UNDERWORLD INFERNO

~REAGAN~

She sat across the room sipping her drink slowly. Her eyes were fixed on the occupants of a table two rows away from her. Four distinguished men, all nothing but flare and glowing suits screaming of wealth and class. She didn't care for that.

She had been seated there for almost an hour waiting. Her eyes settled on her target. He was a middle-aged guy with the arrogance of a trust fund kid but carried himself with authority. Juan Ruiz. The firstborn son of Don Antonio Ruiz, a notorious mafia Lord in the city.

Reagan Page finished her drink and got up heading to the counter to pay. Catcalls followed her as she intentionally passed by their table. She only glanced at them before proceeding to pay. She left the bar hurriedly and got inside her car.

A few minutes later, Juan stepped out of the bar, a briefcase in hand then staggered to his car after bidding his friends goodbye. She waited until he drove off before following swiftly. It was some minutes past eleven at night. He had one more stop before heading home— a routine she had mastered over time.

This time, he didn't stay inside the one stop for long. She got out of her car, felt her weapon in her pocket, and then met him just a few steps from his car. He looked up from his phone and stopped abruptly taken by surprise. She stopped, rested her hands in her pockets, and held contact.

"Are you lost, woman?" he asked arrogantly.

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be," she stated confidently. "The question is, are you?"

He stared at her questioningly then stepped forward making for his car mumbling something under his breath. Reagan blocked his path. He pulled his gun and pointed it at her. She had anticipated that. Without wasting a second, she grabbed his arm and twisted forcing the gun out of his grip.

"Aarh! Let go of my hand, puta!" he groaned and cursed.

"Not so powerful without the weapon, are you?"

"What do you want?"

"Your life!" she declared and drove a knee into his stomach.

Juan doubled over but just as he was about to hit the ground with his knees, she kicked him sending him sprawling on the ground. She followed and pulled him up by his collar. Juan's eyes flickered rapidly searching her face. She held contact unblinking.

"D*mn right! Look at me, look at this face well enough because it is the last one you are ever going to see!" she warned shaking his form vigorously.

"Who the f**k are you?" he asked trying to remain calm but his gaze was dominated by fear.

Reagan chuckled, "Of course, you wouldn't remember me." She pulled him closer. "I'm coming for you all!" she drawled. "Too bad you won't be there to see it."

Reagan drew her gun. Juan's eyes widened in horror as she pointed it at him.

"You don't know who you are messing with!" he drawled. "You won't get away with thi–"

The sound of the gunshot cut off his statement. He fell back with a thud, eyes wide open and his mouth gaping. Reagan returned the gun in her pocket and sighed in satisfaction.

"Let them come," she declared to the still body. "I have been ready my whole life."

She headed back to her car and drove off. Three people down, three more to go. She checked her mental list and headed straight home.

The studio apartment was deathly silent just like always. She took off her coat and loosened her shirt then poured herself a glass of whiskey. Juan had been an easy target because he was a careless and arrogant guy. She couldn't say the same about her next target.

She turned deciding to head straight to her bedroom. In a sudden shift of focus, her eyes were caught on a stand across the room. She frowned and walked closer. A framed photograph was missing from the stand and no one had access to the apartment. Her heart leaped into her throat. Someone had been in there— someone who wanted her to know that.

"Looking for this?" A voice interrupted from behind her.

Reagan grabbed her gun and turned around sharply pointing it at the intruder. He was a tall guy, dressed impeccably in a dark suit, his hair was short, almost bald. He had the portrait in his hands holding it like a trophy.

"Who the f**k are you?" she demanded and cocked her gun.

"Does it matter who I am?" he grinned exposing a silver tooth. This guy wasn't appalled by the sight of a gun. He seemed quite right at home. Reagan however wasn't shaken by his confidence.

"You took what's mine so d*mn right it does!"

The guy chuckled, "Gentlemen?"

Two guys appeared through her bedroom door. Reagan shifted her focus in surprise but didn't dare show it on her face. A little more steps and she would have landed squarely in their hands. How could she not have noticed that something was off? She was now trapped in between them. The first one stepped forward.

"Reagan Page. Thirteen years ago, sentenced to ten years in prison for double homicide. Spent one in juvie and nine at the state's women's penitentiary. Got out three years ago and disappeared. Until now." He went on as if he had narrated the same story a hundred times before. "Murdered two members of the Matrix Vipers cartel in what appears to be a street fight gone wrong. Real clever!" He chuckled. "And just a few minutes ago, you decided to strike the snake right in the head, took Juan Ruiz out cold and left him in the streets for them to find."

"Are you quite done?"

"I don't know. What have I left out?" he asked sarcastically. "Oh, Maxine," he stated tapping on the portrait gently. "She is lucky to have someone like you who is willing to die to find her."

"That should tell you something, shouldn't it?" she cocked an eyebrow aiming her gun at him.

"Why haven't you shot me already?" he challenged. Reagan swallowed and gripped her gun tighter. He took out a photograph from his pocket and handed it to her. "I'm here to make you a proposal."

She looked at the photograph in front of her briefly then back in his eyes.

"Who is that supposed to be?"

"That's the mystery, isn't it?" Reagan sighed impatiently. "You take her down and we will help you with your quest."

"And why would I do that?"

For the first time since he stood in front of her, he turned serious. He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. She looked at it inquisitively before reading the details. The words *Crimson Syndicate* stared back at her like a nightmare carved squarely into the pretty silicone card. Memories of her past came flashing before her eyes turning her stomach into a nerval war zone.

"I take it you recognize the name?"

"What do you want from me?" she asked angrily.

"Your cooperation," he stated firmly.

"What if I say no?"

"You have two options. We could easily put you back in prison, this time for life. Or we could kill you right after we kill your precious Maxine in front of your eyes. You get to pick your poison." He sighed, "You could take the better choice, work with us, and in return, you gain our protection. And Maxine will be back to you in a matter of days."

Reagan sighed heavily, "I do this for you, you help me get my sister back. That's the deal."

He smiled, "Call me with the good news, Reagan."

With that, he turned to leave with his guys. Once they were out of the apartment, Reagan dropped her gun on the table and exhaled shakily. Her hands trembled. The card she was holding was not strange to her. She recalled finding an exact copy stuck in the windscreen of the first car she had driven out of prison. No one had come after her and after all those years, she had forgotten about it.

"Sh*t!" she cursed under her breath, poured herself another whiskey, and downed it in one gulp.

She exhaled sharply. On the table, she looked at the photograph and then flipped it. There was only a name and an address at the back. It was all she needed.

~MARCELA~

"A gin and tonic, please," Marcela requested the bartender then turned around leaning against the counter.

Her eyes roamed the almost packed club looking for no one in particular. Her mind was also nowhere near there as she tried to wrap her head around everything that had happened to bring her here. Then she saw her.

She was seated all alone at the counter with only one glass of what looked like whiskey. As if aware that she was looking at her, the woman turned settling her gaze directly on her. Marcela smiled and tipped her hat. The woman looked away almost too quickly. She was intrigued.

"Here you go," the bartender alerted her.

She grabbed her drink with a thank you and turned around. She glanced at the woman after a sip and saw her emptying her glass.

"That woman seated over there, you know her?"

The bartender shrugged, "She is a regular. Always alone. Takes a glass or two and often leaves a good tip."

"Pour her another