Damsel: No More, page 1
part #1 of Damsel Series
Damsel: No More
P.S. Power
Orange Cat Publishing
Copyright 2020
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Chapter thirteen
Chapter fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter sixteen
Chapter seventeen
Chapter eighteen
Chapter nineteen
Chapter twenty
Chapter one
“Fuck you!”
Hannah screamed the words like a battle cry, and she swung the wine bottle she’d grabbed from the mini-bar of the limo she was in, as she was forcefully pulled out at the stop light. The driver yelled something as he was pulled out as well and hit half a dozen times before her own useless noise had started. Not that she could see what was going on at the moment.
The shattered glass from her makeshift weapon might have distracted the muscular man who was tossing her about, but it had sliced her own face in a way that probably wouldn’t be happening to the kidnapper. He, wisely, had a face mask on. The kind that marked him as a professional, or at the very least a nutjob who imagined himself to be a super villain or some nonsense like that. He still grunted about the impact, even if he didn’t let go.
She managed to tip back, forcing the man to carry her whole weight, which he did without any real problems as far as she could tell. Then, desperately, she lashed out with a desperate kick, pushing off of the roof of the black vehicle. Shoving herself back as hard as she could. It made the man, who was probably close to three times her own weight, take almost two whole steps back. It was, she could tell, more like one and a half. From a move that had almost every ounce of strength her right leg could produce behind it.
Not that she let the failure of that stop her from struggling. It didn’t do much at all, until, as the man tried to put his hand over her mouth, she noticed that his left wrist was bare. Above that strip of flesh was some kind of cloth body armor. Below it was tough leather and composite gloves that had striking surfaces over the knuckles...
But in that one, rather small, zone, the man was unprotected. She, as it happened, had a rather small and delicate mouth. That happened when you were only five feet tall, after all. Sinking her teeth in, she recalled what her self-defense instructor, James, had told her. Which was that if she ever had to bite someone to save her life, she was probably going to end up losing teeth. That and catch a virus or bacterial infection.
James was brutal as well as honest, so had flat out told her to risk it, if the chance came but Hannah didn’t lose any of her pearly whites as the man screamed and dropped her. She just landed on her backside, in a way that was going to leave a bruise, at the very least. Gasping for air, she tried to roll, the fairly small bit she’d had to drink being more than enough to disorient her. Which was why, when she got to her feet, it was both clumsy, slow and ended with her running into another costumed freak. This one was a woman. At least she had breasts and a rather killer figure. She was also at least six-four and when her red and yellow covered arm snapped out in a backhand, it was clear that this one, at the very least, had some kind of superpower.
Hannah went dark then, waking up to hear two things. Sirens, off in the distance, and moaning, when she managed to stick her bleary head up a bit. The sound came from the three costumed idiots on the ground. Their masks had been taken, leaving their faces exposed. Not that they were anyone she knew. The driver was already back on his feet, on his phone.
“This... Attack. The Red Trio. I’m on... Forty-second and Deaver... Right. The passenger is, thank God, she’s alive. She’s on her feet. I didn’t see who helped us.”
Hannah nodded. The man might have, but if she’d seen anyone giving them aid, she would have kept her mouth shut, too. It was illegal to be a vigilante, even if the police had no real way to control people with superpowers who wanted to kidnap innocent heiresses.
“Thank goodness we let Katie out first.” Unless the girl, one of her oldest friends, was in on the kidnapping, of course.
She hated to think that way, but after four real kidnappings she’d learned a hard life lesson. Half the time they were put in motion by people close to you. Her father’s maid, in one case. A woman who had been her friend, more or less, her entire life. Her building doorman, in another. A man hired to guard and protect her. That her best friend would betray her didn’t seem likely, since Kate was wealthy all on her own, as well as the least self-centered of her social group. In fact, she was one of the least selfish people that existed, probably. Hannah would have suspected herself in that kind of thing, well before she’d point the finger at the other woman. At least outside of her own head.
Her head ached on a level that she’d never felt before. Rubbing at her face, with her left hand, she had to wince. It came down, covered in blood. Enough to show she was hurt, without being the kind of thing that indicated death was going to come soon. She didn’t think of herself as tough, particularly, but she’d taken some damage before. Enough to know the difference between bleeding to death and having a few minor cuts.
“From the bottle.” Her words were slurred in a way that two and a half glasses of champaign simply weren’t going to force on her. She was small, but kind of an expert at handling alcohol, after all. “I think... I might have a concussion.”
That didn’t come out right, sounding like she was making a joke about being drunk, more than anything. Still, as the world dimmed at the edges, she sat down on the sidewalk. Hoping that whatever was going on was over for the time being. That, as it turned out, wasn’t the case, since one of the men in red and yellow rolled over to the side. Slowly. Trying to get up. The big one who had pulled her out of the car in the first place.
It was a race then, as she rolled over to her own side, nearly vomiting from the pain in her head. Actually gagging, fighting the loss of her drink. Then she did it, letting loose with a spray of bitter liquid, as she moved. Lurching. Not to get away, which would make some sense, but toward the other man. Who wasn’t on his feet yet.
“Stay down, bitch!” This came with a kick that, while not enough to get her into the Olympics, connected with the guy’s skull with heel bruising force. She had to do it again, several times, before he went back down. Then she had to try and keep the woman in red and yellow from escaping. Whatever made her stronger than normal made her head harder, as well. Kicking her actually hurt enough to make it difficult to do twice.
Finally, reaching into the back of the limo, Hannah pulled a full, still corked, bottle of wine out. This was a nice red. It hit with enough force to put the muscle lady down, just before the officers got there. If they were really cops. That had happened to her once before. She’d thought that she was being rescued, but it was just the reinforcements of the bad guys.
If that was the case this time...
Then she was about to be kidnapped again. After all, she ended up having to sit, retching the remaining drink out of her system, about then.
The police, as always, did very little to help. They managed to cuff the three on the ground, and call in one of the special units, that handled that kind of thing, before questioning her for details. After the tenth repetition, she started to try and throw up again.
“I need to go to the hospital. Concussion. Hit. Shtuper powers.” The cop she was talking to, who was probably named Johnson or Smith, instead of Officer Douchtastic the Slow, which was what she planned to call him from then on, finally nodded.
“Right. Medic!” The call got her taken away, in an ambulance, after enough time she was fairly certain she wasn’t being taken to a secret hideout. Kidnappers weren’t always smart, of course. They might not have the best plans... But they weren’t going to wait for half an hour before taking their victim away. Not that she was one of those. Not that night.
For all she felt like crap, and was half covered with broken glass shards and her own blood, Hannah de Peyser had sort of won. For once. True, someone else had, clearly, shown up and saved her bacon, but she was going to count it as a team effort. After all, if she hadn’t managed to be a big enough pain in the ass, they would have loaded her into the black rape van they had and been well away from the scene before anyone could get there.
“The driver. How is he?” Her purpose for asking wasn’t just about being a good person.
He’d been hit a few times, but people might be willing to take a beating in order to get part of a large ransom.
The EMT, a woman who managed to be fairly attractive, even while having a long nose and her hair pulled back efficiently, shrugged.
“He seemed fine. Refused to go to the hospital. Then, most people do, if they can walk at all. You look to have gotten the worst of it.”
The words weren’t great to hear. Not that she wanted her driver for the night, who was basically some rando she’d never seen before, to be hurt seriously. If he had been however, that would show that it was less likely he was in on it, that was all. Him being fine could mean anything. From being part of the plan, to him simply not wanting to risk going to the hospital and having a big bill, later.
Not that she wouldn’t have covered that for him. There was no way for him to know t
Which, she realized, probably meant that she’d wasted money on it in the first place. It certainly hadn’t helped her in the fight. It had ridden up instantly, showing that, yes, she did wear underwear. Not that it had been a constant thing in life, but that night she’d bothered, thank God. Otherwise she probably would have ended up in the tabloids with her goods hanging out for all the world to see.
Which was fine, if that wasn’t happening while she was being loaded into a sketchy black van. That there were going to be photos was just reality, of course. Almost everyplace had cameras. She hadn’t pulled one out, but her phone had one and that was with her, along with her purse. Meaning she had I.D. when she got to the hospital, after fading into darkness, several times.
Still, she was able to call a cab, or start to, when she was finally released, six hours later. The night had been long, and she wanted to sleep, which concussion or not, the doctor was fine with. They didn’t even demand she stay the day for observation. The left half of her head was wrapped in bandages, but nothing had required stiches. Thankfully. That meant, while annoying, she wasn’t going to be scarred for life, from her own actions.
Instead of the yellow taxi she’d planned to call for, there was a rather bland seeming SUV waiting for her, with six men, all armed and in business casual suits of various colors, waiting for her. One of them was James, who worked for her father, as well as her at times. Security, but with her it had mainly been training. Years of it, for all she’d managed to do about half of nothing the night before.
“My teeth didn’t come out when I bit that jerk. I think I drew blood, too. Not that a few of them aren’t loose from where his girlfriend bitch slapped me. Superpowers, so...” Hannah wasn’t really making excuses.
At least one of the three had abilities that way. Probably all of them, since they’d bothered to wear costumes and masks like they had. Super jerks did that. Which, in a way, was kind of nice of them. At least she’d known that the playing field wasn’t even, right from the start.
James, who was older, still fit enough to be intimidating and with solid gray hair over his tanned but lined face, nodded.
“The Red Trio. They claim to be anarchists, but mainly just steal cash from machines. Low level abilities, from what I can find out. One of the guys, the small one, has some kind of limited precognition. The other two have physical abilities of some kind. I don’t know what exactly. Nothing that big.”
That made some sense to her, so she nodded.
“It was enough. I don’t know what happened. I was slapped down and out in one move by the big bitch, after munching on the larger guy’s arm. I didn’t even see the third one until I woke up. They were all on the ground, without their masks, when I could stand again. Then I had to try and keep them there.” She didn’t describe how she’d done that, though her trainer got the back door of the vehicle for her with a nod. She was allowed to slide into the back, with muscular men on either side of her. James wasn’t one of them. It was kind of a beefcake sandwich, but none of the guys bothered to do more than nod in her direction. They were there to make sure she was safe.
Which was probably overkill at the moment. She didn’t whine about it, since she wasn’t feeling all that certain of her place in the world, just then. Attacks always threw her that way and while she hadn’t been buried in a box this time, that didn’t keep her brain from recalling when she had been, before. Apparently, that time, some man who had been born with powers had contacted the police on her behalf, after locating her, using his mind. It had been done anonymously. Some do-gooder or possibly just a decent person, making sure she didn’t suffocate to death. She wasn’t going to knock it, either way. Her father would have paid the man, or woman, which, clearly, was a known thing.
Instead, whoever had helped save her had simply done it at a distance and never brought the idea up again. She owed whoever it was her life. That had happened when she was twenty. So far, they hadn’t been in touch with her, for some reason. Hopefully they knew how much it had meant to her. It was a thing she wasn’t doing again, if she could help it. Counting on anyone else to save her like that. Not without doing her best first.
Wrinkling her nose, she sighed.
“I think... I’m done.”
That got a nod, from the seat in front of her, where James slapped the back of the driver’s seat.
“Go when it’s clear, Teegs.”
The driver, a black guy who had been around for a few years, simply nodded. Then pulled into traffic when it was clear. Only then, when they were in motion, did James go on. The other men started scanning the outside world, which, head aching like she’d rarely felt before, Hannah tried to do as well.
“What do you mean? You’re done?”
The truth was, until she spoke, articulating the idea that was slowing poking out of her subconscious mind, she wasn’t totally certain what she meant. Not specifically.
“I’m done with all of it. Parties, fancy dresses... maybe being an heiress. Not that it will help, so maybe not that last one. After all, they aren’t after my money, they want Dad’s. Maybe I can get him to publicly disown me for my lesbian ways?”
The words got a snort from one of the men, who actually spoke. This one was Ryan. That was his last name, which was all she had for him.
“Sure. You’d have to stop dating men first, though. Maybe find a nice gal to marry?”
It was a real enough point. Plus, Charles de Peyser was a lot of things, but homophobe wasn’t really one of them. Even doing something weird, like joining a cult wouldn’t be enough. Not that it wouldn’t have led to a different sort of kidnapping, if she ever tried it. Probably done by the men riding with her in the plain silver vehicle.
She waved at the man then, nodding, if only a little, since it hurt too much to do more. The bandages on her face pulled at her skin, too. It was annoying.
“Drinking and drugs, anyway, then. I need to... I don’t know. Learn to shoot and all that. I tried to fight, and the only thing that worked at all was biting and hitting people with wine bottles. I didn’t even get a chance to scratch any eyes or kick someone in the jimmies.”
James had taught her to defend herself, not a fancy martial arts system of any kind. The reason for that had been pretty stark, when he’d first spoken the words. Her punching a man in the face wouldn’t stop anyone who was motivated at all. Even trying to learn kicks was wasted effort. She was too small and weak for that kind of thing to really work, even against average men.
So she needed to do other things. One of the suggestions had been that she arm herself, though. A thing that she’d resisted for a long time. Mainly because walking around with a gun while drunk seemed like a less than brilliant plan. The other drugs were in the same vein, as well. At least if she wasn’t going to start shooting at every guy who wanted her phone number or pan handler who thought that nice clothing marked her as a soft touch.
Several of the men around her, towering over her, even as they sat, nodded. They always went around with weapons, after all. Even being big and strong, they did it.
James nodded.
“That’s sensible. We can set that up, if you don’t find someone else to teach you. It isn’t hard to find people willing to teach that kind of thing. Just don’t tell your father. He’ll insist that you have a full security team every day for the rest of your life.”
That was one thing that Hannah loved about James. He got, without asking, that she didn’t really want a team of people attached to her constantly. Then, she also didn’t want to be buried in an old piano crate, again. What she’d been doing wasn’t working though, clearly, so she considered that idea for a moment. The truth was that the men with her, or people like them, really wouldn’t fit in her apartment. It was nice and big, for Manhattan, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have space issues with half a dozen other people being there, all the time. She had room for two other people in her life. Three, if one of them wanted to share a bed with her.
