Hunters and Prey

Pedro's brows furrowed dangerously as he emerged from his mansion to find his men standing alone in the moonlit courtyard. The cool night air did nothing to soothe the burning sensation in his chest, though years of battling the curse had taught him to mask his suffering behind a facade of controlled rage. His black shirt and pants cut an imposing silhouette against the mansion's pale stonework, and his piercing green eyes could freeze blood in veins.

"Boss!" the four men chorused, bowing their heads in perfect unison. The tremble in their voices was barely perceptible, but to Pedro, their fear was as clear as the moon above.

It instantly made him realize that something was wrong – there was no sign of the idiot who had escaped.

His men had gone to apprehend a fool, another rival gang member who had infiltrated his home. The asshole had gotten wind that he'd been found out and decided to make a run for it. But no one could escape the clutches of the feared and ruthless Mafia King. No one crossed his path and survived it.

"What is this? Where is he?" Pedro questioned as he descended the mansion's steps with measured grace. Each footfall echoed like a death knell in the quiet night. His gaze swept over their battered appearances, noting every bruise and scrape. His men shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, their collective anxiety perfuming the air.

"Did you lose him?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft as he examined each guard in turn. The curse wound pulsed beneath his shirt, feeding his growing irritation. "And why are you covered in bruises?"

"Boss, we didn't lose him. But he died," one bodyguard finally managed to reply, praying that their boss wouldn't cut his tongue off. He'd been kind of obsessed with that type of punishment lately.

"He's what?" Pedro's fury erupted like a volcano, though his exterior remained terrifyingly composed. Only the whitening of his knuckles betrayed his rage. "I thought I made it clear that I wanted him alive?"

"Sir, we tried to bring him back, but he proved stubborn, and in the process of trying to overpower him... h-he killed himself," another guard explained, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. None of them dared to meet the piercing green gaze that could strip flesh from bone.

"And why didn't you just die along with him?" Pedro's words sliced through the night air like a blade.

"We are sorry, Boss!" they chorused, bowing even lower, their foreheads nearly touching their knees.

"I'm so disappointed in the four of you. You never get anything right. What should I do with the four of you?" Each word dripped with venom. The curse's pain peaked, sending waves of fire through his chest, but Pedro channeled it into his presence, letting it amplify the aura of menace that made him legendary in the underworld. These incompetents would serve as tonight's outlet for his suffering.

"To the dungeon," he commanded, watching them turn to obey, their movements stiff with terror. But then he thought of something else. "Why is no one explaining the bruises on your faces?"

One guard wet his lips nervously before speaking. "Boss, we encountered a little problem."

The punch that followed was lightning-quick, precise, and brutal. "If I hadn't asked, you morons wouldn't have told me?"

The remaining guard who hadn't spoken, shaking visibly now, recounted their encounter with the mysterious woman.

They had chased the lady who they thought was unfortunate enough to run into them in the middle of the night, and at the exact time the gun had gone off, killing the guy they had gone to apprehend.

And then she decided to run.

When they caught up with her, she had paused, peering at them one by one before raising her hands in surrender. The guards were planning to bring her home, claiming that she was working with the dead guy on the ground. At least, this would appease their Boss.

They never expected events to turn out differently. She was not just cunning, but fucking strong!

"As you can see, I'm just an innocent, harmless girl. But if you insist on killing me too, then you must throw your guns to the side first and fight with me," she had challenged.

When they hesitated, she had smirked at them with her hands on her waist as she asked, "What? Are you afraid? Come on, give this little harmless girl the pleasure of fighting you highly esteemed men before I head to the other world, yeah?"

The fact that she had challenged them and thought they were afraid of her finally hit their last tolerance spot, and they wanted to teach her a little lesson before taking her back to their boss. And so, they had readily thrown their guns aside as they accepted the challenge.

However, in the next moment, the bones in their bodies were not just brutally rearranged by her, but they were kicked into unconsciousness, and by the time they had woken up, there was no sign of her.

"So what you're trying to say is that a mysterious lady actually overpowered the four of you before vanishing into thin air?" Pedro's voice was arctic, his handsome features turning darker. The security lights cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Boss, she was too strong and unbeatable," one guard muttered, immediately regretting his words.

Pedro's silence was more terrifying than any shout. He stepped closer, his movements predatory, elegant despite the pain coursing through his body. The guards remained frozen, knowing that any movement might worsen their fate.

Their cries echoed through the courtyard as Pedro delivered their punishment – precise, brutal strikes that spoke of years of training. Each impact helped dull the supernatural fire in his chest, though his face betrayed nothing of the relief it brought him.

"How dare the four of you stand before me and vomit trash?"

"We are sorry, Sir," they choked out in unison.

"Change of punishment. Everyone to the practice room." Pedro's command cut through their groans. "We are training until the break of dawn, and your new assignment is to find this mysterious lady and bring her to me within two days." The night air carried his words like a death sentence.

"Yes, Boss," they bowed before limping toward the practice room, knowing the worst of their night was yet to come.

Pedro watched them go, his perfect composure masking both the curse's torment and his growing intrigue about this mysterious woman who had bested his men. The night had proven interesting indeed, first the blue-eyed woman at the hospital, and now this fighter in the shadows. The coincidence tickled at the edge of his mind, but he pushed the thought aside. There would be time to unravel that mystery later.

For now, he had incompetent men to punish, and a long night of pain ahead of him.

* * *

Unaware that a bounty had been placed on her head, Maya glared at the interviewer one last time before storming out of the building with a hiss.

She walked to a secluded area before pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Her hands trembled slightly as she lit one and took a deep drag, the familiar burn in her lungs providing little comfort. She'd been desperately hunting for a job for the past few days, but so far, no luck at all.

Whenever the interviewers looked at her tattooed arms and style of dressing, coupled with her red and gold hair, they would get scared and either beat around the bush before rejecting her or just say it bluntly.

"What is wrong with my babies?" Maya took another puff and blew the smoke out before admiring the intricate drawings that twisted around her skin like an old friend. They were her adorable babies, so why should employers judge her because of them?

After dragging on her cigarette one last time before crushing it under her boots, Maya hissed and pulled out her phone from the back of her trousers. The phone had been ringing incessantly, and she'd chosen to ignore it because she already knew who was calling. Today, she was really pissed and not in the mood to entertain any bullshit from her betrayal of a friend. Earlier that day, Maya had gone to the hospital to visit her sister. The sharp antiseptic smell and the steady beep of machines had assaulted her senses as she watched her sister lying there, looking so lifeless and frail, bringing tears to Maya's eyes.

"Looks like Mara will be staying longer in the hospital this time. Please make sure to get more money for her to keep receiving the appropriate treatment for her condition," the doctor had said. Although his words hadn't sounded pleasant or assuring at all, Maya knew it was the truth. She needed to get a job to help pay for her sister's mounting medical bills. Their mother had already given up her cleaning job to stay at the hospital with Mara, and they couldn't afford to lose any more income.

Sighing deeply, she dejectedly began to walk home. If the employers kept rejecting her this way, how would she ever get a job? she wondered with another heavy sigh.

Walking into her dad's small mechanic workshop, the familiar scents of oil, grease, and stale alcohol filled her nostrils. Maya looked for her father but saw no sign of him. She knew he was around, probably under one of the cars, nursing another hangover. She just needed to shout his name.

"Hey, Dad?" Maya called out, her eyes scanning the vehicles.

"Right here, sweetheart," Allen pulled out from under one of the cars. He looked at least a decade older than a man in his late forties – his once-muscular frame had grown soft, his dark hair peppered heavily with gray and thinning at the temples. His work-roughened hands shook slightly as he wiped them on his oil-stained coveralls, and deep lines etched his face, telling stories of too many late nights with a bottle. Despite the early hour, his eyes were already bloodshot, though they still crinkled at the corners when he smiled at his daughter. The ever-present flask peeked out from his pocket, and Maya pretended not to notice the slight sway in his movements.

"Want me to assist with anything?" Maya asked. This was where she usually passed her time during the day before heading to boxing matches at night. She was conversant and very efficient with fixing cars, having learned everything from her father during his increasingly rare sober moments.

"Nothing much to fix today, dear. Just this one, and I'm almost done with it," Allen slurred slightly.

"Then, you come and sit down while I finish the rest," Maya said, and without waiting for her father to protest, she quickly changed into her working outfit. The familiar scent of motor oil and metal helped ground her, even as worry for her sister gnawed at her insides.

Allen just sighed, knowing he couldn't stop her. He took another swig from his flask, the sharp smell of cheap whiskey cutting through the garage's mechanical odors. Maya's heart ached seeing him like this, but she pushed the feeling aside. "Did you visit your sister?" he asked, though they both knew he hadn't bothered to visit Mara himself in weeks.

"Yes. Mom's still at the hospital with her. Mara's looking more healthy than before," Maya replied, giving her father a questioning look before slipping under the car. It was a partial lie – her mother's constant presence was helping, but Mara wasn't getting better. Still, it was easier than watching guilt flicker across his face before he drowned it in another drink.

"After this one, I won't take another one," the man quickly said, referring to both the car and the drink. They both knew he was lying about both.

"That's what you keep saying all the time," Maya shook her head, the cold concrete floor seeping through her clothes as she worked.

Allen was just about to say something else when Maya's phone caught his attention.

"Sweetheart, your phone has been ringing non-stop," he told Maya, his words slightly slurred.

"Just let it be, Dad. I will be done soon," Maya replied, focusing on the mechanical problem in front of her rather than the many problems surrounding her life.

But the buzzing from the phone persisted.

"I think you should just take the call, dear. It's Vicky," Allen announced.

She suddenly paused and, with gritted teeth, pulled out from under the vehicle.

"I'll just take the call, Dad," she smiled tightly at her father before taking the phone from his trembling hand. She didn't want him to get suspicious and start asking questions he'd forget by tomorrow anyway.

She walked away from her father as she decided to give the snitch a piece of her mind.

"Vicky, what the fuck do you want from me?" Maya's voice boomed with lethal venom oozing from it.

"Just calm down, Maya. I know what I did is wrong but—"

"If you know that what you did is wrong then you should know better than to keep calling me," Maya fumed, cutting Vicky off. "Don't make me fish you out from wherever the fuck you're hiding and give you the beating of your life."

"Would that make you happy?" Vicky asked.

"Then drop the address if you dare," Maya challenged.

"I'm dropping it now, and please, after the beating, give me a chance to redeem myself," Vicky said, and without waiting for Maya's reply, the call ended.

"Hey—" Maya tried to speak but was met by the sound indicating that the call had ended.

In the next second, a message popped up. Maya quickly opened it and was shocked to see that Vicky had actually sent the address just as she'd said.

"What's this lying snitch trying to play at?" Maya blinked confusedly.

She quickly changed back to her normal clothes, the fabric still carrying traces of motor oil and her father's borrowed shame.

"Oh, heading out?" Allen asked, seeing that his daughter had changed, his words more slurred than before.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I have to rush somewhere. I'll see you later," Maya breathed out before rushing out of the garage, ignoring the familiar sight of him reaching for his flask again.

"Is everything okay?" Allen shouted behind her, a rare moment of paternal concern breaking through the alcoholic haze.

"Absolutely, Dad," she replied without looking back as she boarded a cab. The lie tasted bitter in her mouth, but it was easier than telling him the truth – that nothing had been okay since he started drinking, since Mara got sick, since their mother had to quit her job to care for her youngest daughter. But Maya loved him anyway, broken as he was, even as she carried the weight of their fractured family on her shoulders.