Phoenix: Paying the Devil Part 2

Who doesn't love an old fashion shootout, eh?

“You have some balls on you, gal,” Kay hissed down at her, not liking the tone in her words. The grin had dropped away along with the idea of a good time in bed for a night. Nesma stared him down with her purple lynx eyes. She was here to shuffle him on to the other side if it came down to it. Her eyes only spoke of death.

                “You have no idea who you are talking to,” he snarled.

                “Oh, honey,” Nesma said,” I know exactly who you are. You were a Slave Master for the Bischoff Firm. One of the nasties masters from what I hear. I was even told that you once rape and beat to death a fourteen yea -"

                “Enough,” he spanned, stepping closer to her while at the same time letting his hand fall the hilt of his plasma pistol, but he stopped moving once Nesma put the barrel of the spike revolt under his chin.

                Everyone had paid attention to her plasma pistol nakedly hanging on her hip, none of them thought about what was on the other hip. She carried three weapons with her at all times, two guns, and a hunter’s knife, which never let her down.

                She smiled up at him, pulling back the hammer of the gun.

                Click.

                “Please, please, I beg you,” Nesma said, coolly staring him dead in the eyes, “like that fourteen-year-old did, do something.”

                Kay rolls his jaw at Nesma, trying not to show fear in his deep-set eyes, but the sweat bubbling on his forehead said otherwise. He was about half a second away from crying for his life, but a strong man like him wouldn’t let his race down by breaking into a baby.

                “What do you want?”

                “I want to know where Duke Bischoff is,” Nesma said. “I hear ya, the man who knows.”

                “What if I say I don’t know,” Kay utter.

                Nesma pushes the gun up, forcing his chin to do the same,” I say I don’t like liars.”

                “All right, all right,” Kay said,” and if I tell you then you’ll let me live?”

                “It wouldn’t hurt odds,” Nesma said, smiling.

                “S**t, fine,” he huffed. “He lives four towns over to the east on a plantation under the name of Sewa.”     He gulped as she winked.

                “Why the name change?” Nesma asked.

                He glanced down at the gun, “Why do you think?”

                “If you’re lying, Kay,” Nesma said, not lowing the gun, “I found you once, I’ll find you again.”

                “I’m not lying,” Kay said slowly and to the point.

                Nesma lowed her pistol keeping it train on his chest but letting Kay back away from her. He raised his hands slowly, showing her his hands were nowhere near his gun. “You know,” he started to say,” I hope you do find the Duke, put him in the grave.”

                “Yeah, why so?” Nesma asked.

                “All those horrible things heard about me,” Kay said, trying to hide how they cause him sleepless nights. “He made me do them.”

                “Oh?” Nesma asked cocking the eyebrow with a tiny scar in it.

                “He had my family,” Kay said with all the truth he could muster. “He could have killed them if I didn’t do it.”

                “That’s a shame, Kay,” Nesma said, which a slight nod, “I wish gave a damn.” A spike about six inches long blew from the barrel of the gun right into his thigh, causing the man to holler in agony. He grabbed his leg, stumbling back before crashing to the floor.

                Nesma took a step forward, “That was for the girl.” She pistols whipped him to ground, knocking him out cold. “And that was for making me come to a desert.”

                No one moved in the shadows of the Salon, but there were eyes on her. She glanced around seeing the enrage faces, but they seem to know better than to try to fight her. “I don’t want him to warn the Duke is all,” she announced to everyone. “I think you all can understand that, yes?”

                No one made a sound.

                Nesma glanced down more time at the body on the floor. One spike through the head and whatever god or gods he believed in would have to deal with his sins, but all the worlds would be a better place with him gone.

                Someone moved in the darkness, making her way right for the door. She opens the portal of light, stepping out into when a plasma bolt screams directly by her head, nailing some fool sneaking up behind her. The blue bolt of energy poured over the man’s chest cooking him fresh to the bone. He let out a blood-curling roar before falling back into the sea of blackness.

                Nesma rolled from the doorway as more bolts came flying out of the darkness. The people inside decide to see a friend get killed enough to make them gun her down. Too bad none of them knew her second in command Zisbuz Clawhope stood on overwatch with a sniper rifle.

                “You got more coming,” Zisbuz deep growled rung in her pointed ears.

                Nesma saw a few of the loners outside pull their guns free racing for the Salon hoping to blast someone away. She grunted to herself, don’t have time for this. She spun the spike pistol in her hand, flipping it back into the holster on her hip and then pulling free her plasma gun.

                She fired off a few shots, two of them nailing some of the men running at her, not killing them, but hitting them in the shoulders. The other shots missed, but she wanted them to miss forcing the men out of the way. She didn’t want to kill them. She didn’t know them. She wasn’t paid to kill them, and for all, they knew they were running to help stop a fight.

                They could be the law.

                Nesma raced for her bike as Zisbuz keep the people trying to get out of the Salon pin inside. Anyone who stepped in front of the door met a painfully end. Zisbuz didn’t pull any of his punches.

                “I’ll meet you at the rendezvous,” She shouted over the roar of the hoverbike coming to life and pilling out of there firing as she went.

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or works on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercise or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.