blows, it was plain no one had taught him how to really hit someone to do damage. Most of his punches were glancing blows, or there was no follow
through to transmit power. They stung, but they weren't in any way debilitating.
After being called a whore for the fifth or sixth time, Jun spun around quickly using his own power against him so that all the sound and fury carried
him awkwardly past her and off balance. He windmilled, trying to regain control of limbs that still hadn't finished with adolescence. A collision
with the end of the hallway stopped his stumbling. When he turned on her, the level, flat stare on her face obviously confused him enough to cause
him to pause for a second or two. He wasn't used to attacking people and having them respond with such apparent indifference, especially not a
Then, he charged her again. This time she caught his arm and twisted it behind him, slamming him face first into the door with bruising force supplied
by his own momentum. Then she slammed in behind him grabbing the hair on the back of his head to pull it briefly back before driving it forward into
the door again in a brief, vicious slam. Something in his face cracked, and he shrieked.
“Let it go, boy,” she hissed into his ear giving his head another brief shake before she let him drop.
She spun around and saw the heads of curious onlookers poked out of their rooms. She gave each of them a flat stare. One by one they dropped their
gazes. None of the sheep would say anything. They knew word would get back to Bulldog soon enough about what had happened, and not one of them wanted
to be associated in any way with this if he looked with any favor on this newest member of his gang.
She walked deliberately into her apartment as though she hadn't just beaten up a member of the resident gang. In her old life, no one would have
dared touch her, but here she was a different creature at least until today. It felt good to flex her old muscle and tap a sliver of that old power,
even if it was only to beat up a pimply teen.
Once inside the confines of her apartment, she allowed herself the luxury of some regret. There was no way to predict where this incident would go.
She should have used some of her other talents to at least get some idea of what possible courses of action the child might pursue, but instead, she
had let it go and walked away. She chided herself for lack of practice. She had been soft and it could cost her if she failed to anticipate
Bulldog’s reaction. He might let it go, choosing to let the boy take the shame, or he might decide to take it as a personal insult and retaliate to
reinforce to the denizens of the building that he was in charge and not to be messed with. Whatever was going to come, it was too late to do anything
about it now.
About all there was left to do for the day was to try to drown her mood. A pad of sketch paper and her pencils along with a seat at the window were
her answer. The soothing scratch of pencil on the heavy, creamy paper drew her in creating a world for her restless psyche to wander.
* * *