The White Queen (S.Rogers)

Chapter 35

Brooklyn brought the baton down, catching one of the guards on the side of the jaw, hearing the crack as she shattered the bone. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his head whipped around, before his knees collapsed out from under him. Snorting, she stepped over his unconscious body, moving deeper into the shadows of the path caused by the shipping containers.

The smell of rotting fish and polluted sea water permeated everything, combined with diesel fuel and exhaust. Shipping yards were all the same, big or small.

She was taking care to not kill anyone. Now, that didn't mean that they may not end up in traction for a few months, or even a coma or two, but as far as she was aware, no one had died yet. It helped that she was moving silently enough that they were caught mostly unawares. It helped that she was using the collapsible baton, a weapon that she had not ever figured as being so effective.

Give her a gun, she was deadly. Give her a knife, and she could create a bloody work of art. But now, give her a baton and she was conducting a symphony comprised of broken bones and gasps of pain and surprise. The spray of blood that accompanied each aggressive movement of the baton was the physical punctuation of each blow.

She had not realized, until she had hunted in Virginia, just how well the baton worked on the offensive. She had always been taught to use it as a defensive. But now, it was quickly becoming one of her new favorite toys to play with. Silent, affecting, and if she wasn't careful of her strength, it could be very deadly.

This was Brooklyn in her element. What she was trained for, what she had been made for. The only difference was now, instead of answering to shadowy master, she was in charge of how and when she used her skills. For what purpose she unleashed her own brand of brutality. The rage she felt at what these men were doing, the kidnapping and selling of women and girls, was justified, she believed.

The fact that Steve had not stopped her, or tried to really dissuade her from her current course of action was proof of that. If the man who embodied the very morality of Captain America, at least in public, didn't object to her stepping in to help make the travesty stop, then obviously she was on the right track.

His questionable morality behind closed doors, in private, was another matter.

His rules in regards to how she acted during this current engagement, rather than holding her back, seemed to give her a feeling of freedom. Unlike the choke chain that HYDRA kept on her, keeping her muzzled and leashed with threats regarding her father and her siblings, Steve put a leash on her that was as ephemeral as his breath, yet as strong as his will. If he wanted to, really wanted to, he could yank it, bringing her to heel. But his faith and trust in her was enough to not to want that to happen. His approval of her actions, her goal, was enough.

There was freedom in her submission to his will.

She ducked behind a shipping container, holding the baton down by her side, as she heard the rough cough of a habitual smoker, as well as the smell of a cheap tobacco cigarette. She took a slow, silent, deep breath, waiting, until the bulky figure strode past. Stepping out behind him, she whipped the baton around, catching him on the back of the knee, dropping him, before she brought it around, catching the end, hooking his neck, before wrenching to the side. She moved with the momentum, flipping him over, before slamming his head on the ground. The sliding grunt that left his lips, as well as the muffled thud of his skull making impact was the only sound. He twitched, but remained still.

Concerned, she reached down, feeling for a pulse, satisfied when the reassuring thump of his heart beat met the tips of her fingers.

She moved on, climbing up onto a stack of containers, wincing at the soft thud of her feet which echoed on the hollow metal. Brooklyn decided that the remaining thugs were best left to Junior's crew, who were trailing behind her. She would hate for the boys to not have a little fun, on a night like this.