Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: SHAYNE| Suckerpunch

Balmy breeze whipped around her as Shayne stepped out of the back seat of the cab and onto the curb of King Street, the prime clubbing district of downtown Toronto where the sleekest clubs, upscale restaurants and trendiest lounges were grouped.

Elegant, sophisticated hedonism.

She'd showered and dressed quickly, sparing only enough time to run a bit of pomade through her short hair for a tousled edge, stroked dark mascara over her lashes. Dressed in liquid leggings, a short and thin leather jacket over a lacy bralette, Shayne was all about bold, in your face sensuality and style.

Today she was channelling her inner Sandy complete with candy red lips to match her red lacquered nails. As the streets thickened with late night clubbing traffic, Shayne had opted to walk the half block to her destination, weaving through the cluster of bodies and the club lines spilling out into the pavement when she saw him.

Kyle Reid. Public enemy number one, outside and leaning up against the smooth stone walls of Basilisk with a couple of his financial f*ckwits, still dressed in their prissy suits and blowing plumes of smoke into the night air with the rest of the smokers sucking on cigarettes like they were in a race to get lung cancer.

Shayne angled her head, a quick right and left motion, loosening up her neck and shoulders, then strode with purpose in the direction of her target. She knew the second he saw her, as well as the instant shock of recognition.

Yes, asshole, it's me. And I'm coming for you.

"Hey baby, you looking for some fun?" one of his friend's cat-called, misinterpreting her approach for interest instead of execution. "You should talk to this guy," he pointed at Kyle, "he's loaded, babe. Just got promoted. Pulling six figures."

"This loser?" Shayne snorted. "No thanks, not interested in getting the clap."

"Shayne...let's talk somewhere privately, okay?" His fingers cinched around her upper arm, strong as a vice but with the ease of a trained fighter, a quick jerk and straight arm to the joint of his elbow, Shayne broke his hold.

"No, I'm fine right here and if you touch me again I'll knock you on your ass."

A hard line of frustration ticked in his jaw and she watched the spectacle of his emotions flash across his face. He was pissed. Very pissed. She'd humiliated him. Challenged him in front of his boys, and if it were anyone else in front of him he'd probably have put hands on her twice. But as it happened Kyle knew who she was, and more importantly, what she could do if he tried.

Well enough not to hazard taking the chance.

"Kyle..." the one to catcall her spoke up, no longer amused, "do you want me to get security?"

"No, no, David, thank you." Kyle pulled on his game face as he faced his friends. "Why don't you guys go back inside?" His friends kept close by and apparently uneasy about his request.

"Are you sure, man?" the other one asked, eyes narrowed on Shayne.

"Yes, it's fine. I've got this under control." They left reluctantly, sparing a glance back at them as they flashed their wrists for the bouncers to let them pass the velvet ropes and disappear back inside.

"Jesus, Shayne!" He rounded on her when his friends were out of sight, eyes widened with panicked anger. "I know you're pissed but are you seriously demented? These are my coworkers. My colleagues."

"Just calling it like I see it."

"You're messing with my job, Shayne. A job I'm lucky to have, all things considered, so if you'd please—"

"I bet the big boys upstairs loved it, didn't they? Seeing you and your friends degrade those girls? Bet you got a few claps on the back to go with that raise." It was small but she saw it: humour. The smarmy patriarchal smugness boys eventually acquire as they learn being born with a penis somehow made you more: more worthy, more important, more deserving. Just more.

"They were paid escorts." His curled lip was part smirk, part sneer. "Not school girls we led off the path of righteousness, so spare me your sanctimonious feminist bullsh!t."

Temper flashed in her belly, a bright vibrant spark that shot up her torso like flames in a chimney. Momentarily overwhelming, but she reigned herself in. This wasn't the time or place to educate another clueless asshole on the finer points of human trafficking and the plight of sex workers while standing in the middle of King Street, the sidewalk swelling with bodies.

So she reached for something else. Something that would hit him low, hard, and if he had a soul, hurt. "You know Isobel lost her job because of you?"

Shock bled the humour from his face. "I had no idea..."

"And that makes it all better?" Shayne edged closer. In her heels they were well-matched for height, bringing her right to level with his gaze. "She lost everything but you're still whole. How's that fair?"

"I did lose everything. I lost her."

"Bravo. Almost believed that for emotional sincerity. Except it didn't quite reach here." She drilled a finger between his eyes, nudging his head back. "And you might want to let your voice break next time, or a tear roll down your cheek."

"F*ck you."

"You wish."

They stood there for a moment, him locked in a moment of rage and her braced for him to do something about it, when, unexpectedly, he laughed. Hands pressed to his face, he dragged them down, slowly. Sighed.

"For a moment I forgot who I was dealing with. Isn't there a pussy somewhere you need to pillage, a cock for to munch on? Don't tell me you've finally tapped the world dry and there's no one left you haven't f*cked?"

"Don't dick measure with me, Kyle. You'll always come up short."

"Ah. So you went ahead with reassignment surgery. Congratulations. I'll send you flowers."

"I never liked you, Kyle. Never once in eight years. Bet you thought you were good. Really good. But I saw right through you. Always have and the only reason why I never outed you is because breaking your face would've broken her heart. And I always thought Isobel, being so smart, would see the truth on her own. Eventually. But I misjudged you. Stay away from Isobel. Don't call her. Don't text her. Let her heal and move on in peace."

A moment of contrition softened his jaw. "I love her."

"Don't use big words you don't understand. You love the idea of her and that's not the same thing. She deserves better. She deserves more. And if you truly gave a sh!t about anyone but yourself—you'd see that."

"Well," he raised his arms, hands spread. A defeated gesture that didn't match the heat in his eyes, "you got what you wanted. Are we done here?"

"Almost." She caught him with a quick, clean jab straight one. Saw the satisfying snap of his head a second before his knees buckled and he dropped on his ass, but not unconscious. She heard a few gasps, some laughs as some of the club goers stopped, stared, whipped out their phones to capture the spectacle, hoping for more so they could slap it up on the internet and become viral celebrities overnight.

But Shayne had done what she'd set out to do and wasn't about to push things any further. There was no need as Kyle swiped at his lips; blood glistened on his finger tips. She could've done worse, but didn't. And he knew it.

Slipping a green apple lollipop from the breast pocket of her jacket, Shayne shucked the wrapper and winked as she slid it in her mouth.

"There. Now we're done."

**AN**

I don't know about you guys, but I wish I had a friend like Shayne. What I love most about her is her fearless heart.