Black Angelika - A Hot Police — Woman -11.05.2017...

The woman fell free, sobbing. Angelika caught her by the elbow and steadied her. “Call this number,” she said, handing the woman a card. “Witness protection. And next time? Don’t date men with neck tattoos.”

“Easy, pretty lady,” a voice crackled through her earpiece. It was her partner, Rourke. “We got four hostiles. Wait for backup.”

Rourke finally arrived, sirens wailing two blocks away. He jogged up, out of breath. “You’re going to get us killed, Angel.”

November 5, 2017

She dropped two stories, landing with the soft grace of a cat on a dumpster lid. The men turned. The one with the gold tooth had time to blink. She dislocated his wrist before he could pull the trigger. The second swung a pipe—she ducked, her elbow finding his ribs like a hammer. The third ran. The fourth, the leader, grabbed a woman hostage.

“You have three seconds to let her go,” she said. Her voice was low, smoky, but sharp as broken glass.

“Probably,” she said, cuffing the leader. She glanced at her watch—11:05 PM, November 5, 2017. “But not tonight.” Black Angelika - A hot police woman -11.05.2017...

He dropped.

“Back off, cop,” he hissed.

The game wasn’t over. It had just begun. The woman fell free, sobbing

Crackle.

Angelika didn’t wait. She never did. That’s why they gave her the name. She moved like oil, silent and inevitable.

Angelika tilted her head. A strand of black hair escaped her braid. Her eyes were the cold blue of a gas flame. “Witness protection

And somewhere across town, the real villain—the one she was really after—watched the news report on a grainy screen and poured himself a stiff drink.