THE SWEET REVENGE

The plane touched down at Sky Rock International Airport at 7:13 PM. Rain tapped against the window in thin lines. Maya Weston didn’t move. She just stared out at the city below. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years since she last saw these lights. Since she last heard this rain on this roof. She was 5 years old then. Small hands clutching Grayson’s coat. Crying until she had no tears left. Now she was 25. The flight attendant leaned over with a practiced smile. “Welcome to Sky Rock City, Miss Weston.” Maya gave a small nod. That was all. She stood up. Black silk shirt, tucked perfectly into black tailored pants. Over it, a long wool coat that fell to her ankles and moved like smoke. Black leather boots. And in her mouth, a red lollipop, cherry. She liked the contrast. People see a girl with candy and assume she’s sweet. That’s exactly how they missed the monster under her mother’s bed. The jet doors opened. Cold air rushed in and hit her face. Two black SUVs waited on the tarmac. Six armed men stood at attention, Grayson’s men. The driver opened her door immediately. “Miss Weston! Welcome home.” Maya stepped out onto wet concrete. She didn’t answer him. She looked up instead. Same gray sky. The ride to Grayson Mansion took 40 minutes. New skyscrapers that weren’t there before, old restaurants still standing on 5th Street. And there - Weston Tower, 80 floors, glass and steel. The SUV slowed at the gates of Grayson Mansion. Twenty feet high, black steel, cameras blinking red in the dark. This was the safest place in Skyrock City, and the most dangerous. The gates groaned open. Inside, the mansion was lit up like it was noon. Marble floors that reflected the chandeliers, art on the walls worth more than most people’s lives, but Maya saw none of it. She only saw him. Grayson. He was sitting on the wide leather couch in the main living room. A glass of 25-year whiskey in one hand, a newspaper in the other. “The Wolf of Sky Rock.” The man who made billionaires kneel. But the moment the doors opened and he saw her, the paper fell. He stood up so fast the whiskey almost spilled. And then he opened his arms wide, like he did when she was little. For half a second, Maya was 5 again. “Dad,” she whispered. She ran to him. And hugged him. Hard. Like if she let go, he’d vanish. He smelled the same. Expensive cologne. Leather. Gunpowder. Home. His big hands came up and held the back of her head. “My little storm,” he murmured into her hair. His voice broke a little. “You’re really here.” When she pulled back, she did it. The face. The pout. The big eyes. The exact face she used at 8 years old to get extra dessert. “Why didn’t you come for my graduation?” Grayson’s face crumbled and softened all at once. He reached up and framed both her cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brushed under her eyes, checking for tears that weren’t there. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said quietly. “I miss you every day. I got stuck. Some rats tried to hit a shipment in the harbor.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Forgive me?” Maya pulled the lollipop out of her mouth with a soft _pop_. She smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe,” she said. “If you take me to the field.” Grayson went still. He looked at her black clothes. At the calm in her eyes. At the way she stood, shoulders back, chin up. She wasn’t asking. Pride filled his chest. And fear. Because he knew exactly what came after the field. The car ride to the back field took 3 minutes. But in Maya’s head, it took 25 years. Grayson didn’t talk. He just watched her. She stared out the window, lollipop going round and round in her mouth. “You remember the first time I brought you here?” he asked finally. Maya nodded. “I was 10. You gave me a .22 and told me to hit the center.” “And you did. 10 out of 10.” He chuckled. “Scared the hell out of my instructors.” Maya’s eyes flickered. “Mom used to call me before bed. Every night. Even when she was in meetings.” Her voice dropped. “The last call was cut off mid-sentence.” Grayson reached over and squeezed her hand. “We’ll make them pay, Maya. Every single one.” The car stopped. Outside the windows, floodlights lit up a massive training field. Sand. Targets. Obstacle courses. And 50 men. The moment Maya stepped out, everything stopped. Gunfire ceased. Shouting stopped. 50 heads turned. Then, as one, they bowed. “Miss Weston.” “Welcome home, Miss.” A young lieutenant rushed forward with a black leather chair. He set it down in the center of the sand and stepped back quickly. Maya sat. Crossed her legs. She looked like a queen on a throne. She waved one hand. “Continue.” The men went back to work. But faster. Harder. Because she was watching now. Grayson walked over and stood beside her chair. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Then Grayson leaned toward his assistant. His voice was barely a whisper. “I want to see how skillful my daughter is.” The assistant nodded once and raised a whistle to his lips. _TWEEEEET!_ Everything stopped again. Grayson walked in front of Maya. He pulled a pair of black leather gloves from his coat and tossed them to her. They landed perfectly in her lap. “Get up, Maya.” She stood slowly. She peeled off her coat. Underneath, the black shirt and pants looked like they were made for this. She cracked her neck left, then right. The lollipop was gone. Grayson looked at her. Really looked. The baby he pulled from a hospital room 25 years ago, covered in someone else’s blood. The little girl who fell asleep on his chest during meetings. The teenager who called him at 2AM to ask about gun assembly. *_She was a baby. Now she’s an adult._* And Sky Rock City had no idea what was coming. Maya rolled her shoulders. Her voice was calm. Quiet. It carried across the entire field. “Who’s first?” Silence. Fifty men. And no one moved. Because they all saw it in her eyes. This wasn’t a test it’s a warning.