Continuing a draft scene from my latest WIP, The Ashes of Home, Shayla Carver is in disguise and stopped off at a work canteen to refuel. She inadvertently took some of the good food, supposedly off-limits to “her kind”. On her way to a table, she is confronted by three men. The ringleader is intent on taking her food off her and probably has other punishments in mind to put her in her place.
Shayla placed her tray down on the table alongside her, just out of his reach. He leaned across, whether to take the tray or flip it on the floor she never found out. Her balled fist lashed out, striking him squarely in the solar plexus. As he staggered back, she landed a couple more lightning blows to make sure damage would be visible for the next few weeks. Blood sprayed from a broken nose.
He crashed into the table behind, eyes rolled up in their sockets. His henchmen leaped forward then stopped as they took in Shayla’s casual contempt and her fighting stance.
When they hesitated she widened her eyes, pretending to notice her downed assailant for the first time, and brought her hand to her mouth. “Oops, I didn’t realize I hit him that hard.” A picture of innocence, she picked up her tray and stepped over the comatose figure and past the nonplussed sidekicks.