Vexes-A Story of Altered Humans

1

Harlem & Rea

     Maybe it was his piercing hazel eyes that drew Rea Mcallister to him. Maybe it was the lingering smell of cigarette on his black leather jacket, or his faded denim jeans; his maroon, wedged boots and the way he walked so gracefully in them. It could damn well be all of those things and then some.
     Maybe it was the way her crooked smile snagged him. Maybe it was the fishnets swimming down her legs, or the piercings in her lip and eyebrows; or the way she would always drag him by the collar to the back of the car to make out...
     Either way, Rea McAllister and Harlem Banks were drawn to one another, like stars stitched together by an invisible string, and bound by fate.
      But tonight, Rea and Harlem stand at odds, pivoted by anger and fueled by a very different kind of rage. The nightclub is loud and the lights are as blinding as it comes. Stars begin to flash in Rea's vision but she blinks them away, allowing herself to be swallowed by the booming music and made invisible by the crowd. To blend in is the key–Harlem taught her that. Once Rea learns something, she never forgets it.
     The synth vibrates in her chest, quivers in her middle and she clenches a long-empty shot glass while she watches the attendees dance. Everyone is skin-to-skin, some people making out against the wall, tongues twirling in and out of mouths, fingers finding places beneath the waist to explore... Rea notices, watches and makes her move.
     She slides through the throng of dancers so liquidly that she practically goes unnoticed. Only the tips of her fingers lightly brush against articles of clothing as she passes by–sleek like a phantom. By the time she reaches the glowing red letters that spell EXIT, her target passes through the club door to the outside alley. Before the door clicks shut, Rea snakes through behind him.
     The man has a skinned head, tattoos curling up his neck and arms like smoke, all green and black and in a language she's never seen and definitely cannot understand. But no matter–Rea drops behind the dumpster at the exit door, using the moonlight to rummage through her black net backpack she chucked there hours ago, and from it withdraws a metal baseball bat.
     The black bat gleams in the pale light of the moon. Rea glares at the man as he pulls a smoke from his jacket pocket, and then she glances at her reflection in a puddle at her booted feet–long greasy strands of blonde, detached ocean eyes, malicious drawal of her mouth, her brows. Something deeper than concentration boils from inside of her, begging to froth over.
     The head of her bat catches in her gloved hand, kissing her palm hard, alerting the man. He turns, angling himself just enough to see the smaller more agile figure behind him–Rea.
     "You're outmatched, girl," the man says, his voice gravelly, confident.
     "You underestimate my capabilities," Rea says, an accent only those from the outer-cities have, drawn out, slow. A gray Mustang pulls in quietly, headlights beaming. The man turns, eyes now falling to the dropping window. A shaggy-haired man in a leather jacket grins at him from inside–Harlem. The car stays on as Harlem exits the vehicle and shoots a silenced bullet into the man's leg.
     It's too loud inside the club for anyone to hear the man's screams and anyone on the street knows better than to interfere. Rea approaches, her bat swinging low and steady like a pendulum at the man's head. "Hand over the vial," Rea says as Harlem jabs the heel of his boot in between the man's shoulder blades. He presses just hard enough the man squirms but can't get away. "Don't make me draw this out."
      A chill shivers down the man's spine, but he still reaches into his pocket, extracting the glass vial with a glowing blue liquid–Vex–the start of everything.
     "You do not know the power that this wields," the man stutters. "You'll pay for this if you use it wrongly."
     Rea grins a yellow-tinted smile as she takes the blue vial from his calloused fingers. "This is everything."
     With that, the bat cracks against the man's skull–once, two times, three. He stops flinching and lies there dead in a pool of his own blood and brains. Rea wipes the blood flecks from her face and steps into the car with Harlem. Someone will find his body tonight, or tomorrow, but the dynamic duo won't be caught.
     Harlem pulls the car out onto the road just as a light rain starts to fall. The rain pelts gently against the windshield as he drives, and the low hum of 80s music resonates from the radio. Rea clutches the vial in her hand, rolling it pensively around with her fingers, watching the bright blue liquid slosh within the glass. Her crooked grin breaks out over her face and she bites her lip almost sensually–they've done it. She's done it.
     After some driving, Harlem pulls the vehicle off the side of the highway. Rea steps out with the vial still in hand and approaches the metal railing that acts as a barrier between her and the overlooking ledge that drops to the ocean beneath. It's then she feels Harlem's presence next to her. Both of them glare out at the starry night and the glittering ocean, their faces turned upwards toward the showering rain.
     "Are you ready for what's next?" Harlem finally speaks, his voice cutting through the silence and rain like a knife, quick and jagged. "We must act soon. She'll know one of her men is dead and that the power is in our hands."
     In my hands... Rea thinks sorely. "Now you're on board?" Rea's tone is rigid, angered. "Might I remind you how you were unconvinced of this plan being executed only hours ago, and now look! We have it–Vex. This changes everything. This is everything."
     Harlem wipes rain from his face and leans against the metal railing, eyeing Rea, sizing her up. "Do not question my motives or my uncertainties." He grabs her by the wrist, jerking Rea towards himself, close enough she can feel his hot breath running down her neck. She lets out a rattling sigh as just glowers into his eyes, defying his rule, standing her ground. She did half the work and she will not be made small for it. "I helped you. My considerations before are not of your concern."
     "I need to be able to trust you," Rea says, her back-length hair clinging to her face in a wet cluster, but she doesn't tear her gaze from him. She peers into his caramel eyes, his coffee skin and charcoal strands dripping with rainwater. "You question my motives all too often, Harlem."
     His grip tightens and Rea can feel the vial in her hand clenching in her fist as she struggles with the pain of his grasp. The last thing that needs to happen is for this vial to splinter–crack open and bleed her hand blue. Everything they've done tonight would be for nothing.
     "You underestimate the power the Vexes have." Harlem's words carry heavily into her ears. "We're playing with fire here and we both are doused in the flames. We've done it now. There's no backing out."
     Rea again bites her lip as Harlem's hand loosens on her wrist. But she pulls him, grabbing his jacket and yanking him closer until her mouth has married his. There's a fluttering feeling in her chest, a concoction of desire and control all melded into one. She kisses him slowly and he returns it to her, and together they fall into the muddy earth, their clothes falling from their bodies; the vial being buried in the mud.
     Of course they're playing with fire, but Rea is the flame and Harlem is the weakened, brittle log that so quickly is consumed by her. Her flames wrap around his body, her hands grabbing the sides of his face, her breasts falling into his large, veiny hands. Pleasure and dominance are both the same to Rea McAllister, and Harlem always fits that mold so perfectly, every time.
     In the end, there's no amount of mud or blood or threat that can deter her, because Rea will always be in control.