Revenge had been her goal then, but once Bill had met his end, Beatrix Kiddo had disappeared off the map. Many people had tried to find her, tried to discover exactly the whereabouts of the most dangerous woman in the world. Several high profile members of the Yakuza had tried to locate the Bride, her specialty skills needed despite her decapitation of a previous member. In a world of venegance, where lives flicker out in days and your longevity is not measured in decades but in years, the Bride had become legend. She had demolished five of the greatest assassins in modern memory, one of them formerly a living legend, and she had done so without losing life or limb. In the words of the American teenager, she was a badass.
It should've ended there. That should've been the end of her roaring rampage of revenge. But just as every war has its casualities, every war has its collateral damage, and not all of them are victims. A victim is someone who lies down and takes it. A victim is someone who doesn't have the backbone to fight back. Nikki Green had once been a victim. That had ended when she was fifteen.
Her mothers death at the hands of the bride had a profound effect on the developing mind of Nikki Bell. Though she hadn't seen the death, merely witnessed the aftermath and her mothers cooling body surrounded by cereal, she had heard the Brides deal. If she still felt sore about hte death, she could seek her revenge. The idea lay dormant in Nikki Bell's head until the day she turned fifteen and they day she found her mothers sword.
In all honesty, she hadn't been looking for the sword. She hadn't even thought the sword existed until she was rifling through her mothers old chest, a battered piece made from cracked leather and tarnished brass. It had the look of something twice its age, but good use can truly wear something in. Nikki Bell had been looking for a token, a trifle that would remind her of her mother, and instead she had found the mystery that was her mother.
Vernita Green. It was a name foreign yet strangely familiar. She couldn't have heard the name before, as her mother was only called Jeannie, but she knew instantly this woman warrior was her mother. In her head, the woman known as Vernita Green gained Amazonian status. She was invincible, she was perfect, infallible in the eyes of a teenage daughter she had never truly known. Vernita Green's only flaw was that she had faced the Bride unprepared. She had taken a break, gotten knocked up, raised a family. Her flaw. Her failure. Her demise.
Nikki's father had grown distant with the unexpected death of his wife and the tattered remains of his daughters stories of broken glass and gunshots. Counselors were no help, as Nikki wasn't suffering through some made up story. Her hell was real. THe death of her mother at the hands of an international assassin were real. Nikki had no connection to the businessman father, and only a memory of her mother. Life, it seemed, had dealt her a cruel hand.
That was, until she found the list of contacts buried at the bottom of the chest, next to a sword she had never seen before. It was beautiful, perfect and without mark, like her mother. The child in her wanted to name it, but knew that naming such a thing would be like possesing it, and no one can truly possess what she held. The adult knew that the sword belonged to her mother, but not the mother she remembered, but the jetset Vernita Green.
The contacts were short, a list of people next to numbers and information. She called the first few, to find out that the numbers or the contacts were dead. She was about to give up, when she saw a woman on the list. Elle Driver. A woman. A woman maybe her mother knew. Someone who could help her seek the venegance that had so long gestated within her.
She picked up the phone and dialed the number.
Hours later she had her answer
R & R