Obsidian Liquor

by Scarlett Dawn

  Sounding bored, when he did not get a comment from me, Artur asked, “Do you want an interview with my group, or not?”

  “Might as well,” I muttered, knowing I needed to give something to my editor tonight.

  Artur escorted me to Lion Security’s group.

  I interviewed each one, receiving only curt answers even when I kept the questions acceptable to the event. Though playing the good little reporter for the charity, my cover was most definitely blown.

  Brick Foundation’s event was set up with different categories. Lone sparring, gun control, group defense, group offense, partner sparring, partner sparring for show, weapons show, and an obstacle course, group and loner. There was not enough time for all of them to be done in one day, so each event had been split up for different days and times, only three hours in the morning, and three hours in the evening.

  There were no rules for men against women, supposedly they were all trained enough to fight any weight group or sex. At the end of the two weeks, they would tally what groups had the most wins. The top two teams would then pick which person/persons they wanted to compete in each event again for a grand finale. During the evenings, every third night, there were parties planned.

  Tonight was lone sparring. As the celebrities entered, I snapped photos of them in their casual attire as they were given score cards, where they were to mark down how much they would like to donate based on each match. I was sure they already had a total amount they wanted to give, but this allowed them to play-act making bets. In the end, no one lost any money. They had given it to charity and gotten to see their favorite ‘life saver’ in action. Really, for a Donovan planned event, it was damn genius.

  Once the lights started blinking, indicating the event was about to begin, Mrs. Donovan and her husband, the Mayor, slipped into the ring. A mike was lowered, just like in a real boxing match, and polite applause ensued. I quickly took my seat in the chairs provided on one side for the press that were barely squeezed between a fully extended bleacher and the ring. I was right up front, and loving it. I had grabbed a seat smack in the middle on the front row right when the bleachers were pulled out. I guess I had not lost my touch for the newbie stuff.

  I flicked my other tape recorder on, while I dug in my duffle for my high-zoom camera. I quickly snapped a photo of the Mayor and Mrs. Donovan as they said a few words that explained the events and where the proceeds of the donations would go.

  A referee stepped into the ring as the competing groups entered from a side door, their assigned sitting area directly behind the press on one-half of the bleachers. I scanned the groups entering and started laughing quietly when I saw my target group. They were wearing hot pink tank tops or sports bras with black athletic shorts. There were not many women at Lion Security, and it looked damn funny seeing them in that color. By their expressions, they were not entirely too pleased with it either.

  I zeroed in on Cole, Brent, Grigori, and Ember, snapping many shots. Oddly, Ember was wearing a tank top like the men, instead of a sports bra like the women of their group. She was a Goth girl, but I had not expected her to be bashful. I pulled out my notepad, and quickly wrote that information down to investigate later.

  Up in the boxing ring, the referee was filling the bejeweled top hat that Mrs. Donovan handed him with different colors of paper, the colors of the competitor’s team shirts that had a participant’s name on each slip. If Mrs. Donovan drew the same color in a row, she would then put the second slip back and keep drawing until she drew one of a different color.

  That was how the competitors were to be picked.

  Forget clever technology, they were drawing out of a hat.

  A sparkly one at that…in a savage competition of America’s finest.

  If that was not a great reason to dislike the Donovans…well, I had a hundred others.

  Once the competing groups were seated, Mrs. Donovan reached into the hat. I had already finished writing down which groups corresponded to the colors by one of the programs I had snatched. She drew a lime green slip first. Titus Protection. She stated the name of the individual, and a brute of a man made his way through the stands. There was polite applause, but there were also loud whistles, probably the celebrities he had previously helped. Mrs. Donovan reached into the hat again, while the Mayor quickly punched into a handheld computer, reading the participant’s stats and accomplishments to the crowd. Mrs. Donovan pulled out a hot pink paper.

  The Mayor glanced over her shoulder when he saw the color, and they both stared at the name a moment before glancing at the brute. Mrs. Donovan cleared her throat, her face void of any emotion, and stated clearly, “Anna Tran of Lion Security.”

  I blinked, trying to place a face with the name, but she had not been in the group while I had interviewed them earlier. As applause sounded much louder than the first guys’ had—not surprising since Lion Security was the top security company in the United States—I turned and zoomed my camera on their group, and stared through the lens.

  Good God. That man was going to crush her.

  She was not tiny like me, but she was not a fierce, muscular woman either. And honestly, she was looking a little nervous as she walked down the stairs toward the ring. That guy might be big, but it was obvious that he was fast. This was a no holds bar competition. Other than killing blows and permanent damage hits, anything went.

  I turned my camera on Carl Tran of Lion Security, her husband. Oh, my goodness. He appeared like he wanted to wrap her in his arms and throw her back on her seat so he could beat the shit out of the man that was about to fight his wife. Well, this should be interesting.

  I lowered my camera and quickly jotted down their names and companies. I was going to keep a tally, so I could report the match numbers accurately.

  The Mayor read off her stats and accomplishments, and I was startled to realize she was the one to uncover Brent and Cole were still alive, and aided them back to the United States after their military mission was complete. Definitely a smart cookie. Still, she was damn jumpy; by the way, she kept clenching her fists.

  The Mayor and Mrs. Donovan left the ring while the referee stayed, explaining the rules to the competitors, even though they already knew them. If they made it through three songs without a knockout or a ten second down rule, then they would each have the opportunity to pick someone from their group to fight with them, two-on-two style. Poor Anna reminded me of a nail about to battle a house as she stood in front of her opponent.

  I heard…yes…Ember shout, “Kick his weak legs, Anna!” Odd advice. Normally, it would be ‘kick his ass’, but whatever. It got a resounding roar from the audience.

  Anna glanced back to her group, and I could have sworn she mouthed, ‘Thank you’.

  A ding sounded, and then rock hard music started blaring over the sound system.

  Anna immediately ducked a fist that flew at her head, the blow barely missing her since the guy was fast like I had noticed. This back and forth volley went on far longer than I had imagined it would with her smaller stature. Then the guy got a glancing blow against her jaw, and she fell. But, as she did, she twisted, letting her whole body rotate with the motion, swiping behind his knees with both of hers.

  The brute went down hard on his back, and they were both immediately rolling away and popping back up. Anna shook her head hard, and it was on again. I cheered right along with everyone else, trying to get decent shots when I could.

  I got it when she twirled and dove at his legs when he aimed high with a fist. Again, he went down hard, but Anna went with him with a knee straight to his crotch and an elbow to his head. I snapped a picture as she did the combo. She jumped up as he rolled onto his side, one hand on his masculine bits, the other on his head. I knew the men had to be wearing some kind of cup, but she had probably broken the damn thing with how hard she had nailed him.

  He did not get up. Lion Security had their first win.

  An hour passed before another hot pink slip was pulled. The
Mayor once again glanced over his wife’s shoulder. They both blinked before Mrs. Donovan grabbed the mike, her expression actually cracking this time with worry. “Ember Lerrus from Lion Security.”

  The normal stats were given while I snapped photos. However, once Ember entered the ring, I focused my lens on Grigori and kept it there. This was what I was here for.

  He sat stiffly with his eyes just as cold as hers.

  I heard Mrs. Donovan state, “Woody Chin from the Marine Corps.”

  I immediately started snapping pictures as his gaze darted over the competing groups. I could not see why he stopped moving his head, but his eyes narrowed. I got pictures as his gaze altered from ice cold to fevered intensity.

  His jaw clenched before he blanked the expression.

  Yep. More there than meets the eye.

  I lowered my camera and almost dropped it. I had not noticed before, but Daniil was seated with Zoya and his bodyguards only a few rows up on the other half of the bleachers reserved for family. He was staring right at me. I turned on my chair quickly and got my first view of Woody Chin.

  Oh.

  If Grigori had been sizing him up, I understood the hostility. Woody Chin was a man of Asian ancestry, tall and lean, not bulky, and the way he moved into the ring spoke of long time training. The Marines must have taught him to be an assassin with the deadly mien he wore.

  Ember and I were pretty much the same size. I think I had an inch, maybe, on her, but we were both damn close to the too-tiny rage. She observed her opponent with a…creepy…gaze, and I quickly snapped a few photos before putting the camera down as she watched him move, her eyes repeatedly surveying his frame. She closed her eyes and scrubbed her face as the referee said the rules all over again. When she opened them, she glanced up to her group. I could not read what she was telling them with her expression, but her ponytail shook the slightest bit, as if she was indicating she could not beat the guy.

  I could have told her that. She was going to go down. Hard.

  The bell dinged and a different set of songs started. The fight was on.

  Holy shit, I stared in shock as Ember held her own against this martial arts three-time black belt. They went around the ring, sometimes missing, and every so often hitting their target; effectively, kicking each other’s asses.

  At one point during the second song, Ember landed a solid kick to one of the man’s kneecaps, but he had already started swinging his opposite leg up and hit her square in one of her shoulders. Ember gasped, her face turning white. She immediately grabbed her shoulder as they both went down. Painfully, they crawled away from one another. The place was silent as they picked themselves up. Ember did not move her hurt arm from her side, and she still managed to make it through to the last of the third song.

  They stood panting and holding areas of themselves that were injured as Mrs. Donovan and the Mayor maneuvered back into the ring. Both went immediately to Ember, and the Mayor touched her shoulder. Again, her face drained to white, but she jerked back and shook her head, eyeing her competitor. He grinned even as he sucked air, favoring his knee she had knocked hard.

  Mrs. Donovan raised her eyebrows in silent question.

  Ember shook her head.

  She sighed and grabbed the lowered mike. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have our first Death Zone match.” She nodded to Woody. “You had the most blows according to the score card. You pick your teammate first.”

  Grinning at Ember, he stated, “My twin. Stone Chin.”

  Ember’s eyebrows furrowed, more than likely, imaging another just like him.

  He was. Stone and Woody were identical twins.

  I seriously hoped those were nicknames.

  As Stone got into the ring, Ember’s eyes went all freaky-creepy again. So much so, that she missed Mrs. Donovan asking her whom she wanted from her team. The referee touched her shoulder, and that woke her up. She winced and pulled back, scrubbing her face again before staring up at her group.

  “Ember?” Mrs. Donovan asked, “Who would you like to fight with you?”

  Ember’s face went cold, and she glanced back down to the men in the ring, and then back up to her group. She stated simply, “Grigori.”

  Instantly, I turned and started taking shots, but dammit, I had missed Grigori’s initial reaction. So I altered my view to where Brent and Cole sat next to each other. It appeared Ember was going to have some explaining to do by how pissed they were, glaring at Grigori as he made his way down the bleachers.

  Sorry boys, but you were gone for two years.

  I made sure to keep my line of vision away from Daniil when I lowered my camera and turned back to the ring as Grigori slipped through the ropes. My gut feelings were never wrong, and Grigori had taken a position at Lion Security, the company that Ember co-owned, and kept the job, even after I had ousted him a year ago as Daniil Kozar’s son.

  The Mayor spoke quietly to him in passing that made Grigori’s eyebrows raise, but he nodded, even as he stalked straight toward Ember. He did not pay attention to his competitors that were eyeballing him, or acknowledge that Mrs. Donovan was introducing him, or even glance up as the crowd went wild when they realized it was ‘The Grigori’. He did not say anything to Ember or vice versa, but his large hands went directly to her injured shoulder.

  She grimaced, turning her face from him.

  I had started snapping pictures and was rewarded with a beautiful shot when he jerked her chin back around so they were face to face.

  He was furious; his eyes no longer blank. She acted just as livid, but she quickly murmured to him just as the referee started reading off the rules, which effectively were, the fight continued until both teammates were down. No time limit.

  Grigori’s nostrils flared. He gripped her shoulder in an odd way right before he jerked his hands and a horrible snap sounded. Her complexion turned lily white, and she looked as if she wanted to puke, but Grigori briskly began massaging her shoulder. A few silent seconds passed while he worked her shoulder.

  Ember’s coloring sluggishly returned before she stepped away from his touch. She started wind milling her arm, a look of relief passing over her features as she rotated it faster.

  And I got it all on film, baby. Grigori had just popped her shoulder back into place.

  The referee was staring wide-eyed.

  Ember glanced at him. “Let’s do this thing.” That brought on hollers from the crowd.

  As the bell sounded and music blared, she and Grigori moved next to each other.

  If I had thought Ember alone was spectacular, well, she and Grigori were like moving extensions of one another. Even compared to the martial arts twins that had probably been doing this since they were babies together, Ember and Grigori were breathtaking.

  I stopped taking pictures just to stare.

  I knew I should have had one stunning part on film; but…yeah, no, I had to watch.

  Grigori spun, ducked low and kicked Woody in his injured leg, just as Ember jumped high, pressed off Grigori’s back, using him like a spring, and kicked Stone straight in his jaw.

  The twins did not go down from that move, but by the time the first song ended, the two men were knocked out when Ember dropped and twisted, taking both their legs out, and Grigori followed her down with two fists to the falling men’s heads, knocking them unconscious before they even hit the floor. In mid-fall, Grigori rotated and landed side-by-side with Ember, both gazing at the ceiling and panting for only heartbeat before they did one of those legs to their chests, pushing back with their arms, and flipping up to their feet moves…to stand sucking air and wearing ice-cold expressions as they stared down at the fallen twins.

  I could not wait any longer. I stopped gawking and brought the camera up, snapping pictures of them, all cold and deadly as sin. There was shocked silence as the music abruptly cut off, but almost immediately, an uproar of applause startled the shit out of me. Guess the fans enjoyed the show as much as I had.

  Mrs. Donovan and the M
ayor hopped into the ring, patting Grigori and Ember’s backs while they stood as if they were dead to the world and their surroundings. It was remarkable. It made me want to dig even deeper to see what they were hiding. They could not be that way unless they were sociopaths, and I knew this was not the case because I had observed them before Brent and Cole’s return.

  Speaking of which, I turned my camera and zoomed in. Brent and Cole were staring with astonishment at the ring. Apparently, they were not seeing what I was. All they expressed was that they had just witnessed their girlfriend act like death’s own blade, and it had shocked them. That was all.

  Goody for me.

  I was attending the party that was held that night in the main ballroom of the resort. I think there was going to be more in here throughout the two weeks, but this was the first. More than likely, only the last party would be more extravagant than this one.

  I was dressed in a black cocktail dress that was simple and elegant. I looked decent in it, but my hair could not be helped. I had a mass of strawberry blonde curls that the humidity was taking delight in torturing. It was like a poodle-gone-wrong hairdo. I really hated the tropics. Give me New York’s blistering cold any day over this repressive humidity.

  I was smart enough to make sure I brought my duffle of goods with me tonight. I did not plan to let it out of my sight. Daniil had been watching me anytime I snapped a picture anywhere near his family. The Russian mafia king would have someone try to steal it, but I was already trying to strategize a game plan for that situation. Too bad, nothing was coming to mind on that account.

  Deciding to use my previous invite with Artur, I stayed close to him. The individuals here would eventually start talking as more drinks were served and lips became loose. Artur’s amusement was evident when I stuck close to his side, but he let me tag along without complaint. That should have been my first clue that something was not right. However, sadly and stupidly, it was an hour into the party until I realized the asshole was staying away from the four people I wanted to be around.