Young Writers Society

Jerica managed to gain the upper hand and used it to her full advantage, beating the man again and again and again until he finally went limp. She kept pounding on him, not noticing he’d stopped fighting back in her adrenaline-fueled state.

“Jer.”

The image of the sobbing girl flashed across her mind’s eye. How dare he? How dare he do that to someone? Especially someone as young as the girl? Jerica had only recently gotten used to not being a teenager herself anymore, settling into her twentieth year at long last. The girl this man had attacked looked so much younger. A child.

The thought made her hit him even harder.

“Jer!”

He didn’t deserve to keep his teeth. Didn’t deserve to—

Someone grabbed her bicep when she pulled her arm back to swing her fist again. She yanked away, whirling around with her left fist raised and ready to go after whoever had grabbed her.

“It’s me!” Rek said urgently, rushing forward to wrap her in a bear hug that pinned her arms to her sides. He was relatively tall and well-muscled, though not enough of either to really draw attention. Still, he was strong enough to succeed in restraining her, for now. He had several inches on her, but she could get away if she truly tried. And they both knew it. “Me: Rek. Don’t hit. Please. It’s me.”

Jerica thrashed, elbowing him in the side before her brain processed what he’d said or who it was. When she realized it was her cousin, she stopped struggling. Rek wasn’t the threat. Rek was never the threat. “Let me go.”

“I will,” he said, loosening his grasp ever so slightly but not turning her loose entirely. “But you’ve done enough. No more.”

“That b—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “Horrible human, could not agree with you more—”

“Cockroach,” Jerica interrupted, turning to spit in his direction.

“Roach, sure,” Rek agreed. “But he’s not moving.”

“Good,” she spat, but turned slightly to look at the man.

Rek was correct. The man was laying on the ground completely limp and motionless, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths that rattled in his lungs. He was oozing blood from his mouth and nose and large bruises were forming across his neck and face, making his eyes swell shut. He appeared to be dead to the world, all the fight knocked out of him.

“He’s had enough,” Rek said gently, cautiously releasing Jerica though staying near enough to grab her again if he needed to.

Jerica sniffed, looking down the length of her nose at the man on the ground. She was still angry, but as the adrenaline wore off, it left her exhausted and sore. She’d had enough, too. But justice still raged in her chest. “He’ll have had enough when she—” She looked around for his victim, but couldn’t find her. She blinked hard, as if that would help her find the girl. “Where’d she go?”

“Home,” Rek said softly, resting his hand on Jerica’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I made sure she got there safe, don’t worry. She’s okay, just shook up.”

“Oh… good.” Jerica nodded stiffly, then gave a half-hearted kick at the man’s ribs, making him groan. “Well, she’s the one who he hurt, so she gets to decide if he’s had enough.”

“Admirable,” Rek answered, dipping his head. “How about we call it a night, though?”

Jerica shook her head.

“Let’s let him sober up in the dungeon overnight,” Rek said. “And then you can decide what to do with him tomorrow, okay? You’ll know where to find him if you want to continue the beating after you get some sleep. Sober.”

Jerica considered; flexing her hand. She was sore and tired, her knuckles all split open and dribbling blood. Her head was screaming and her eyes felt grainy and partially swollen-shut. It’d probably be best to listen to Rek’s judgment here. He tended to be more level-headed than she was, and he was sober. Mostly. She definitely wasn’t.

“…Alright,” Jerica agreed with a reluctant sigh and nod.

“Thank you.” Rek gave her shoulder another squeeze, then he snapped and turned towards some of his men. “Arrest him, and his little friend over there.”

“Sir!” Several of the soldiers jumped into action, picking the big man up off the ground along with the man that Jerica now realized Akeno had beaten up. They weren’t in uniform, and technically weren’t on duty, but Rek was General of the Swordsmen of His Majesty’s Imperial Army and his men weren’t about to disobey him, now or ever. Especially not when Jerica was in a mood like this.

Everyone respected Rek and Akeno as Generals, but feared Jerica as the impulsive, hotheaded King’s Assassin. Rek and Akeno ordered court martials and sought official avenues of discipline when necessary. Jerica jumped off tables to pound strangers into a bloody, half-dead heaps of worthlessness. She had a long history of striking the fear of god into men, and doubly so when she was angry. When they remembered who she was. What she was.

She glanced around. The entire bar was silent and still, staring at her or actively looking anywhere but her, depending on the person. She felt like an idiot, in the center of attention yet again. How did this always happen to her? How had her night out on the town ended in violence? What was wrong with her, drawing this kind of energy?

“C’mon.” Akeno stepped towards her, unbuttoning his shirt. “Let’s go.”

Jerica glanced him over. He seemed unharmed, if a bit sweaty. He pulled off his shirt and offered it to her. She shook her head. He gestured with the shirt, more insistent. Jerica hesitated, then took it and slipped it on, muttering her thanks just loud enough for him to hear.

She was suddenly acutely aware of her vulnerability. There were a few dozen people around, mostly men, in a cramped, dirty little tavern. There were lots of lanterns on the walls, however, illuminating the scene clearly. She resisted the urge to rub the scar on her hip and instead focused on fumbling with the buttons as quickly as she could, to get it out of sight. She didn’t like people seeing it. She hadn’t even thought about it when she’d taken her shirt off. Her brain was too focused on getting the girl covered to worry about her own body.

Jerica rubbed her face tiredly, grimacing as her fingertips brushed across the tender skin swelling around her left eye. She glanced around and winced as she realized the utter mess she’d made of things. She looked until she found the bartender, then shuffled over to the bar and set her purse of coins down on the bar. “Invoice me for the drinks and the damage. I’ll be back tomorrow to square up on whatever this doesn’t cover.”