The brothel burst with music and raucous laughter and other more rowdy and intimate sounds in the prime of the afternoon. Ivy stood at the counter counting her money as she listened to the sounds of hot, steamy sex going on above and watched another man or two come waltzing through the door hoping to get some tail. Nodding in acknowledgment, she looked over at the scantily clad women waiting in chairs nearby and made a motion, two of the girls getting up from the plush seats to escort the men upstairs with sultry smiles on their faces. That's it girls, Ivy thought to herself with a wicked grin. Take 'em for all they're worth. Dressed in flowing and frilled green silks and lace, plump curves emphasized here and there and cleavage bursting from her bodice, her beauty classic and majestic, there was no mistaking that she was the owner and Mistress of this place. Men came here to feed their libido and egos and she made sure to take them down several pegs by having her girls rob them and kicking them out on their butts. It served them right for being pigs in the first place.<|im_end|>
Later that day, a cold wind blew through the town. And a single horse could be seen in the distance, the rider just a blur. A few minutes later, the horse stopped in the center of the town, as if too tired to go on. The person riding fell to the ground barely moving. She looked like she wasn't even breathing. Her form was well-shaped in the leather coat and button-up top she wore. Tight leather pants clung to her well-built frame. Her clothes were partially torn, a bloody spot on her shoulder and left side. Blood pooled into the dirt around her and she didn't move any other than her chest rising and falling. Several slashes like whip marks crisscrossed over her back.<|im_end|>