded past them to climb up onto the ring apron and through the ropes.
“Is this the same thing as kickboxing?” Deja asked.
“No,” Trevon said. “Muay Thai is not as flashy, and is often more vicious. They can use their elbows and knees. It’s a lot more like street fighting, with rules.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It can be,” Trevon said. “Do you know anything about her opponent?”
“Michelle said her name is — now get this: Sumanwan Upananchai,” Nikky said. “No wonder she goes by Kim. Apparently, she’s some high-ranking fighter in Thailand.”
“How high?” Trevon asked.
“Top twenty? Yeah, that’s what Michelle said. This Kim is a top-twenty ranked professional.”
“No shit!” Trevon let out a low whistle. “And they’re fighting here, in what, a sparring match?”
“Uh-huh. Something about Michelle not wanting people to know about it,” Nikky explained. “The other woman agreed because apparently, it’s some inside pride thing their trainers set up.”
“That’s probably an understatement,” Trevon said. “The Muay Thai thing is a huge national pride issue with the fighters. Everyone involved in the sport is extremely serious. When a boxer here in the US loses, he loses a fight, maybe some ranking and money. For a Thai fighter, losing a match to a foreigner is to lose face, for him, his trainers, his club, and even the whole country.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” Deja said.
“Yeah, when Michelle invited me, I read up on it, watched some of the more famous fights on YouTube . . .”
While they talked, Trevon kept an eye on Michelle. Her fidgeting virtually screamed of tightly wound energy begging for release.
After the short preamble, Michelle stood in her corner poised, quiet, a picture of focused intensity.
At the opening bell, Michelle exploded forward much faster than any professional boxer. No testing, no sizing up her opponent.
In the first few seconds, she made a quick feint right, then left, then a feint with the left foot, lean back on the right, a twist of the hips, and a solid snap-kick to Kim’s right ribs. Kim’s eyes widened in surprise.
Michelle danced out. Excitement in her eyes, she dove back in, landing two of five punches.
Wham, wham, BAM, wham, BAM . . .
Kim, lips compressed, eyes narrowed, countered with an attempted swing and head kick. She found air.
Michelle landed a low kick to the back of Kim’s knee, knocking her slightly off balance. Equally out of balance, Michelle landed a right haymaker, slamming her right fist into the side of Kim’s head. It
was awkward and ugly. It was also quite effective.
“Holy shit!” Trevon yelled and jumped out of his chair.
The war was on. Both fighters attacked with a ferocity Trevon had never seen — in the ring or on the streets.
When the bell rang, visibly shaken, Kim found her corner.
Michelle bounced to her own, where a petite Asian woman waited for her. She made Michelle lean against the corner pole and worked on the swelling below Michelle’s left eye.
In the second round, Kim landed a huge right kick to the side of Michelle’s head. Michelle’s legs wobbled, her guard dropped, and she fell back against the ropes, stunned.
“No!” Deja screamed, launching to her feet. In one, long step, she reached the edge of the ring. She started to climb up but Trevon grabbed Deja’s jean’s waistband and yanked her back.
Kim moved in for the kill and it looked like the fight would end. But coming in, she met a strong jab to her nose that snapped her head back. Michelle got her legs under herself and danced away.
Michelle took two steps away, then snap reversed and charged in with a brutal combination — a low kick, step in, two punches, and a knee kick. None of them did any damage, but the message was clear. Kim needed to either break bones or knock Michelle out to stop her. That killer kick had only been a short-lived inconvenience.
The bell rang for the end of round two, and both fighters dropped their arms, ignored each other, and headed toward their corners. This time, Michelle relaxed on the offered stool. Breathing hard, shoulders back, head up, eyes on her opponent, she exuded confidence, telling the world she was focused and in charge.
Three rounds to go.
Again, Trevon pulled Deja back by her waistband when she tried to crowd up to Michelle’s corner. “Not now, Deja. Any interruption could break her concentration. Sit back and watch.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Deja said. “I mean, my God! I knew it would be a fight, but not this. This is, it’s, it’s . . . I don’t fucking know. This is vicious!”
Over the following three rounds, Michelle hit, kicked high, kicked low, and spun using the backs of her elbows, faster and more frequently than Trevon had seen. Kim matched her, if not quite blow-for-blow and kick-for-kick, then certainly in heart.
Late in the fourth round, both fighters were knocked down. The fight continued. Kim’s left eye became a small, swollen slit, while her nose dripped blood. Michelle spun, landing a solid blow with the back of her left elbow, and Kim dropped a second time in the round. The referee stepped in. Kim barely struggled to her feet. Hands propped on her knees, she hung her head.
“That’s gotta be it,” Nikky said.
Kim shook her head, then straightened up. The ref asked her a question. She nodded, then nodded again. The ref stepped back and motioned for the fight to continue.
Kim bounced on her toes, rolled her neck, nodded, hunched, then relaxed, set her shoulders, and moved in. Michelle landed a low kick to Kim’s calf, then danced back. The bell rang.
In the fifth round the punishment showed, with determination and grit marking the fight. Breathing through their mouths, both opponents wore the effects of the exhausting pounding they gave and received in the first four rounds. But there was no clenching or holding. From the first bell to the end, they threw out a constant barrage of kicks and blows, dancing back and pressing forward. The sheer brutality of it eclipsed anything Trevon had ever seen, in or out of the ring.
At the end, even though both fighters bled from several cuts, when the bell rang, they hugged and found their corners where their trainers waited.
Trevon reviewed the bout in his head. Had the match been sanctioned, the victory could have gone either way. Michelle led some rounds, while Kim took some; overall, on points, the fight was too close to call. Between the two women, though, fighter against fighter, the fight was not as close. Many of Kim’s blows landed but did no damage where most of Michelle’s blows were punishing.
Deja, Nikky, and Trevon all climbed into the ring, getting in the way and congratulating Michelle.
A moment later, Kim approached and bowed deeply. “Honorable Michelle, thank you for teaching me so much humility. Never before did I feel my life could be forfeit in a fight.”
Michelle bowed in return, showing respect for her opponent’s skill. “Honorable Sumanwan. Your talent, style, and training have made you into the champion you are. Between us, you’re the better boxer. I’m happy we met in the ring, where I could learn from you.”
Michelle’s bow was not quite as deep as Kim’s had been. The shorter bow told the story Trevon suspected.
“Michelle,” Trevon asked, “if the fight had been on the streets, no ref, would Kim have been able to walk away?”
Michelle paused, eyes looking up left, then right, then she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Holy shit, girl!” Deja said. “How are you acting all casual-like as if that wasn’t just the baddest fight of the whole damned century? Jesus Christ, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed what you did.”
“Yeah, it was a tough fight,” Michelle replied, “and I won. To still be standing feels good — real good. What else can I say?”
“We know what to say,” Deja said. “You’re badass. Probably the badassest woman ever.”
Trevon stood back while the women jumped around and talked.
Mr. Kobayashi, the owner of the gym, stepped up to Michelle. She bowed to him, then turned to her friends. “Hey, guys, I need to talk with my sensei a bit, then I’ll get cleaned up. How about we meet for lunch at Scott’s in, say, an hour?”
“Sounds good,” Trevon said. “Or, we can wait here for you.”
“No,” Nikky said. “You guys go ahead. We already agreed, she’s riding with me. We’ll get there as soon as we can.”
* * *
“Hey, Scott!” Deja boomed when the they walked into Scott’s Diner. “Michelle and Nikky are on their way to join us for lunch in a while. This is Trevon, one Michelle’s friends. It is okay if we hang out here to wait for her?”
Scott waved. “Hi, Deja. Hey, Trevon. No problem, if you don’t mind sitting at the counter until a table opens.”
“Hey, Scott.” Trevon gave him a nod.
Deja lifted her brow. “You guys act like you’ve met before,” she said. “Do you know each other?”
Trevon winked at Deja. “I’ve come in for take out.”
“Oh, silly me,” Deja said, laughing. “I’m always missing those things.”
“Can I get you anything while you wait?” Scott asked.
“Just drinks, for now,” Trevon replied. “We’ll wait for Michelle before we order lunch.”
About forty-five minutes later, when Michelle and Nikky walked into Scott’s, Trevon, and Deja stood up from their newly acquired table to clap. The other patrons stopped and stared, and Michelle responded with a huge grin and a theatrical bow.
Deja addressed the lunch crowd. “Everybody, this is Michelle, and she just kicked ass this morning in a monster boxing match. Give it up for my good friend and champion, Michelle!” The crowd joined in the second round of applause.
“Thanks, everyone.” Michelle said.
Deja gave her a hug, then pulled her over to their table. “Girl, you’re the shit! I didn’t know anyone could fight that hard. That was some kind of something.”
Scott came over. “Big day?” he asked.
“Man, you shoulda’ seen her,” Nikky said. “Our girl raised the roof. She kicked ass.”
“Oh, Scott,” Deja said, “she was like, what, the fucking energizer bunny!”
“No you didn’t!” Nikky cried. “Did you just call Michelle a funny, furry bunny toy?”
“No, you know I didn’t mean it that way.” Deja cocked her head as her eyebrows tried to crawl up into her hair. “I meant, she didn’t stop for nothing, like the Terminator. Yeah, like the Terminator.” She laughed at her screw up. “What, you want me to have the right word
s when I’m this excited? Oh, Michelle, you were awesome!”
Scott raised an eyebrow at Trevon, who lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I know when I’m outclassed. Good thing when it comes to women, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“I hate to disappoint you,” —Michelle winked at Trevon— “but I’ve already been a fighter, and as far as the rest of this day goes, I’ll be a sleeper more than anything.”
.
Two: Gangsters
AFTER OVERLY INTIMATE SEARCHES D’andre and Sugar were motioned through the door.
The dead smell of cigarettes lingered in the outer office, the same way a previous tenant’s smoke clings to an upscale hotel room, even when masked with fresh linens and scented sprays. The more masculine inner office reeked of expensive Persian rugs, furniture polish, cigars, and scotch.
The ambiance was as lost on D’andre as much as it overwhelmed to Sugar.
From behind his large, sleek desk, Mr. Ascia, a middle-aged Italian, presided over the meeting. He neither stood nor offered to shake hands. “Welcome to Houston.”
D’andre swaggered in, glanced around, and plopped deep into the maroon upholstered chair in front of Ascia’s desk while Sugar — a wary, skittish kitten in a strange house — appraised both the office and the man.
They’d gathered in Ascia’s private office on the top floor of a seven-story business building in downtown Houston. His outer office, private office, and apartment took up the entire floor.
“Yeah, Texas is all right,” D’andre said. “You brought us here. What’s on yo’ mind?”
Ignoring D’andre’s comment, Ascia caught Sugar’s stare. “Miss Sugar, would you like some coffee or something cold to drink?”
Her eyes briefly darted over to D’andre. “No, thanks. Mister, um, how do you pronounce your name?”
“It’s old Italian and comes from ax man. It’s the same as Baker coming from the men who baked stuff. What we don’t know is if the men made their living cutting down trees, or cutting down men. You say it, ax-see-a.”
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