Sister's Revenge: Action Adventure Assassin Pulp Thriller Book #1 (Michelle Angelique Avenging Angel Assassin)

by Lori Jean Grace

  “Osu. Good match today.” Michelle bowed to her partner. “You have taught me much in a short time. I am indebted to you.” He’s getting better, but I’m improving faster. I’ll be able to match him soon. No killing spirit. He does this for fun. I don’t have that luxury.

  “Osu, Sensei,” Michelle said, turning to bow to her teacher. “Thank you for your patience, teaching me the way. I am grateful for your guidance.”

  “Osu, Michelle,” Mr. Kobayashi said. “It is my honor to teach one as dedicated as you. You work harder than any student ever to come to my dojo, though I fear there is a darkness within you that will someday bring tremendous pain and suffering.”

  Michelle remained silent. However wise and insightful her teacher might have been, his sensing Michelle had something important to do didn’t mean she’d talk about it. Not with him. Not today, not ever.

  “I see you have also signed up for sparring with Muay Thai,” the sensei said. “I do not think that is wise after such a strong grappling match.”

  “You are right. My arms are shaking from working so hard. I think I should cool down and hit the showers.”

  Michelle came to the gym this morning to help keep her mind and body busy. She had too much nervous energy for sex—maybe later—and a long run on the beach would have given her too much time to think. But now, after that hard workout and long shower, a little something to eat sounded good.

  *

  With a playful smile, he slid his hand up Michelle’s thigh. She arched her left eyebrow, responding to his touch with the barest nod of assent. Wordlessly, they slipped off the stools at the Denny’s lunch counter and headed to the hotel next door.

  “I’ll meet you back here in fifteen,” Michelle said. “I’m going to run to the store and pick up some Trojans. I don’t do bareback.”

  “I appreciate that. You’re a woman after my own heart.”

  “Let’s start somewhere else and see where the heart takes us.” She winked and closed her car door.

  Twenty-five minutes later, she pulled up at the hotel’s front door where he stood up from his spot in the lobby. Wearing a happy smile, he waved and went out to her car. “If you want to leave the top down,” he said, “you can park it here under the arbor out of the sun. I told the lady my wife would appreciate being able to leave her car in the shade.”

  “That was thoughtful. Thanks. Did you say wife?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Quan Smith. A first-floor room with a king bed was the best I could get. They don’t have a honeymoon suite, but I did get a laugh asking for it.”

  “Well, Mr. Smith, let’s go find out what a first-floor king bed has to offer.”

  Quan opened the hotel room door and stood back for Michelle to enter first. She waited.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I see your mother taught you how to treat a lady, but aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Yes!” Quan bowed deeply, formally. “I don’t have a broom to jump over. Will carrying you over the threshold do?”

  “Why, Mr. Smith, that would be wonderful.”

  “Please allow me, Mrs. Smith.” He scooped her up and carried her through the door.

  *

  After a delight-filled afternoon, and still covered in a light sheen of sweat, Quan propped himself up on his elbow and asked, “Can I say something?”

  “Sure.”

  “This may sound totally corny, but then, I’m pretty much a nerd anyway. At the risk of having you kick me out: if I were capable of judging—which honestly, I’m not—I would have to say that was world-class sex.”

  Michelle laughed. “Yeah, I’d say we get high marks for a great effort and pretty amazing results. Especially considering the equipment limitations.”

  “Too small?”

  “Men! Always worried about that. No, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s me—small tits.”

  “How about: petite and beautiful. It’s crazy. You have an amazing body. Your breasts are shockingly sexy, and you worry about them being small? At least you don’t have round shoulders and a high ass, like me.

  “High ass?”

  “From my mother’s side of the family. All of the Petersons have that high ass.”

  “I thought your last name was Smith.”

  “Warren.”

  “Well, Quan Warren, as imperfect as we are, we still managed to get this far.” She breathed in deeply, rolled over, and traced her fingertips down his hairy chest, following her caresses with soft, nibbling kisses. He rumbled deeply.

  Rising to the occasion, Quan pulled her up and whispered in her ear, “No you don’t. My turn to start.” His beard tickled her neck, raising goose bumps as he trailed kisses down to, and past, her admittedly small, shapely, and oh-so sensitive breasts.

  A long while later, the two of them relaxed in the warm glow of an afternoon of spectacular lovemaking.

  “I’m going to hop in the shower. Feel like joining me?” he asked.

  Michelle rolled over and gazed up at him, wanton and catlike. “Is another shower really what you want right now? Bet I can interest you in a little something else.” She walked her fingers up the inside of his thigh.

  With a playful twinkle in his eye, Quan reached down to caress her warm, wet darkness. “Ms. Michelle Angelique, all I can say is: let’s get it on …”

  Seven: Groundwork Meeting

  MICHELLE PARKED ON the street in front of G‑Baby’s house. Many years ago, for reasons nobody could remember, the neighborhood had been developed with larger lots than most of the surrounding areas, and a few of the original turn-of-the-century houses still stood. Michelle’s parents had owned one with a particularly tall wood pier foundation and as young children, Michelle and Michael had loved to play in the cool shade under the house. G‑Baby’s house, built later, sat on a cement foundation, giving it a much different style.

  Mature sycamore trees lined the road, with two in front of G‑Baby’s home, and already their leaves were starting to turn brown with the approach of fall. Years ago, kids would have played in the big piles of leaves, but in the coming weeks, there wouldn’t be many piles for the kids to play in. People who now rented the houses didn’t care about things like dead leaves in the drive.

  Like they say, you can never go home again. Maybe not, but I can get even with those bastards for making that true for me.

  Michelle let herself in through the front door with her key. “Hello? Uncle G, it’s me! I have dinner.” She stepped in from the slight chill; the warm air felt good.

  From the back of the house, G‑Baby called, “Hey, M’Shell.” He used her family nickname. No one else had the right to use it—ever. Some stupid jerk back in school tried. First time, she told him to knock it off. Second time, he got a busted lip. There was no third time.

  “Sup, Uncle G?” She gave him a hug.

  “What did you bring?”

  “Takeout from Roscoe’s: greens, baked chicken, potato salad, sweet cornbread, and a side of chicken chili over rice.”

  “Perfect. Here, let me take those bags.”

  Michelle sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

  “What smell?”

  “Like … something’s burning.”

  “Oh that. It’s the heater. First time it’s been turned on this year. Forgot to clean the filter. Sorry about that.”

  Michelle and G‑Baby strode into the kitchen, where they sat at the gray Formica-top kitchen table on a matching set of padded chairs with rusted chrome legs. Michelle, Michael, and Gabe Jr. had all grown up eating at this table, while the adults ate at the “big people table” in the dining room.

  “This is it, right here.” With a big smile, G‑Baby pointed to his plate. “They make the best greens in the city.”

  Although she was grateful for his smile, Michelle also noted a deep sadness still sat in his eyes.

  “All right, Michelle, you called this meeting,” he said. “Are we finally good to go?”

  “Yeah,” she replied. �
��Keeping it on the down low for the last few months has paid off. Everything’s finally set up. The fake creds, the contract business here in the States, and I’ve got a great connection for any hardware we might need. Plus the fronting job with the studio is just what I needed.”

  G‑Baby nodded. “Glad you have things set good. And I’m real happy to hear you say we’re ready to go. It was tough with you gone away, though waiting these last couple months with you just up the street was harder than I thought it would be. But I trust you know what you’re doing; it’s your show.”

  Several contracted jobs had earned the trust Michelle needed with the local suppliers of information and specialized equipment. Strengthening her stateside reputation for doing a job right had taken a lot of focused work. Everything had paid off in the end. Michelle was now a high-earning independent operative with a steady flow of contracts. She understood what it took to pull the trigger, which she would do without hesitation, making her fully ready and able to kill those she deeply wanted to see dead.

  “Thank God it’s finally time to put down those murdering bastards,” G‑Baby said. “I’m bone-tired of waiting to get at them.”

  “First, we have to figure out all of the players,” Michelle said. “Three years have gone by, and a lot of stuff has changed. Some muthafuckas are dead, or have moved on. Doesn’t matter if they’re in or out of the game anymore, they still have to pay. We need to find out who did what, and who sent them. I hooked up with my rowdogs, Deja and Nikky, to get back in the local game; they always have something happening, and always have the four-one-one on who else does.”

  “How did that go?”

  “Great. They’re in. They’re as solid as I thought they’d be. I’m more than just a little sad that I’ve brought them into this mess, but I’m glad I don’t have to keep my life hidden from them. How about you? Any news?”

  “Yeah,” G‑Baby said. “We already knew about that guy, Lewis, who’s the lieutenant running the area now, and how BamBam’s his number-one muscle. But there’s a new kid named Quincy who usually drives them. He grew up here, and might be on our list, might not.”

  Michelle shook her head. “We have to do this right. This is your home, and you’re OG here, so you need to stay. Well, you’re not really an original gangster, but I remember momma telling me, when you guys were teenagers, you were getting into the life. What happened?”

  “Your Aunt Sally’s what happened.”

  “How’s that?”

  G-Baby smiled like he always did when remembering his wife. “I didn’t know it then, but I sure do now. She saved me from a lot of misery. When I married her, she told me I had to choose. Said she wasn’t marrying no gangster who’d get his stupid ass killed and leave her to raise the kids alone. Wasn’t really a decision; it was an assumption. I told my guys I was out. They beat the shit outta me jumping me out, but they let me go. After that, I didn’t have any juice, but the guys respected me so I’ve been cool in the hood. At the shop, I still hear a lot of what’s going on so I can find out some stuff.”

  “Well, even though Aunt Sally’s gone, this is still your home”—she waved toward the kitchen—“and this is still where your life is”—she waved toward the street—“so that means we have to be clean. I’m outta the hood, and don’t plan on coming back, but I don’t need any shit, either.”

  “Nobody needs any shit. That’s why we’ve been careful and waited so long. Thank God, the waiting is over.”

  “I agree.” Michelle pushed away her still half-full plate, picked up her beer, and leaned back from the table. “Unc, this is it. Once we make the next move, there’s no turning back. I’ve worked hard and I know my business, but that’s no guarantee. One, or both of us, could wind up in prison, or dead.”

  “I know, baby girl, I know. My decision is as strong today as it was the night I took you down to Tuan’s. If you want to let it go, I’ll be okay. I can do this on my own.”

  “No disrespect, Uncle G, but if you try this on your own, I’d be attending your funeral, with two sets of people to kill. Good thing there isn’t a chance in hell I’m quitting now.” Michelle set her beer down and met G‑Baby’s solid stare. “Not a single, solitary, little, tiny chance in hell.”

  G‑Baby held her eyes with his, nodded, and looked at the leftovers and dirty dishes. “Good. Let’s clean up this mess.”

  “Yup. It’s time to clean house.”

  Eight: A Little Man Trouble

  IT HAD BEEN a few days since Michelle’s meeting with G-Baby, and everything was quiet. She spent the afternoon at the rec center catching up and talking about old times with an old friend from school who now worked there. Her friend said it’d been pretty quiet for the last few months. Even the courts were quiet; a few scuffles, but no serious problems in a while. The lack of violence wasn’t any reason for her to let down her guard though, and she hadn’t.

  On the way to Nikky’s, Michelle stopped by T-Bones for takeout and when she walked out of T‑Bones with her packaged dinner, she walked into some stupid fool-style drama.

  “Check it out. Baby got back.” A young man, about twenty, winked at his friends, then said to Michelle, “Hey, ma, that’s some fine-looking ass you got there.”

  Michelle cast him a dismissive look and kept on walking toward her car.

  “Come on, don’t be that way, ma. I could put a smile on those lips.”

  “Go home to your momma before you get spanked in front of your friends,” she said, striding past the three guys leaning against a car.

  Michelle heard the same man’s voice and his steps as he came up behind her. “Now, you know you want me to dick you up.” He put his hand on her hip.

  Spinning, Michelle stepped into him, forced him to check his step, and like an awkward dancer, he stumbled back slightly.

  She stared into his eyes. “Last chance, baby‑g. Be smart, drop the act, and step off.”

  But the fool, laughing, reached out and tried to grab her by the waist with both hands. “Don’t be like tha—”

  Michelle stepped in again, grabbed his left wrist with her right hand, pushed her left hand into his neck, spun right, and dropped her weight low. He was flat on his back in less than two seconds.

  She pushed her right thumb deep into the corner of his left eye socket, and he let out a shriek, which gurgled to a stop as her knee crushed his throat.

  “One move, asshole, you lose your eye,” she said and pushed deeper to make her point. He squirmed beneath her. She eased some of her weight off his neck so he could talk. “Tell your friends to back off. Now!”

  “B-back off! This crazy bitch’ll do it. Back off. Back the fuck off!”

  His friends who were coming to his rescue stopped short.

  “Good,” she said. “That was the first smart thing you’ve done. You stay smart, you’ll get out of here alive and with both of your eyes. Get stupid, you’ll be dead and won’t need your eyes. I took you down soft and easy-like. Make me do it again, it’ll be serious. You won’t get back up. Now, let’s find out if you can stay smart. Can you stay smart?”

  “Y-yes,” he whispered.

  “Give me your left hand,” she said, and reached out with her own. With her right thumb still in his eye, Michelle put him in a left-handed wristlock. “Okay, asshole, this is what’s happening: I’m going to take my thumb out of your eye. You try to be a hero, I’ll crush your windpipe and you’ll die.”

  Michelle cranked down on the wristlock and let up with her thumb. He stayed still, squeezing shut his injured eye.

  “You good to get up now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No hero shit?”

  “Yeah, no hero shit.”

  Michelle rose and, pulling his left wrist across his body, rolled him over onto his stomach.

  “Okay, get up on your knees.”

  Bracing with one hand, he climbed to his knees. One of his friends started to make a move, and Michelle cranked down on the wristlock. “Don’t do it, muthafuck
a!”

  “Stay back, man!” yelled the guy on the ground. “I’ll be all right.”

  His friend stepped off, though rigid and ready to spring, while the other friend, also tense, moved up next to him.

  Damn, these fools could do something stupid and cause more problems.

  Earlier, Michelle had slung her purse over her shoulder after she’d ordered her food. When she took this fool down, she’d dropped the food, but the purse stayed on her shoulder. Now with the wristlock with in hand, Michelle pulled her Glock out of her purse with the other, just far enough for his friends to see it.

  Both men leaned back slightly.

  “Look up at your friends. I just showed them my Glock. A good reason for them to do what I say, you agree?”

  He looked up at them; they nodded, confirming they’d seen the gun.

  “Okay, you two morons, this is the one time you need to be smart,” she said. “I can take all three of you before any one of you gets to me. You’ll be dead, and I’ll have a lot of trouble with the cops. That’s bad for everyone. Get in your car and wait for your friend here to join you. Since I’m such a lady, I’ll stand here and watch while you drive off. Understand?”

  Both men nodded, but just stood there.

  “Get in the damned car!” snapped the guy in the wristlock. “She’s about to break my fucking arm.”

  The other two jumped and scrambled into their car—one in the back, and one in the front passenger seat.

  Michelle leaned in close to his face. “It’s like this, fool. Don’t think you’ve got something to get even for, because you don’t. All of this is your fault. You acted like you’re all that, I had to take your stupid ass down. You insulted me, cost me my dinner, and made me show my gun on the street. These are all things I don’t like, and didn’t need to happen. You feel me?”

  “Yeah, I feel you.”

  “Since your idiot friend is as stupid as you are, he’s sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for you to drive away. Now I know it’s your car. And I know what kind of car you drive, so I can find where you live. From there, it’ll be real easy to find where you work. If I see you again, and you so much as look in my direction, I’ll make you pay for all of this trouble you’ve just caused me. You feel me now?”