Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(40)

Shrike used that weakness to her advantage. Kept her blows coming from the left, in Selina’s blind spot, then switching to the right, knowing her concentration lingered on the opposite side.

They danced through the alley, steel striking. The longer it went on, the less likely her chance of walking out of this. And Selina had come home, she’d come to this city to do something, and if she failed—

Shrike got past her guard.

A shallow swipe of a dagger to her thigh had Selina going down.

She swallowed her scream, knowing it would draw the wrong attention. But as she hit the filthy asphalt, warm blood leaking through where even the suit’s protective material hadn’t held up to those daggers, Shrike began her death blow.

One dagger, poised to slam right through that broken eye piece and into Selina’s skull beneath.

A crack boomed through the alley.

It was near deafening with her audio receptors turned high. Louder than thunder.

One moment, Shrike was lunging for her face.

The next moment, Shrike was on the ground.

That skull helmet shattered. Blood splattered on the shards.

A large ax lay on the ground nearby. A perfect throw.

And as pieces of the helmet fell away, revealing the pale-skinned, dark-haired Russian woman beneath…Shrike’s face was the portrait of surprise.

Selina wiped the blood off the lenses of her helmet as she looked up to the building flanking the alley.

A ghostly white, platinum-blond woman peered down at her, leaning against another enormous ax, a braid sliding over the shoulder of her two-tone motorcycle jacket.

Ivy appeared at her side and cringed at the carnage.

“Catfight?” was all Harley Quinn said as she grinned at Selina.



* * *



—

In this hellhole part of town, the loud thunk of Harley’s ax against metal wouldn’t trigger any calls to the cops—or anyone snooping around. Which was partially why Selina had picked this place to meet, but now, with Shrike’s cooling corpse leaking blood into the pavement, they needed a change of plans.

Through the one good lens of her helmet, Selina monitored Ivy and Harley’s approach. The former was in her usual green bodysuit, the top buttons of her collar open to reveal green whorls and swirls of some tattoo beneath.

Harley strode up with hair in twin braids down to her chest, one side’s tip dyed blue-black, the other cherry-red. Matching her motorcycle jacket. The ax was strapped across her back, shifting with each step, its clacking against the bandolier of knives across her chest barely audible over the thud of Harley’s black combat boots. A throwing knife was strapped to her muscled thigh, over worn black jeans, and a third was definitely holstered beneath her jacket, judging by the way the fabric bunched.

“Friend of yours?” Harley asked with a raised brow as she and Ivy halted a few feet away. She studied Shrike, the face forever etched in shock.

No. Never.

“Good throw” was all Selina said, grateful for the voice-modifier of the mask. The way it hid the slight tremor as she saw, over and over, Shrike’s head crack apart like a melon.

Selina pushed the image down, shoved it into a box.

Harley didn’t pick up the discarded ax lying nearby. Instead, she sized her up, and Selina pretended to do the same. She’d learned enough about Harley to know who she was dealing with. That her aim just now hadn’t been accidental, and she’d likely walk out of this alley utterly unfazed by Shrike’s demise.

“My girl Ivy said you requested my services?” Though Harley’s voice was sweet, almost childlike, the gleam in her sapphire eyes…anything but.

Another one of the girls who this city had made grow up too fast, too hard. Only Harley hadn’t found the Leopards. No, she’d found the Joker and his merry band of psychopaths.

Selina leaned against the wall, ignoring the blood on it, and crossed her arms. “I heard you were a free agent now. We need a third to fill out our little group.”

Harley glanced between Ivy and Selina, the former still grimacing at Shrike’s body. “To do what?”

Selina ticked the items off on a gloved hand. “Robbery, mayhem, notoriety…What else could a girl want?”

Harley tossed the black-tipped braid over her shoulder. “Ivy said you could get the Joker out of Arkham.”

The thought of that man being loose made her want to puke, but Selina shrugged. “What about it?”

Harley took two stalking steps closer, Ivy on her heels, wide eyes darting between them. Fear for Harley’s safety or fear of this little cadre falling apart? “How are you going to get him out?” Harley’s makeup was too light for her skin tone, her eyeliner too heavy. It made her look ill—macabre.

Selina pushed off the wall. She’d dealt with enough questioning these past few years. Her entire life. She certainly wasn’t going to let Harley Quinn start doing it. “Are you in, or out?”

“How are you going to get him out?”

As she stepped over Shrike’s body, Selina was grateful for the helmet covering her face. “When the time is right, Quinn, I’ll tell you.”

A hiss. “You think I’m just going to say okay based on that?”

Ivy cut in. “I’ve seen her in action, Harley. If she says she can, she can.” She again glanced to Shrike.