It had been pure fucking stupidity. She didn't even know why she'd done it. Stupid fucking hormones! So much for the preservation of the species, her's seemed more focused on the death of an individual, namely her. She'd seen them drag the teenager in, knew what was in store for her, but so what? She'd seen them drag dozens of girls in over the years, never done anything stupid about it before.

Shit, she couldn't exactly claim ignorance over what happened in there, one of her earliest memories was being one of the girls dragged in. She'd risen far since then. Her daring escape two years later had been short-lived, rounding a corner and running straight into the legs of O'Reilly, one of Tenth Street's top enforcers. A prepubescent girl was no match for three burly thugs but she wasn't going down without a fight. Somehow she'd drawn blood and impressed O'Reilly, instead of forcing her back to the 'club' he had taken her under his wing and she became 'Reilly's Little Spitfire'. For years she'd watched, copied and then surpassed those around her. Survival was a cutthroat business and she'd not only cut throats but capped knees and pulled off nails. She'd pedaled drugs and run guns, if the Reds dealt in it then she'd escorted it.

Normally she just stayed away from Sixth street. It wasn't that she was scared of the place, the so called 'Tenth Street Reds' turf actually ranged from Fourth right through to Twelfth, and very few people inside that line would risk messing with her level of ink. It was simply easier that way. She didn't have the best of memories of the place and their business wasn't her business.

Today however, it was. Basic escort, simple drug deal. So simple in fact it was over and done with inside ten minutes. She had over an hour until her next job so she relaxed, leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. A transport pulled up outside the building opposite and started unloading it's cargo. There weren't that many, mostly youngsters, pale faced from lack of sunlight; vent crawlers and sewer walkers probably. She flicked away her cigarette, preparing to leave, but as she turned she caught a glimpse of the last one out and paused, she was different...

This girl had to be her age, possibly even slightly older, and she certainly wasn't from around here. Good clothes, good hair, enough of the right kinds of food for her skin to practically shine. Spitfire felt a wave of desire spark through her, she'd never had a reaction to a person that intensely before but fuck did she want that girl.

Of course all she had to do was go inside and wait in line. They never took long to start breaking in new 'merchandise' and they would keep going long after the girls broke. It wasn't her street, not her place, but with her tats they had to offer some respect.

Tattoos in the Reds weren't just for decoration. Each symbol told a story, if you knew how to read them; a list of accomplishments and commendations. Spitfire's made for quite a read, covering her right shoulder and trailing down both her inner and outer arm, stopping a mere two inches short of her wrist. More than enough cred for her to join the party, could probably cut in quite close to the top of the queue as well.

Primal urges were coursing through her veins. Indecent thoughts flitting through her mind. She found herself walking towards the warehouse.


The guard on door duty sized up the approaching figure, it was always hard to judge age on the streets but he would have guessed mid to late teens, the black tank top covering up but failing to hide the shape of breasts. Before he could spend anymore time thinking about her womanly qualities he caught sight of her arm, eyes widening as he read her ink. He was in his twenties but she already had far more than him. This was one woman he definitely wouldn't be fucking with, not in any definition of the word.

He looked up to her face, dirty brown hair hacked short, a vicious looking scar by one eye. The eyes themselves were brown and filled with lust. He gave a chuckle as he stepped aside to let her in, vaguely wondering which piece of ass had been unfortunate enough to catch her attention. Whoever it was, he doubted she'd have to wait long to try a slice.


Spitfire's pace slowed as she entered the warehouse proper. Last time she'd been in one of these she had been on the other end of the power struggle. Too young, too small, too weak to resist as she was introduced to a world of fear and pain. Her legs wobbled slightly at the memories, stomach turning, luckily no-one had seen her yet, she could still leave unobserved. There were other ways out the building that didn't involve walking past the same guard. Nobody needed to know of her weakness, the fact she hadn't followed through on something. Her reputation would stay intact. Reputation was the key to survival on the streets and so far she had managed to survive in style. As she turned her eyes caught sight of something metal in the corner, her abdomen flaring with ghost pain as she remembered it. The brand. The 'reward' for surviving the breaking in. A scream from behind informed her that the top dog of this particular group of bastards had chosen his first victim, every instinct in her body was yelling at her to get out. Instead, without even thinking it through, she whistled.

It was a simple tune. One that every Red knew. And one that definitely wasn't hers to use. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing immediately. The no.1 even pulling out of the sobbing mess that until recently had been an innocent little girl. He may have had precedence in this street but nobody nowhere had a higher claim than Kray. Spitfire suddenly realised she didn't have a plan. Every eye in the room was fixed on her; the girls' filled with fear, a few of the more naive ones starting to gain a small glimmer of hope. The Reds eyes turning to anger as they saw it was her instead of the boss of bosses. Needless to say... Things got a little violent.


Why the fuck did I whistle? Impersonating a higher rank, I pretty much just signed my own death warrant, she thought bitterly as she walked through the streets. Some of the vent crawlers had been smart enough to scarper during the fight, but when she rose, bloodied and victorious, there was still a small group of girls huddled in the corner. The object of her desire among them. She told them they best start running and they just looked at her. Do these people have no sense of survival? Not that she could talk apparently. What the fuck had she just done?

She left the warehouse, thoughts flying panicked through her mind. The Reds would kill her. Loss of revenue was serious but not so bad, it would have had the Sixth after her but other streets would have given her safe harbour. Same with the beatings and deaths. Everyone had enemies. Some people would profit from the upheaval and they'd be more than willing to add her to their retinue. Using Kray's whistle though... That was unforgivable. No-one would risk pissing Kray off by taking her in. It took her a moment to realise the kids were following her. She told them in no uncertain terms to fuck off, STILL they did not take the hint.

Then her nemesis, that temptress, the cause of all her problems stepped forward and asked her to help them. Get them out the Red's turf and somewhere safe, the sheer gall.


"... like in the pied piper of Hamelin-" The voice was almost as pretty as her face, at least that was what Spitfire had thought when the girl first spoke, by now the incessant noise was pissing her off.

"What the fuck are you babbling on about?"

"You know, the whistling and then leading the children out. I suppose in a way you even took care of the rats." Spitfire glared at her, still lacking comprehension, before turning and continuing to walk. A general scrabbling signifying that the others were still following.

"Life ain't a goddamn fairy tale Princess."


"Thanks." They were within sight of civilization now. A security checkpoint just about visible in the distance. She'd be able to make it from here and it was clear that her escort wasn't too keen on going any further. Her fellow escapees had already taken their leave at various points along their journey, not saying a word just simply slipping away into the twilight.

She pressed a light kiss to her unlikely savior's cheek in gratitude and suddenly it was like a switch had been flipped in the other girl. A hand to her arm spun her round, the street rat's body walking forward and pressing her back against the wall, hungry lips crashing down on their counterparts.

At first, almost instinctively, she gave tentative signs of reciprocation. Then as wandering hands found their way under her shirt and started groping her breasts she froze, the full severity of the situation finally dawning on her.

The gangbanger continued on oblivious. Mouth working its way across her collarbone, left hand still kneading away while the right trailed down over the rigid body, dipping into her pants. At last a frightened whimper broke through her horrified silence, eliciting a low growl in return.

Teeth sunk painfully into her shoulder before a tongue traced its way back up her neck in a single long lick. Terrified emeralds gazed into feral brown eyes smoldering with lust.

"No..." She finally managed to croak out actual words and the beast before her tilted its head. "Please god no..." She continued her desperate chant as the right hand ceased its descent and reversed direction. A single finger trailed its way up over her abdomen, circling once around a breast and up until it clutched at her throat, cutting off her pleas. The whole time she'd been under scrutiny from those terrifying eyes, the head tilting slightly side to side every now and again. Unable to speak, tears streamed silently down her face and she squeezed her eyes shut to avoid the sight before her.

Suddenly the pressure lifted from her throat, a heavy thump sounding just to the left of her head. When she opened her eyes she found the other girl's scrunched shut. Right fist leaning against the wall beside her head, left dangling at the street rat's side, leaving a small avenue of escape between their bodies. She stood stock still debating what to do, she thought she'd taken too long and missed her chance when the left arm moved but it pointed out to safety.

"Go Princess." The voice was low and gravelly and every word sounded forced. "Get out of here while you still can."

She didn't voice her thanks this time, and she sure as hell didn't make physical contact as she ran for safety. She spared neither a thought nor a glance behind her for the troubled teen whose world had been torn apart, focusing purely on making it out the urban wasteland and past the checkpoint back into civilization.

Meanwhile Spitfire collapsed to the ground, head spinning. Others may consider the gangs brutal but it was the only life she knew and now she'd fucked it up. She could conquer every gang territory between here and the Red's and present them as tribute and it still wouldn't be enough to absolve her from Kray. As she sat there contemplating her chances of survival two thoughts repeated more than all others: What the hell do I do now? and Why the fuck did I whistle?