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Arming herself got her a little more attention from the night owls walking by or loitering on the street, but no one was surprised. It was that kind of neighborhood.
She hoped Aaron wanted to be rescued. After provoking a gang for him, the last thing she would want was a kid's nasty attitude.
"Been there, done that," she groused.
Ten minutes later, she found him—and a whole lotta trouble. Her dark hiding spot on top of a cargo container full of road equipment gave her a view of nearly a dozen gang members squaring off. The altercation was only verbal at the moment, but it was a tinderbox ready to be lit.
She scanned the group wearing the yellow jackets. There was a skinny young black boy hanging back behind one of the cars. He was wearing a dark gray hoodie and she could see him shaking in his sneakers from here.
A boy almost twice Aaron’s size slapped him across the face, knocking him to the ground. Her lip curled in a silent snarl before she paused as a thought occurred to her.
With a little luck, the Yellow Jackets will do my job for me, scare him into running.
She slipped off the cargo container and moved in a wide arc around the group. If she could get behind the group, she could pull Aaron out before anyone realized he was missing. If not—well, life was about to get interesting.
“Yo! You need to get your asses out of here and take it back to the cow patties!” one of Biggy’s members yelled.
“You’re about to get stung. Ain’t nobody tells us what to do. The Yellow Jacketsownthis town now. If you ain't one of us, you’re dead.”
For a moment, Midnight wistfully imagined Harlem striding out of the darkness, causing both sides to piss their pants. Unfortunately, she didn’t have that kind of magic—close to it, she liked to think—but not quite the same. There would be blood on the streets tonight.
She crept closer. Aaron was standing with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He had his head down, and every once in a while, she could see him lift a hand to wipe at his cheek.
Definitely buyer’s remorse,she thought with satisfaction.
She waited until the five other members moved away from the boy, their focus on the threat in front of them. She quietly crossed behind the group. Her movements were done with precision. Haste meant discovery—which could mean death. Harlem's memory was whispering to her. 'The pheasant that doesn't become frightened, doesn't take flight, and knows when to stay hidden, that's the one who lives another day.'
She breathed the way he had taught her to, keeping her heartbeat steady. If it did come to fight or flight, she didn’t want her heart to already be at maximum capacity.
Especially if I’m dragging a frightened boy behind me.
Time slowed until she could see every movement, every expression, every detail of the scene in front of her. Her ability to do this, play through each scenario before it occurred as if she were going through a complex multiverse, wasn’t much different than her sister’s ability to become one with the matrix of data filtering through the internet. Harlem had found it fascinating and made sure she mastered it.
“I’m going to kill your mother—“
The first gunshot rang out, and Midnight burst from the shadows. She tackled the shivering boy to a hidden spot behind a car, her hand over his mouth as he released a strangled scream. She rolled until she was upright on one knee, pressing a hand against his back to keep him flat on the ground.
“Shut up!" she growled.
No one in the shootout was paying attention to them. Midnight breathed out slowly. The muffled noise from behind the Yellow Jackets could have made the closest member turn and shoot, but luckily, no one had heard it beneath the gunshots.
"Your grandparents sent me to save your sorry ass.”
“Help me,” he whimpered.
“You do everything I tell you, and we might see tomorrow.”
Her eyes flashed to the left. Three more gang members were entering the arena, and they would pass right by her hiding spot. Digging her fingers into the boy’s hoodie, she yanked him to his hands and knees.
“Stay low. Don’t run until I tell you. You'll head for that storage container.”
Midnight pulled the black tonfa from her coat.
"Now!"
She met the three Yellow Jackets head on, and her client took off running, his back bent low. She walloped the first opponent in the gut. He fell to his knees, wheezing. She turned and caught the next one across the bridge of his nose. He was out like a light. The sound of his head hitting the pavement cut through the thump of his large body landing. He didn’t move.
The third guy was lining up his shot, aiming for the fleeing boy. Her booted foot struck his wrist from beneath, kicking his arm up as the gunshot made their ears ring. The shot went wide, the gun flying from his hand, but he recovered quickly, pulling his knife as he turned to her. It was a twelve-inch steel blade.
