All Roads Lead to Hell *Matt Murdock* (book three of Damned-3a)

1) The perks of dating Daredevil

Walking home alone at night was honestly one of the most stupid things one could do in Hell's Kitchen, especially if they were a woman, Vera was well-aware. She didn't consider herself particularly stupid; but she also wasn't the kind of person who couldn't fight off some back alley mugger if necessary. That didn't mean she was looking for any sort of trouble, she really wasn't that stupid; however, there were things she didn't get to choose and when her shift ended at half past eight, allowing her to leave after nine p.m., she just had to walk home alone at night.

Which was, of course, one of the most stupid ideas a Hell's Kitchen resident could get.

The moment someone grabbed her from behind and tried to tug her to an alleyway, her brain came up with a half dozen of ways of fighting the attacker off. She broke out of the man's grip in a second, scoring a nice elbow to his face, only to be caught by another one and—yeah, and having a gun aimed at her head by a third guy. Well, shit.

"You scream, you're dead. Money. Jewellery. Nice and slowly."

"Shit."

Vera held her hands up. The gunman was too far for her to disarm him. The man she had elbowed, who had a knife on her back under her coat now, was close enough, she would handle him, maybe even with the possibly unarmed one on her side. But the combination of the three of them.... She was no daredevil. With neither small nor capital D.

"Oh, such a lovely young lady and such a foul mouth?" the gunman wondered mockingly. It irritated her. His smugness and her fucking bad luck, because seriously? It was the time of month to collect her trouble magnet duty or what?

"Yes. And she also has a piece of advice for you," she mumbled, unsure where that came from. Was she suicidal? A gun and a knife. Three guys. Not a good opportunity for her to have a big mouth. Then again, maybe...

"Does she now?"

"Yes. You don't want to do this." ...maybe if she talked long enough...

"Really? And what do we want, tell me."

He beckoned to the guy with the knife. She felt the blade pressing against her back, almost breaking her skin. She gulped when the third man approached her, raising his hand. She tasted bile in her mouth when he touched her chin and she turned her face away.

"I know what I would want other than the money," he murmured slyly, giving a tiny chuckle.

"Don't you fucking dare-"

"Rude. Maybe we should stuff something to the dirty mouth of yours. What do you think, Dylan?" the gunman challenged and Vera shivered against her will.

The knifeman – Dylan, apparently – moved one of his hands to her ass, squeezing. Jesus, shit. That was the last thing she needed.

"You think she would blow me? I bet she would. She has such pretty cock-sucking lips..." he purred to her ear and Vera felt she was actually going to puke any second now. She wouldn't stand a chance against three men, let alone armed.

"Let's start with the money, hm? We can have fun later." His gun beckoned in her direction.

Her mind raced. Was the gun just for show? If it was, she had a chance. On the other hand, if it was a real deal and he was a good shooter, she might end up bleeding to death. Which wasn't her idea of a perfect evening.

Why was she in New York again? For sure, this wouldn't happen in Prague. It definitely wouldn't happen in Trutnov.

The metal on her ring finger hidden under her gloves burned instead of an answer.