twisted
Description
At daylight, she clears up tables and makes drinks. At night, she clears the lives of her enemies and makes fun of the desperate men begging under the tips of her fingers.
The only way you can battle evil is through being evil.
Iris raised her leg and placed her foot on top of the palpitating vein under the man's neck.
"I don't think that was exactly the plan, Mr. Park," she said before spitting out the tasteless gum inside of that coincidentally landed onto the man's cheeks. The man only stared at her horrendously with his fish-like eyes daring to swim out of his face.
She stood there with her sports bra failing to cover the sweat that rested over the well-built muscles of her torso. Her sweatpants hung loose around her hips, displaying the shining hills of her hip bones. Her left fingers played with the silver lighter that she always carried around with her, her ears enjoying the repetitive clicking of the opening and closing of the lid. The muscles stuck to the biceps of her right arm flexed, standing proudly and confidently, as she gripped onto the small, black pistol with her right hand.
The man under her presence could only tremble in concealed fear. Forget the fact that firearms were illegal in South Korea, he could not believe he was scared of a girl who was shaped like a twig with muscles seeming like they were forcibly glued to her figure.
"Where's your boss? I don't talk to weaklings like you. I can't stand how emotional you females are," he managed to utter under all the pain he was barely able to bear through.
"Oh, man ego," Iris thought to herself. "How typical of a male politician like you."
"Why are you looking for my boss? I think I am capable enough to handle our issue right now. Don't you think so, Mr. Park?" Iris responded. Even a deaf man could hear the layers of sarcasm she laced her voice with.
"Oh stop joking with me, you twit," the man spat. "Just wait till I talk with your boss, you don't even know who I am."
Iris looked at the bleeding man below her with mocking pity. Her lips pouted derisorily.
"Oh, so you're a strong, strong man. A very powerful, powerful man," she said.
She tried to fight back the sneer that was demanding to possess her lips, but she couldn't help it. Her lips bursted with loud, unlady-like laughs. The tips of tilted upwards maniacally as if they were magnets attracted to the sins of her heaven.
"Well if you're so strong, why don't you try to fight back this weak, little girl?"
The man was filled with utter humilitation. His face was red not only from the physical droplets of blood that were oozing out of his hairline, but from the rush of blood he could feel within his own body. His hands clenched in complete anger. He gathered the last bits of his energy to aggressively push the girl's leg from his neck. However, his efforts could only last so long. He only managed to stand up to his knees before the girl recovered from her episodes of crazy laughter. With a bipolar change of mood, she swung her leg across the man's head, the impact so strong she could hear the cracking of his skull across the room.
Iris slowly walked towards the now almost unconscious man. It would only take a few minutes before he would completely collapse.
The man groaned in pain. Holding onto the thinnest strands of his last straw, he could only move his eyes, which were glaring bullets at the girl.
When she was close enough to the man's body that she could feel his feet from her shoes, she placed the lighter inside the pocket of her sweatpants. Her face remained unfazed to the graphic scene in front of her.
The man snarled at the closeness of the girl. He spit the mixture of blood and saliva that was spilling out of his mouth.
"You ," were the only words the man could mutter before Iris raised her gun and shot the man's groin, directly at his tip. The man's eyes stretched in unbearable pain. He wanted to scream and cry, but his body could not afford to tolerate such energy.
"So," Iris spoke tiredly, "How was it like talking to the boss?" she asked before a wide smile slowly dominated her lips parasitically.
Foreword
"Welcome to Starbucks, how may I help you?" Irene asked as she cleaned up the remaining bits of the spilled drink on the tableside. When she turned to look at the new customer who was standing weakly at the counter, she couldn't help but to widen her eyes and stare at the man in front of her judgingly. It was all too much to take in.
The man, who looked like he was probably in his young or mid twenties, wore ripped clothes that seemed like they were thrifted by the hands of a five year old. His messy hair seemed to habitate ten different types of species and households of birds. His face was covered in what looked like dirt and his hands held onto a wimpy bag that looked like it has lived through the atrocities of the second world war.
"Um- I-" Irene stuttered. It took a second for her brain to process through the whole situation before she raised a questioning brow at the man in front of her. "Do you need to order anything, sir?" she asked cautiously when the silence welcomed an unbearable sense of awkwardness between the two.
Irene thought she heard the shoutings of a couple of men outside of the cafe, but she had no time to decipher what was being said when the boy in front of her slammed his hands onto the surface of the table and looked at her with desperate help.
"Please hide me," he pleaded quietly, his alerted eyes sending multitudes of messages that Irene could not translate.
"I-" Irene had no time to respond because the boy had already rushed past the counter and hid his bulky body under the table in front of Irene.
When she finally thought she grasped the whole situation, she was once again left questioned when a group of tall, muscular men came bursting into the cafe. Their black suits, the hints of blood on their fists, the bats under their grips, and their strong presence had the few customers inside the cafe turn their attention to the raucus that was about to happen.
"Lady, did you see any young boy with grey clothes and a small bag near here?" the man at the front asked.
Irene gulped. Her widened eyes was an underrepresentation of all the frightening emotions and thoughts inside of her. Behind those eyes, she was making all sorts of calculations and conclusions on what would be the best way to respond.
However, those efforts did not help much when she decided to impulsively lie and perhaps risk her whole life if she was ever caught.
"No," she responded.
The men looked at her suspiciously.
"I-I did see this homeless boy running to the other side of the road," she lied once again.
The man who questioned her turned to the rest of the men behind him. They all nodded at each other before they left the cafe and began running towards the other side of the road.
Irene almost collapsed to the floor. She didn't know how her weak knees were still supporting her pulsating heart. She looked at the boy under her who was looking at her with the same amount of fear.
"Thank you," he whispered.
This story was heavily inspired by Vincenzo, but I tried to the change the storyline a bit and also I wanted the mafia character to be a woman so yap. This story will contain lots of graphic scenes, so please, if you are easily bothered by the descriptions of such scenes, please feel free to leave this story. If you want to read the story without the graphic scenes, I will be adding a warning at the start of each graphic chapter, so if that helps you in any sort of way, feel free to continue reading.
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