Page 29 of Happy Krampus Xmas & the Meet Not Cute
As soon as I see the kidnapper getting out of the car, I shout, “Stop here.” The taxi immediately halts. I open the door and scream, “Get the fuck away from that kid or you’ll lose your hand!”
The kidnapper spins my way as I slowly walk toward her. My grip tightens on the umbrella curved wooden handle.
Raph’s bike stops behind her car, making her take a step back. He keeps the helmet on; the revving of his motorcycle sounds threatening. Ominous.
“Who are you?” she asks as she continues to move backward, swinging her eyes from me to Raph.
Bully Boy ignores her question and asks one of his own, “Anybody in there?” He points the blade of the knife he’s holding at the house.
“Fuck you,” the kidnapper—M…something, her name is bloody inconsequential—snarls, glaring at us.
“Serena, let me know how many people are in the house,” I hear Raph asking the A.I. as he smoothly leaves his bike and stalks slowly toward the old porch.
There’s a pause of silence, and then Raph snarls back. He turns his helmeted head to me. “I’ll take care of the three fuckers inside.”
The kidnapper gasps, surprised. She flexes her right hand subconsciously signaling she has a weapon hidden under that side of her jacket. Linda’s training comes in handy again.
“Stealing children, such a Krampus thing to do,” I chide her, keeping a tight grip on my umbrella. I’m petite and sassy—my mouth gets me in trouble seventy percent of the time—usually my attackers are bigger and stronger than me, so learning to use whichever tools are available is a must. Hence Bartitsu and umbrellas used as a blunt weapon.
Bartitsu is a traditional English combat form. It isn’t all tweed and top hats, but it derived froma fusion of jiu-jitsu, bare knuckle boxing, andsavate, a French form ofkickboxing. It's fun and a great self-defense technique.
I move into a low guard position holding the umbrella slightly up almost parallel to my right leg, point dropped. My free hand is over my chest in a defensive pose.
I’m three feet from her now. “Here is a serious question: did your mom not love you?”
“You don’t know shit, you crazy fuck!” She sneers, looking me up and down as she slides her hand inside the right side of her jacket and takes out a long knife. A classic bowie, around sixteen inches, tang, brass guard, wood handle—my fiancé loves blades, it’s rubbed off on me. I bet he’d like this one for his collection.
“Better crazy than ugly,” I retort with a scoff at the end. My statement earns a furious hiss from her. In my defense sporting shaggy bangs with such a short forehead is an insult to good taste, therefore should be illegal—not that this bitch would care.
This close I can clearly see the security guard uniform underneath her jacket, probably from the arcade where the kid was snatched. Raph was right, she impersonates people with authority so children feel safe and compelled to follow her. Heartless bitch!
“You and your biker friend are dead,” she barks, moving from one foot to the other.
Being underestimated is the story of my life.It actually helps. It lowers the attacker’s guard which consequently fuels my confidence in my ability to deal with dangerous situations when I drop them flat on their backs.
“Guess the answer to my question is no. Your mom couldn’t stand your ugly face, ah?”
“Shut up!” she screams angrily. If a look could kill, I’d be dinner for the rats right now.
I might have hit a big nerve there. Her reaction only urges me to poke it more. “Crikey! You’re in serious need of a psychiatrist. Even better, would your mother be interested in couple’s therapy?”
“I’ll cut out that tongue and give it to my dog as a treat.”
“I’ll pass. Don’t want to give your Fido indigestion. My tongue is quite thesharptool.”
“I got the kid!” I hear Petunia yelling from behind me.
I smirk cockily at thekidnapper.“Come on. Stab me with that big knife. Show your mommy how mean you can be,” I taunt her, and she doesn’t let me repeat it twice.
With a battle scream she takes a step forward and pushes the blade toward my guts. I deflect the knife by gripping the umbrella with both hands—holding the two separate ends of the shaft—and using it to halt her forearm, moving the trajectory of the blade to the left. Then I level the point of the umbrella with her chin and hit it hard, propelling her head back. She stumbles trying to regain her balance but I don’t let her. I turn the umbrella around so that the butt—the handle—is aiming at her body and land it on her right boob twice as I sink my red stiletto heel hard into her foot. She drops the knife and whimpers. It’s the best sound in the whole world. So good, I’ll be dreaming about it for years to come.
Rague once told me he doesn't hit women. I think it’s because he could kill one with a mere slap. Me? I’m all for equality—vicious bitches included. No exceptions.
I hear a crashing sound from inside the house, but I’m not worried in the least. Raph is a cold-blooded killing machine.
I move to the kidnapper’s back and slide the umbrella over her neck, holding both ends between my fingers. My knees are bent, weight evenly distributed.
“You've been Loried!” I whisper in her ear as I pull the shaft just enough against her throat to put her to sleep. Don’t want to fucking kill her…yet.
