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Two men, we’ll call them Boris and Natasha, sit in a white windowless “kidnapper” van outside of Rage, the newest club in town. The music blasted inside and if you got close enough to the building you could feel the vibrations of the base. Boris and Natasha watched and waited, their mark was supposed to be inside the club. Their client had charged them with extracting his fiance from the hands of some unscrupulous characters. He claimed that she had been kidnapped and brainwashed, refusing to come home to him.
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Natasha asked, his nerves on high alert. “These people we’re trying to get through are connected. Is this girl worth the risk?”
“Shut up, idiot! The client is paying us twenty thousand when he gets his girl back. Plus, she’s a nobody. They won’t come after us for a nobody.”
“But did you vet him? Did you vet his claims?”
Boris smacked Nate upside his head, “of course I did! He showed me pictures of them together, the marriage licence they took out - unsigned,” he sighed, “but present. I did my digging on the girl too. She was with the client for years before disappearing from sight the last six months. Her socials have been dark just as long.”
Nate was huddled in on himself as he continued to watch the door. He wouldn’t say anything else, they’d get the girl as soon as they saw the boss leave and go to the rendezvous location with the client. Why the client wasn’t having them bring the girl to his home baffled him.
“Why aren’t we taking her back to the client’s house?”
“Because, he wants to try and clear her head of the crap those kidnappers have put there since she was taken.” Boris suddenly killed the engine and opened his door, “come on, idiot, the big guy is leaving.”
Natasha looked out the window and watched as a tall broad man with tanned olive skin checked his phone as he exited the club. Boris was right, the boss was leaving, now was the time to grab the girl.
~~~
Hermione awoke to find her wrists bound behind her back sitting in a hard, cold metal chair. She looked around taking in her surroundings. She seemed to be in a warehouse, mostly empty from what she could see. A few drop lights hung overhead casting a white-yellow glow around her. She couldn’t see anyone in her vicinity, but she did her best not to make any noise.
The last thing she remembered was being grabbed from behind as she walked out of the club offices. There was a slight sweet taste on her tongue.
“Fuckin chloroform.” She rolled her eyes, “no imagination.”
She knew who had to be behind this. Her fucking ex was so damn obsessed. He just couldn’t let it go that she called off their wedding and left him. He was a needy, jealous manchild. It was part of the reason that she ended their relationship in the first place. After five years of catering to his ego, she decided that being married to him was just too much and she could not mother him for the rest of her life.
Testing the bonds on her wrists she realised that she was not tethered to the chair. “And whoever it is is an amateur as well.” Just great. But at least her escape should be easy. Though, depending on how long she’d been gone the rescue party may already be trying to track her. In her line of work the risk of someone grabbing you was always a possibility. When she hooked up with the boys and opened the club they made sure to install trackers in something they would wear everyday; that way, in the event they went missing the others could find them quickly. As long as one of the guys figured out she didn’t leave willingly, someone would be on their way to get her.
That didn’t mean that she was going to sit around and wait quietly.
Hermione tested the bonds on her wrists again. It felt like a simple ziptie. Well that was easily broken. Pulling and twisting her wrists in opposite directions she was able to snap the tie. In case she had to pretend she was still bound, she moved to pick the tie off the ground and slid it into the pocket of her slacks.
Sure enough, she had no sooner regained her seat and two men came walking around the corner.
“Good, you’re awake.”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
“And she’s feisty too.”
“You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”
“Lady, you are a nobody and when your fiance pays twenty grand to get you back; well, who could say no to that.”
Hermione laughed. She laughed so hard she forgot to hide that she had freed her hands. Her right hand resting on her belly as she continued to laugh at the idiocy of the man in front of her.
“What the fuck are you laughing at? And how the hell did you get free?” The gruff one turned to the quiet one and asked, “did you release her?”
“What? Of course not!” The quiet one backed up a step, clearly afraid of his partner.
The gruff man, Boris Hermione decided, moved closer to her, a gun in his hand. “I’d be careful about trying to use that on me.”
He lifted the gun but didn’t point it directly at her. “Oh, and why is that?”
Hermione simply smiled.
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
“The better question is, do you know who you’ve pissed off?” Hermione relaxed as much as was possibly in her metal chair. She crossed her right leg over her left, her hands folded in her lap as she stared at her captor. She was cool as a cucumber in ice water.
“Like I said, you’re a nobody. Nobody is gonna look for you. Nobody is gonna miss you. But your fiance is going to pay top dollar to get you back.”
“And yet, you’ve brought me to a warehouse instead of directly to him.” She sneered at even saying him, she refused to say his name. “Let me ask you something, Boris. Did the weasel,” she grinned at the pun, “give you any history? Or did you buy his sob story hook, line, and sinker?”
Boris’s eyes widened just a fraction, but Hermione caught it. “Ah, he didn’t tell you and you did.”
Boris swung the but of his gun at her catching her temple. She didn’t feel any blood pool or drip, but her head lobbed to the side enough that she knew she would be bruised. And oh would he pay for that bruise. “Shut the fuck up!”
Hermione turned her attention to the quiet man in the back. “Hey, Natasha! Let me ask you a question.”
Boris moved towards her, “I said shut the fuck up.”
“Swing that gun again and I’ll gut you where you stand.” Her tone was low and deadly. Boris stopped inches from her, rethinking hitting her.
“You’ve got nothing to hit me with, Sweetheart.”
Hermione brought her right hand to rest on her waist near her belt. These idiots hadn’t searched her. Good! Her fingers fiddled lightly with her belt buckle.
“What are you doing? Stop moving!”
Boris took a step towards her. Hermione pulled a piece out of her buckle, ducked down low, missing Boris’s blow, and shoved a blade into the back of his ankle, twisted for good measure. With his achilles sliced and severed he fell to the ground as she pulled the blade out. She wiped the blade on his pants, returning his blood to him before she folded and returned the knife to her belt.
“Now, Natasha, with Boris out of the way maybe we can have a real conversation.” Her movements were slow and graceful. Her heels clicked on the concrete floor as she stepped towards Boris’s head. She placed one foot on his throat, pressing just enough to restrict but not cut off his air. With the pain from his sliced achilles tendon and his restricted air flow he wouldn’t be moving anytime soon. And if he tried, her spiked stiletto would puncture his carotid.
Natasha had yet to say anything but he carefully watched Hermione move.
“Do you know the names Knott, Flint, and Pucey?”
“No ma’am.” His voice cracked just a little.
“How about the name Malfoy?” His eyes widened ever so slightly. “Ah, you do. Good. That will make this next part easier.”
Hermione felt Boris reach up to try and push her leg off his neck. She pressed a little harder and heard him choke and sputter. She looked down at his face, “I’ve no qualms with killing you. As I’m sure given the chance you may have killed me. Or tried to hand me over to a deranged manchild with an inferiority complex and delusions of persecution.” Boris gurgled again, possibly trying to say something but she didn’t care.
Hermione returned her attention to Natasha. “Since you know the name Malfoy, and you can gather that Knott, Flint, and Pucey are probably connected to him, you know that you’ve made some enemies here today. So let me give you one more name.” She paused, making sure she had his full attention. Slowly, she said the last name, “Zabini”.
The man’s eyes widened in horror, he took a few steps back and tripped over a box falling on his arse. Oh yes, he was definitely familiar with the name Zabini.
“That’s right, little boy. You pissed off the biggest Mafia boss in London.” She looked down at Boris again. She was sure that if he could get enough air into his lungs that he’d be just as terrified as Natasha was. But sadly, he was running out of oxygen and would be dead soon. She wouldn’t be able to watch his face change from superiority to terrified when her husband arrived.
“Would you like to know the kicker?” Hermione examined her nails as though she had all the time in the world. And truly, as she had the upper hand she did have as much time as she wanted. “The man you’re working for isn’t my fiance. No. I left him because…well, I had my reasons and they’re no concern of yours.” Her voice was nonchalant and relaxed.
Gun fire erupted outside of the warehouse. Natasha looked towards the entrance, terror on his.
“From the look on your face, I’m guessing it wasn’t your men that were stationed outside.”
He shook his head vigorously.
Hermione removed her foot from Boris’s neck, the man was either dead or unconscious at this point, and stepped towards Natasha on the floor. “It doesn’t matter if they were your men or Weasley’s, they’re dead now.” Her voice was flat and matter of fact. “Do you want to live, little mouse?”
He nodded his head.
“Good boy. Do what you’re told and I may let you live.” A smile broke out on her face, “you see, I’m not a nobody like your partner tried to imply.” Hermione stood tall and proud, “I am the mother fucking Queen Bee!”
More shots rang out as her men sauntered into the warehouse. She glanced at them briefly before continuing to address Natasha, “I may not have taken the Zabini name, but that allows me anonymity in this world. My husband is the face of our operation, and look,” she looked beyond Natasha lying on the floor, “here he comes now.”
Blaise Zabini was a tall, broad, and devastatingly handsome man. His tanned olive skin lent him an air of danger that made Hermione melt every time she looked at him.
“You alright there, love?” Blaise asked, knowing that she most likely was perfectly well.
She smiled brightly at him, “I’m good, love.”
“Do we need to kill this last one?” Theo asked her.
Hermione looked down at Natasha at her feet, the man still cowering. He didn’t belong in the underworld but he could be useful. “No. I think we’ll let him talk about this little encounter. Let all know that we’re not to be fucked with.” She squatted down to be eye level with the man, her fingers under his chin held his head in place so he couldn’t look away from her. “Isn’t that right, Little Mouse? “
“Yes ma’am.” He squeaked like the mouse he was.
Blaise moved to her side, his arm wrapping around her waist. He kissed her temple and breathed her in. There was a brief moment in time where he thought he’d lost her, but seeing her towering over the men who took her eased the beast inside him. It did not save Weasley’s life. He fucked with the wrong person, he took what did not belong to him, and touching the untouchable makes your life forfeit.
“You are my queen.” He whispered, his mouth next to her ear.
Hermione turned her body into his, her arm reaching up to cup his cheek, she pulled his head to hers and captured his mouth in a searing kiss.
“You and me, love, we’ll take the world.”