[man-of-sea]

Here a continuation of the story about Nathalie enjoy.

Nathalie's Warehouse

"Hey, can I get a whiskey neat?" Nathalie called out to the bartender, her voice a mix of gravel and honey. She brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, the salty beach breeze lingering in her locks. The Golden Fox, a dive bar nestled in the city’s heart, was her sanctuary after a long day.

The bartender nodded, his eyes never leaving the TV screen as he poured her drink. She took a moment to survey the room, letting the incredible air kiss her sun-kissed skin. The bar was dimly lit, with a few patrons scattered around, nursing their drinks in silent contemplation. Stale beer and the faint scent of cigarettes hung in the air, a familiar and oddly comforting aroma.

Nathalie sauntered over to George, her hips swaying with a practiced ease. She slid onto the stool beside him, her eyes locked on his as she tossed the paper with Ivory's number onto the sticky table. "I had a bit of a run-in with this one. She's new to the block but thinks she can waltz in and stir the pot." She took a sip of her whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down her throat.

George picked up the paper, his eyes narrowing as he studied the unfamiliar digits. "And what's your beef with her?" His voice was smooth, like the jazz playing softly in the background, but Nathalie could hear the edge of curiosity.

"Let's just say she's got a mouth on her," Nathalie replied, her smile never wavering. "But she's got something I want. A piece of the action, you know?" She tapped the side of her nose with a knowing look.

George leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, I see. And what makes you think I can help with that?" He sipped his drink, the amber liquid reflecting the neon sign outside.

Nathalie leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because I know you've got your fingers in every pie on the east side. And I know you don't like it when someone tries cutting your share without permission." She oversaw him, her eyes gleaming with challenge and desperation.

Geroge sat back, rubbing his chin. “Okay, I think I can help. I’ll be at the warehouse tomorrow night at eight sharp. Oh, and don’t be in your Sunday best because I want a dirty fight; it always brings good money." He handed her a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.

Nathalie felt the anticipation build up inside her. "It's a deal," she said, her voice steady despite the thrill of the upcoming confrontation. She knew George couldn’t pass up a good opportunity, especially if it meant expanding his empire. She took the paper and tucked it safely into her pocket.


The next evening, she arrived at the warehouse dressed in her usual attire: a black leather jacket, a white tank top that hugged her curves, and a pair of jeans that had seen better days. The place was grimy, the air thick with gasoline and dust. The distant sound of laughter and shuffling feet echoed through the cavernous space, hinting at the audience that awaited the main event.

George was already there, surrounded by his entourage of burly men, eyeing her with curiosity and suspicion. She ignored them, focusing instead on the figure standing at the far end of the room: Ivory, her blonde hair tied back in a tight bun, her eyes glinting excitedly. She was dressed in a sleek black jumpsuit that accentuated her toned physique, looking every bit the formidable opponent.

The crowd parted as Nathalie entered; the anticipation was unmistakable. She could feel their eyes on her, sizing her up, wondering if she had what it took to take on the new girl. But she had faced worse and knew that George had her back, at least for now.

"Looks like we're going to have some fun tonight," George announced, his grin wide and predatory. He clapped his hands together, and the murmurs of the onlookers grew to a dull roar. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"


Nathalie nodded, her eyes locked on Ivory's. She could feel the tension in the air, electric and charged. The blonde smirked, her hands already up in a fighting stance. Nathalie took a deep breath, letting it fill her lungs before exhaling slowly. The whiskey from the night before had given her a slight buzz, but she was sober now all business.

The crowd grew louder as George raised his hands, signaling them to start. Nathalie and Ivory began to circle each other, their movements fluid and calculated. Nathalie feigned a left hook, causing Ivory to flinch slightly. She saw her opening and took it, throwing a quick jab that connected with Ivory's cheek. The crowd cheered, and Ivory's smirk morphed into a snarl.

They danced around the makeshift ring, their breaths echoing in the vast space. Nathalie's heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She knew she had to be smart about this—Ivory was quick on her feet and had a sharp tongue. But she had underestimated Nathalie's resolve.

The first round was a series of feints and jabs, both fighters testing the other's limits. Nathalie could feel the power behind Ivory's punches, but she had been in the game long enough to know how to dodge and weave. Her blows landed precisely, aiming to weaken her opponent without causing a knockout too soon. This was a dance of dominance, and she wasn't ready for it to end.


The crowd grew more frenzied as the fight progressed, their bets flying like confetti. Nathalie could see the greed in their eyes and the desperation to claim victory for their chosen fighter. But she was fighting for more than just a prize; she was fighting for respect, for her place in this grimy, underbelly world that George ruled with an iron fist.

Ivory's face grew red with exertion, a thin line of sweat tracing her brow. She threw a wild punch, and Nathalie stepped aside, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her back. The crowd roared as Ivory winced in pain, but she didn't give in. Instead, she head-butted Nathalie, catching her off guard. Stars burst in Nathalie's vision, and she stumbled back, her nose throbbing.

The taste of blood filled her mouth, and Nathalie felt a surge of anger rise within her. She had been in this situation before and knew that anger could be her greatest weapon or downfall. She took a moment to gather herself, to let the rage fuel her without consuming her. Then, with a snarl, she lunged at Ivory, their bodies colliding in a flurry of fists and elbows.

The fight intensified, the sound of flesh against flesh resonating through the warehouse. Nathalie felt a jolt of pain as Ivory's elbow connected with her ribs, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she countered with a swift kick to the stomach, sending Ivory reeling. They were both breathing heavily now, their movements less graceful, more desperate.


George watched from the sidelines, his eyes gleaming with amusement and avarice. He hadn't expected the fight to be this evenly matched, but the longer it continued, the more money changed hands in the betting pool. He leaned back against the wall; a cigar clenched between his teeth, his arms crossed over his chest.

Nathalie quickly moved, grabbing Ivory’s jumpsuit and launching her over her. Nathalie heard the fabric rip, and she was left holding the torn jumpsuit and a topless Ivory on the ground in front of her. She couldn't help but smirk at the sight of Ivory's bouncing breasts as she gasped for air. "Looks like someone forgot to wear a bra," Nathalie said as she threw the remnants of the jumpsuit to the side.

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, the tension in the room thick with excitement. Ivory's eyes flashed with anger as she scrambled to her feet, her chest heaving. She rushed at Nathalie, fists flying. Nathalie blocked and dodged, but the sheer ferocity of Ivory's attack was relentless. She could feel the impact of each punch, even as she managed to avoid the most damaging blows.

A sharp pain shot through Nathalie's side as Ivory's elbow connected with her ribs. She stumbled, her vision swimming for a moment. Ivory took advantage of the opening, raining down punches on Nathalie's face and torso. Nathalie's head snapped back, and she tasted blood. She knew she had to end this before losing the upper hand.


With a roar, Nathalie swung her leg up, catching Ivory in the chin with a powerful roundhouse kick. Ivory's head snapped back, and she crumpled to the ground. The crowd went wild, their cheers and jeers melding into a racket. Nathalie stood over her, panting, her own body bruised and bloodied. But she had won.

George stepped into the makeshift ring, a grin spreading across his face. "Looks like you've still got it, sweetheart," he said, holding a hand to help Nathalie. She took it, her eyes never leaving Ivory's prone form. "Now, about that piece of the action..." he trailed off, his voice full of promise.

Nathalie took George's hand, her grip firm, and allowed him to hoist her up. She stepped over Ivory's body, the crowd's roar like a symphony in her ears. She turned to face him, her chest heaving from the exertion, but her eyes never leaving his. "I've earned it," she said, her voice steady despite the pain.

Then, Nathalie notices a striking gentleman on the edge of the table where  George is sitting. “Who is that guy there with you?” she nods in his direction. “That’s my business partner; he’s the brains behind this operation,” George says smugly. Nathalie can’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity about this unknown player in the game.


The man was dressed sharply, his suit perfectly tailored, and his eyes were as cold as ice. He studied Nathalie with a scrutinizing gaze, seemingly unimpressed by the display of brutality she had just put on. "He's going to want a piece of the action, too," George said with a chuckle. "But don't worry, I'll handle him."

Nathalie smiles, “That’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can handle him. Why don’t you introduce me to him?” George nods and calls over the sharply dressed man, who makes his way over with a casual confidence contrasting the room’s chaos. “Nathalie, this is Brad. He's the one who keeps the gears turning around here."

Brad extends a hand, his grip firm and calculated. "Pleasure," he says, his voice low and smooth. His eyes appraise Nathalie with a cool detachment that sends a shiver down her spine. She knows a predator when she sees one, and Brad was that. "I've heard a lot about you," he says, a hint of challenge in his tone.

Nathalie takes his hand, squeezing just enough to let him know she's not intimidated. "Likewise," she replies, her smile as sharp as a switchblade. She could feel the tension between them, a silent battle of wills. But she had George's endorsement, and she wasn't about to let some fancy suit make her doubt herself.

"So, George tells me you've got your sights set on a piece of the east side action," Brad says, his eyes never leaving hers. "What makes you think you can handle it?"


Nathalie leans against the bar, her body aching but her resolve unshaken. "I've been handling myself just fine around here for a while now," she says, her voice filled with the promise of more than a verbal comeback. "I've got the skills, and I've got the drive. And if that's not enough, I've got George's vote of confidence."

Brad's lip twitches into a smirk, and he nods. "Fair enough," he says. "But the east side isn't all fun and games, darling. It's a jungle; the only way to survive is to be the biggest, baddest beast."

Nathalie laughs, but the sound is a little rough from the fight. "I think I can manage," she says, gleaming. "But if you're worried about me, maybe you should be more concerned with keeping George in line."

The room goes quiet momentarily, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. George chuckles, slapping Brad on the back. "Leave it to Nathalie to keep us on our toes," he says, his eyes twinkling. "But she's right. If she's going to play with the big dogs, she's going to have to prove herself."

The three of them stand there, a silent understanding passing between them. Nathalie knows this isn't the end of the road; it's just the beginning. There will be more fights, more deals, more blood spilled. But she's ready for it all. She's always been prepared.


The night wears on, and the warehouse slowly empties. The crowd disperses, the cheers dying to whispers, and then nothing but the distant echo of footsteps. Nathalie, George, and Brad find themselves in a quiet corner, the smell of sweat and victory lingering in the air. Nathalie nurses her bruises with a cold beer, watching the two men discuss business. The unspoken challenge between her and Brad is a wire crackling with tension.

George and Brad break off their conversation, and Brad looks at Nathalie. “You were something tonight. You took care of business in there tonight.” Nathalie takes a sip of her beer. "Thanks, I try."

Brad leans in closer, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I have a proposition for you, Nathalie. Something that could elevate your status in the east side. Are you interested?"

Nathalie raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you have in mind?"

Brad smiles, his teeth gleaming. "We're planning a little... acquisition. There's a shipment coming in, and we need someone with your particular set of skills to ensure it goes smoothly. It's a high-risk job, but the payoff is substantial."

Nathalie's interest is piqued. "What kind of shipment?" she asks, playing it cool despite her excitement.

"The kind that makes men like us very wealthy," George says with a wink, swinging his beer. "But we need someone who can blend in, who won't draw attention. Someone with a certain... flair for the dramatic."


Nathalie's eyes narrow, the wheels in her head turning. "What's the catch?" she asks, knowing there's always a catch.

Brad leans in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "The catch is that it's not just any shipment," he murmurs. "It's something... special. And the people we're taking it from will be depressed if they find out we're involved."

Nathalie's pulse quickens at the mention of danger. This was the kind of job she lived for. "I'm listening," she says, her voice low and hungry.

George nods in approval. "Good girl," he says, his voice patronizing but not entirely unkind. "You'll need to be at the docks tomorrow night, 10 PM sharp. Don't be late."

The next evening, Nathalie finds herself at the docks, the salty scent of the sea mingling with the diesel fumes from the idling trucks. She's dressed in black, a tight leather bodysuit that hugged her curves and allowed easy movement.

George and Brad are already there, surrounded by a few of their most trusted henchmen. They're all armed to the teeth, but Nathalie's not intimidated. If anything, seeing the weapons makes her feel more at home. "You ready for this?" George asks, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Born ready," Nathalie responds, cracking her knuckles. Brad looks her up and down, lingering on the bruises from the night before. "You sure you're up for it?"


Nathalie's eyes flash with defiance. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't." She scans the area, noticing the shadows that could easily conceal an ambush. The anticipation of the unknown was a drug, and she was already high on it.

The shipment arrived as scheduled, and the engine from the incoming truck echoed through the deserted dockyard. The tension builds as the headlights sweep over them, the men tensing around her. The car stops, and the driver jumps out, a look of fear etched on his face. He knows the drill.

With a nod from George, Nathalie moves, swift and silent. She sneaks up behind the driver, placing a gloved hand over his mouth before he can shout. Her other hand wraps around his neck, squeezing until his eyes roll back, and he slumps to the ground. She catches him, laying him down gently before turning to face the open truck.

The cargo is more than she expected—crates filled with weapons and drugs, enough to start a war on the streets. She glances at George and Brad, who are watching her with a mix of pride and greed. This is her moment to prove herself, to show she's not just a pretty face with a nasty right hook.

With a smirk, she jumps into the driver's seat, the engine roaring beneath her. "You guys handle the cleanup," she says, winking at them. "I'll take this beauty for a spin."


The chase begins as soon as they realize what's happening. The rival gang's goons come barreling out of the shadows, guns blazing. But Nathalie is already in motion, the truck peeling out of the dockyard with a screech of tires. Bullets whiz by, but she's too fast, too skilled.

Her heart races as she weaves through the streets, the adrenaline pumping through her veins. The thrill of the chase is like nothing she's ever felt, and she loves it. She can feel the engine’s power beneath her, the truck’s weight shifting every turn.

The night is a blur of neon lights and dark alleys as Nathalie navigates the stolen truck through the city's labyrinthine streets. The pursuers are relentless, their car engines growling like beasts on the hunt. She can feel the vibrations of their bullets slamming into the metal behind her, but she doesn't let it phase her. She lives for this: the rush, the danger, the thrill of the unknown.

Her eyes dart to the rearview mirror, taking in the chaos she's left in her wake. The rivals are gaining ground, their headlights growing with each passing second. She needs to lose them before they get too close. Spotting an upcoming turn, she yanks the steering wheel hard to the left, sending the truck careening down a narrow side street. The crates in the back rumble and shift, the cargo shifting precariously.


Being a hot rodder back in high school sharpened her driving skills, along with a couple of other heists she did with George as his getaway driver. She knew every shortcut, blind alley, and pothole that could give chasers a nasty surprise. Nathalie's heart was hammering in her chest, but her hands remained steady on the wheel. She knew she had to shake them off before they got too close.

The side street was a gamble, but it paid off. The truck's tires screeched as she made the sharp turn, sending a spray of gravel flying. The crates in the back rattled ominously, but she didn't dare slow down. The headlights of the pursuing cars grew smaller in the mirror, their engines fading into the distance. She had bought herself some time, but she knew they wouldn't give up that easily.

Nathalie's eyes darted to the GPS on her phone, mapping out the quickest route to the rendezvous point. The east side streets were a maze, but she had driven them enough times to know them like the back of her hand. The adrenaline of the chase made her heart race, but she focused on the road ahead, her mind working overtime.

The truck's engine roared as she floored it down an alley, narrowly missing a dumpster. The crates shifted again, and she heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. "Shit," she muttered, hoping it wasn't anything too valuable. The pursuing vehicles grew distant, their lights fading like nightmares retreating into the shadows.

Finally, she saw the neon sign of the abandoned warehouse where they had agreed to meet. She screeched to a halt, the truck's tires leaving a black mark on the pavement. The side door was open, and George's men were waiting, their faces a mix of relief and admiration. They had underestimated her, and she liked that.

Brad was there, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with those cold, calculating eyes. "Nice driving," he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Nathalie hopped out of the cabin, her legs shaky from the adrenaline rush. "Thanks," she replied, breathless. "It's all in a day's work."

George stepped forward, clapping her on the back. "You did good, kid," he said, his voice gruff with affection. "Real good." He looked over the truck, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the crates. "Looks like we hit the jackpot."

The men began to unload the cargo, their movements swift and efficient. Nathalie couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride as she watched them work. She had earned her place in this world and wasn't about to let anyone take it from her.

Brad approaches behind, rubbing her shoulders. “Where did you learn to drive like that?” Nathalie smirks. Some things you learn in the school of hard knocks,” she says over her shoulder without turning around. Or maybe it was just my rebellious phase," she laughs.

George calls out to them, "Alright, let's get this shit moved. We don't have all night." Nathalie nods and moves to help with the unloading, her body aching but her spirits high. The men grunt and curse as they lift the heavy crates, their faces a mix of exhaustion and excitement.

After loading everything up, Brad asks Nathalie if she would like to join him for a drink at his place to celebrate the successful heist. Despite the bruises and cuts from the night before, she felt surprisingly good, the adrenaline still coursing through her system. She nodded and followed him to his sleek black sedan, the engine purring like a contented cat as they pulled away from the warehouse.

The drive to Brad's place was filled with tense silence that crackled with the unspoken understanding that there was more to come. Nathalie knew she was being tested and that Brad was sizing her up in a way that was more than just professional. She didn't mind; she liked a challenge.

The sedan pulled up in front of a high-rise building that gleamed in the moonlight. The door to the penthouse suite opened, revealing a space that was a stark contrast to the grimy warehouse they had just left behind. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, the lights twinkling like stars in a concrete sea.

Inside, the air was cool and clean, the scent of leather and expensive cologne filling the room. Brad poured them both a drink, handing her a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid. She took a sip, the whiskey burning down her throat, warming her from the inside out. "To new beginnings," he toasted, his eyes never leaving hers.

They sat on the leather couch, the tension between them palpable. Nathalie could feel the weight of his gaze on her, his desire as tangible as the drink in her hand. She knew what he wanted and was willing to give it to him. After all, alliances were built on more than just shared interests and mutual respect.

Leaning in, she clinked her glass on the coffee table. "You know, Brad," she murmured, her voice low and seductive. "I've got a feeling we're going to get along just fine."

Brad's eyes darkened, and he set his drink aside. "Is that so?" He reached out, his hand brushing against hers. Nathalie felt a jolt of electricity at the contact and knew she had him. She leaned closer, her complete lips curving into a smile. "Oh, I think so," she whispered.

Without another word, Brad's hand snaked around the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss that was as demanding as it was passionate. She melted into him, her hands tangled in his hair. His tongue probed her mouth, tasting the whiskey they had shared. The kiss grew deeper and hungrier, and Nathalie could feel the tension between them coil tighter and tighter.

Her body responded instinctively, pressing against him, her breasts aching for his touch. He didn't disappoint, his hands moving to cup her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples through the leather of her bodysuit. She gasped into his mouth, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core.

Brad gazed into Nathalie’s blazing eyes, “There is just one problem we have to face. It’s my high-end girlfriend Natalie. She’s very jealous and possessive of her lifestyle". Nathalie smirks. “Is that a problem for you or me?” Brad chuckles. “For both of us, if she finds out, but she’s out of town on business for the weekend, we are in the clear for now,” Nathalie nods, her mind racing with the potential drama this could bring. But she wasn't one to shy away from a challenge, especially when getting what she wanted.

They moved through the penthouse, shedding their clothes like snakes shed their skins. The room was bathed in the moon’s soft glow, casting shadows that danced across their entwined bodies. They reached Brad's bedroom, a testament to luxury with silk sheets and fur throws. Nathalie felt excited as she stepped inside, knowing she was about to claim a piece of this man’s world.

Brad's hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her bruised and battered flesh. She reveled in the pain, in the way it made her feel alive. His touch was firm, almost brutal, and she knew that he enjoyed the power he had over her. But she had power too, a power that came from within, which had allowed her to survive in the cutthroat world of the east side.

He pushed her onto the bed, his weight pressing her into the softness of the mattress. His hands moved down her body, finding their way to the zipper of her bodysuit. With a quick motion, he had it open, the leather parting to reveal her nakedness. Nathalie's breath hitched as his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs flicking her nipples until they stood at attention.

Her own hands were not idle; they traced the lines of his chest and his abs and then found the bulge in his pants. She gripped him firmly, feeling him grow harder under her touch. The power dynamics shifted again, and she knew she had him where she wanted him. "Is this what you had in mind?" she whispered, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Brad growled in response, his teeth grazing her neck as he claimed her mouth once more. His hands moved to her hips, pushing her legs apart. Nathalie felt a thrill of anticipation as she reached down to touch herself, her body already slick with desire. "Make me yours," she murmured, her voice a siren's call.

He didn't need any further encouragement. With a swift movement, Brad was inside her, filling her. Nathalie arched her back, her nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. The pain from her bruises was forgotten as the pleasure of their union consumed her. They moved together in a rhythm as old as time, their bodies speaking a language that needed no words.

Their passion was a storm that raged through the night, leaving them both breathless and spent. As the dawn broke, they lay tangled in the rumpled sheets, their bodies slick with sweat. Nathalie felt a sense of satisfaction that went beyond the physical. She had proven herself to Brad and had claimed a piece of his world.

But as she lay there, her hand tracing the lines of his chest, Nathalie's mind was already racing ahead. This was just the beginning. She felt that Brad had more than just a simple job offer in mind. He was playing a game, and she was eager to learn the rules. "What's next?" she asked, her voice still husky from their lovemaking.

Brad's smile was lazy and content as he propped himself on one elbow. "We'll see," he said, his eyes glinting. "But for now, let's enjoy the victory." He leaned down to kiss her again, and Nathalie couldn't help but wonder if this was the start of something more than just a business partnership.

The weekend, she was passed in a blur of sex, drugs, and power plays. Nathalie proved her worth, not just in the bedroom but in the boardroom, too. She had a knack for reading people and knowing when to push and hold back. Brad was impressed, and she could see how his eyes lit up when she made a particularly astute observation.

But it wasn't all fun and games. There were moments when the tension between them was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Nathalie knew that Brad's girlfriend was a time bomb waiting to go off, and she had to tread carefully. She had to be the one to dictate the terms of their affair, to make sure she didn't end up as just another notch on his bedpost.

When Monday rolled around, Nathalie found herself back at the Golden Fox, nursing a whiskey and watching the world go by. The bruises from her fight with Ivory had faded to a dull purple, but her memory of the victory was still fresh. George was there, his usual cheerful self, but a hardness in his eyes told her he knew what had happened between her and Brad.

"You two looked pretty cozy at the penthouse," he said, his voice deceptively casual. Nathalie took a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving his. "Is that a problem?"

George leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming a tattoo on the table. "Only if it becomes one," he said. "But you're smart, Nathalie. You know how to play the game."

Nathalie nodded the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders. "I'll handle it," she said. "But I want more than just a piece of the action. I want a seat at the table."

George's smile grew wider, his teeth gleaming. "Ambition," he said. "I like that in a woman." He slid a USB drive across the table. "This is what's coming in next week. We need you to handle the pickup."

Nathalie picked up the drive, her heart racing. This was it—her chance to prove herself once and for all. "I won't disappoint," she said, her voice steady.

George nodded. "I know you won't," he said. "But just remember, Brad's a snake. Don't let him bite you."

The warning echoed in her mind as she left the bar, the USB drive burning a hole in her pocket. The game was on, and she was ready to play. But she knew the only person she could truly trust was herself in this world of shadows and betrayal.

The night of the pickup was tense. Nathalie had studied the drive intel and memorized every detail of the plan. The cargo was more than just a shipment of drugs—it was a declaration of war. And she was the one delivering it.

The meet went down in an abandoned lot, the air thick with the scent of oil and desperation. The other party was there, their faces obscured by ski masks, their eyes cold and unblinking. Nathalie stepped out of the car, her heart pounding in her chest, and made the exchange. No words were spoken, just the clink of metal on metal and the heavy thud of a duffel bag changing hands.

As she got back in the car, she couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration. She had done it. She had proven herself to George, Brad, and the east side. And she had done it on her terms.

On the tense drive back to the warehouse, Nathalie anxiously checked the rearview mirror for any signs of pursuit. She knew completing the job would elevate her status in the gang, but it also meant getting more deeply involved in the dangerous world of alliances and betrayals on the East side.


Getting out of the car, Nathalie was met with a big surprise. Standing next to Brad was a fashion model in black lace underwear. A very minimalist bra and black transparent panties that displayed her well-trimmed bush. "So this is the bitch you were in bed with that past weekend. What hidden video camera’s will reveal about their lovers.” The woman's voice was like ice.

Nathalie also noticed a chain-link square fence with several seats outside the wall. Brad looked at Nathalie. “Nathalie, this is Natalie, and you know that problem I told you about.” Nathalie’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the woman, her hand itching to reach for the knife hidden in her boot. But she remained calm, her gaze never leaving Brad’s. “Looks like we have a situation,” she said, her voice quiet and measured.

Brad took a step back, his hands up in a placating gesture. "Babe, it's not what it looks like," he began, but Natalie cut him off with a sharp laugh.

"Of course, it is. It’s this bitch of yours who has to go, and there are only two ways. Either she walks out the door and saves her life or  joins me in there where there will only be one survivor for you, dear Brad, and you better hope it’s this bitch ‘cause I'll cut your balls off and stuff them in your fucking mouth for cheating on me." The model's voice was cold and sharp, contrasting her elegant figure.

Nathalie smirked, "I'm sure Brad's got more than enough to go around." She said, her tone light and playful despite the palpable anger in the air. She knew she had to handle this situation with care. A misstep now could be fatal.

So Nathalie, stripping down her bra and panties, goes up to the fence. “You’re coming, aren’t you, you ugly slut? I'm sure Brad will enjoy watching me rip your fucking fake tits off and feeding them to the dog." Natalie spits back, her hands on the fence, knuckles white with rage. The air is electric with tension, and Brad watches, his face a mask of indecision.

Nathalie knew she had to act fast. She stepped into the cage, her eyes never leaving Natalie's. "You're going to regret this," she murmured, her voice like a coiled snake ready to strike. The model's confidence wavered momentarily, but she quickly regained her composure.

The fight was brutal, a flurry of punches and kicks that echoed through the empty warehouse. Nathalie's bruises from the previous battle with Ivory had barely healed, but the pain only fueled her anger. Natalie was no stranger to a brawl, her lithe frame hiding a surprising amount of strength. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the air, the scent of sweat and rage mixing with the dust from the floor.

Brad watched, his expression unreadable, as the two women tore into each other. Nathalie had to admit, the model was more than just a pretty face—she had skills. But Nathalie had something else on her side: she had nothing to lose. Her life on the streets had taught her to fight dirty, and she wasn't above using every trick in the book to win.

They circled each other, trading blows that would have knocked out a lesser woman. Natalie's long legs swept out in a graceful arc, aiming for Nathalie's knees, but Nathalie was ready. She danced back, her fists flying, connecting with Natalie's ribs with a satisfying crunch. The model stumbled, her breath hitching, but she didn't go down.

Nathalie's eyes narrowed as she sized up her opponent. Natalie was all about finesse and precision, but Nathalie had learned to fight with raw power. She had to get in close and use her weight to her advantage. She charged, her shoulder slamming into the model's midsection, sending her sprawling.

The cage rattled as they grappled, rolling across the floor in a tangle of limbs. Nathalie felt a fist connect with her cheek, sending stars exploding across her vision. But she didn't let it deter her. With a snarl, she managed to get on top, her hands around Natalie's throat. The model's eyes widened, her nails digging into Nathalie's arms.

For a moment, Nathalie felt a flicker of doubt. Was this what she wanted? To fight over a man who didn't deserve either of them? But then she remembered the promise of power, of being a part of something bigger than herself. And she squeezed tighter.

Natalie's eyes bulged, her breath coming in desperate gasps. Nathalie could feel the woman's strength waning beneath her. But as she was about to claim victory, Brad's voice cut through the din. "That's enough," he said, his tone firm. "We've all had our fun."

Nathalie released her grip, panting, and climbed to her feet. She looked at Brad, her eyes flashing with challenge. "You want me to be part of this world; you better get used to me fighting for what's mine," she said.

Brad nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm counting on it," he said. "Now, let's get this cargo unloaded. We've got a shipment to move."

The tension between them was thick as they worked side by side, their bruised and bleeding bodies a testament to the battle that had just taken place. But Nathalie felt a strange sense of camaraderie with the model. They had both proven themselves in their own way.

George approached as they moved the crates into the warehouse, his eyes gleaming. "Looks like you two have worked out your differences," he said. "And just in time. We've got a job that requires a certain... finesse."

Nathalie's heart quickened. Another job already? This was the kind of fast-paced life she thrived on. She wiped the blood from her lip and turned to George, her curiosity piqued. "What's the job?"

“We’ve got a rival gang trying to muscle in on our territory,” George explained. “They’ve got a stash house we need to hit. We need someone who can get in and out without raising an alarm.”

Nathalie felt that thrill was coercing through her body. This was precisely the kind of challenge she craved. "When do we move?"

George looked at her, his gaze appraising. "Tonight. You've got until midnight to get in, grab the goods, and get out."

Nathalie nodded, her mind already racing with possible scenarios. "I'll need intel," she said. "Everything you've got."

George handed her a manila envelope, thick with papers and photos. "It's all there," he said. "Location, security layout, the works."

Nathalie took the envelope and walked away. She needed to plan without Brad or Natalie’s negativity. In a quiet corner, she reviewed the intel. The job could solidify her position or put her in danger, but she had faced worse.