Just Call Havoc

Like A Vendetta

Rachel:

I stand in a corner of Wesley's, a dingy, overcrowded, eatery in South Prescott, my eyes fixed on the table in the center with it's six occupants.

They are hard to miss, really, laying around like they own the fucking universe.

They don't though. All they do own is an insignificant little town in the middle of nowhere, which doesn't account for a single shit in the grand scheme of things.

I don't like them. They have been through a lot of shit, but so have I. Doesn't mean I go about expecting people to bow to me, or treat them less than human just because I have the guts to shed blood and take what I want. So as far as I am concerned, they are entitled little assholes.

Judgey much? But not really. I have certain rules that I do abide by. One of them being to not judge people before you get to know them. And even though I have never actually met the six rulers of Springfield, I happen to know all there is to know about them.

Hael Harbin. Tattooed, pierced, honey-brown eyes, hair in blood-red fauxhawk, wicked smile. Former playboy. Groove: cars and explosives.

Aaron Fadler. Brown hair, green eyes, boy next door vibe. Compared to the rest he somewhat looks like a kicked puppy. But then maybe I am just projecting based on the info I have.

Victor Channing. Purple-black hair. Black eyes. Leader, self proclaimed king and all around asshole. More than the rest.

Oscar Montauk. Tech wiz. Black hair, silver eyes. Always in suits. Closed off as fuck with severe intimacy issues. It never ceases to amaze me how motherfucking similar the two of us are.

Callum Park. Prince Charming in black. Deep blue eyes. Would have been Juilliard worthy dancer if it weren't for some bastards breaking his bones. He hurts all the fucking time but never stops. I find that pretty darn impressive.

Finally, Bernadette Blackbird. I don't really know how I feel about her yet.

"Just walk up to them and say the word. I don't know what price they'll demand since you refuse to tell me what you want from them, but they would at least hear you out"

Vera's words ring inside my head as I stare at them. I owe that bitch and her minions for saving me and setting me up for a month while I plotted my next move. Or rather while I tried and failed to plot my next move.

I have information, I have resources and I have a solid plan. But it is not something that can be executed by a one woman army. I'd be dead before a week if I try to pull it off alone. Not an option.

So I have spent the previous three months searching for allies. It has been damn difficult to find them too, to be honest with you. I searched every hellhole and shadowy corner. I found a lot of monsters, but none to my taste. I found a lot of badass bitches and forged useful alliances but none were strong enough to be a part of my army. None until that day. Until I ended up in the most ratchet part of Prescott, running from my monsters yet again.

I almost died that night. But unfortunately Vera just had to play white knight like a good little crew members and save my ass. I was a right bitch about it too. You should have seen her face. Bitch did not expect to be cussed out for saving a poor little damsel in distress, by the damsel herself. She didn't understand. I didn't expect her to.

Anyways, a week in, we managed to kick off something akin to friendship, and she told me about them. HAVOC. I should have guessed she was a crew member but I was too out of it with pain medication to make my brain work right. But she came in handy and I ended up with the life story of Havoc handed to me on a sliver platter. It was perfect really. So I stuck around, poked around, used a little of my very own brand of black magic and I realised something really quick.