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    Summary

    This time, Harley’s aware enough to jerk away from the punch and the fist glances off her cheekbone, catching her nose. It doesn’t send her into the stars like the last one, but she feels blood rolling thick and hot out of one nostril, trickling slowly toward her mouth.

    “Ya missed,” she grins up at him widely before licking at her upper lip and tasting blood.

    The goon’s face flushes red and he scowls.

    “I won’t miss again, you freak bitch.”

    “Technically, ya didn’t miss the first time.” She jerks her head toward the pool of vomit on the floor next to her and keeps smiling. The smiling always freaks them out. And she has a reason to smile, they just don’t know it yet.

    “Stop talking,” he growls, cocking his arm back again, his hand fisted so tightly that his knuckles blanch white. “I hope this next one breaks your fucking jaw.”

    OR

    The one where Harley's night takes a (semi) unexpected turn, and she rolls with the punches (literally).

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