“She’s trouble, in a word, get closer to the fire…”
Another day, another mission. It seemed as if Sebastian never run out of people who needed to be taken care of. When you were on top, though, you had to stay there by eliminating those who threatened you. She gathered the files Sebastian had given her two weeks before and stuck them in her briefcase. She’d study them again after she left the mansion.
The assassin business was meticulous, tedious work. Sometimes, it required hours and hours of work. Surveillance alone could take days depending on what Sebastian needed and who the target was. She had to learn a target’s routine, sometimes, and find something in the routine that would allow her just the right opportunity to strike.
More than a few times, she had to get close to her targets in a personal aspect. That always took time because not too many people were trusting these days, and she guessed she didn’t blame them. Trusting her had gotten more than a few people killed. Sometimes, she hated to think of herself as a killer, stealing the very thing away that most people loved the most”life.
She wasn’t always an assassin. She started at Shaw’s organization as a thief, and he said she showed the “aptitude” to take it to the next level. So, she was trained to kill people. A veteran assassin, Greg Romberg, had trained her in the “art of assassination.” She was still so young then, but her heart was hardened. At least, she believed it to be.
Greg told her that her powers were impressive, but showy, and she couldn’t expect that to rely solely on them. She had to learn to be more technical, especially when going in for the close kill, but he did teach her techniques that her powers made easier. She could still remember her first kill, clearly, too clearly. She never kept a count of how many people she’d killed, but she never forgot her first.
Her target’s name was Aiden Rivers. There were specific instructions. No powers, close kill, two clean shots”one to the heart, one to the head. Greg called it her final exam.
Earlier that day while Victor helped her with her thigh holster”and letting his fingers linger on her thigh longer than she thought was necessary, Greg had told her the first time was always the hardest; she would get use to it. She might even enjoy it. According to Greg, assassins weren’t born; they were made. She thought that might apply to everyone, except Victor. She believed he was born to kill.
Greg had felt it was essential to prep her for what she about to do. She remembered thinking how do you prepare someone to kill? Do you cheer them on? Images of perky, cheerleaders bouncing around screaming, “Be aggressive! Be! Be! Aggressive!” had invaded her thoughts, nearly causing her burst into a fit of laughter. But that was no laughing matter by far.
She recalled Greg’s words of wisdom as she had practiced pulling the gun out of the holster. “Make every shot count, don’t miss your mark, or so help you God, he’s going to kill you if he can.” Such comforting words. This was a matter of life and death. Kill or be killed. What a way to spend your twenty-third birthday.
She killed Aiden, but she had freaked out, proving she wasn’t as tough as she thought she was. She remembered going back to the man’s beach house, located on a secluded stretch of beach. She remembered how he placed his hands on her hips and pulled her toward him aggressively, causing the gun to butt against his thigh.
“What the hell?” he’d said, as he pushed her away from him, looking down at her legs. Without thinking, she had swiftly pulled the gun from her holster, aiming at him. Regret washed over her as his eyes opened wide with shock and betrayal. She steadied her shaking hand, only pausing a moment, despite being told never to pause.
“I’m sorry,” she’d whispered, as she fired the first shot. She saw him clutch his chest, and she closed her eyes and continued to fire. She was supposed to shoot him twice, but she didn’t even open her eyes until she heard the click, click of the empty magazine.
She had looked at Aiden’s body, which lay in a bloody mess on the floor. Revulsion swept over her. She had killed a man”another human being. She dropped the gun and fell to her knees, her empty stomach trying to exile what wasn’t there. Tears stung her eyes as she looked at the once proud man, drowning in his own blood.
She had stood up, nearly collapsing to the floor again. She picked up the gun and fled from the room. She ran out the backdoor of the house, toward the inviting waters of the dark beach.
“Storm!” A voice had called behind her, her codename”Storm, but she didn’t stop. She tripped over her feet, but quickly stood up and continued her race to the waters. Before she could run out into the unforgiving ocean, she was tackled from behind, her face kissing the moist, soft sand. She sat up, cradling her knees. “The fuck are you doin’?”
“I-I killed him. He… I… blood… everywhere… oh, goddess…” she had moaned, dry heaving again. The tears slipped out of her eyes as images of Aiden’s dead, limp body assaulted her mind.
Victor had to carry her back to the car. He and Greg had followed, just in case anything went wrong, but she hadn’t known that they would do that at the time. They’d done it that way so she wouldn’t feel so secure about being “rescued” if it came to that. Greg said she needed more training, not in execution, but in learning not to connect with the target. Her first shot had been a sure shot, and Greg believed if she hadn’t freaked, her second would’ve been just as sure.
Now, she could do an assignment like that without blinking. She wouldn’t say that she didn’t still regret her actions, but she learned to harden herself against it. This was the hand life dealt her. She picked up her briefcase. Time for lunch.
Jean always told them about Ororo. She always stressed that if she ever got in trouble Ororo was the first person she wanted contacted. Problem was, he didn’t know who Ororo was. Jean always spoke about Ororo, as if she’d never left the mansion ten years earlier. He knew the two kept a close relationship, so it was odd that he hadn’t met her before now.
He’d once asked Scott about this Ororo. He said he hadn’t seen Ororo as frequently as Jean had in the last ten years, not since they were at least twenty, not since… Scott always trailed off at that point, saying that wasn’t important. So, to him, Ororo was just a name on Christmas cards, scrawled in neat, fancy handwriting.
He was the one who answered the door when she knocked. She pulled on the bottom of suit jacket, straightening wrinkles only she could see. She glanced at him with a half-smile, and he scratched his chin, waiting for her to say something. “Hello, I’m Jean’s friend, Ororo,” she said politely. She extended her right hand toward him formally.
“Logan,” he said, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm and assured. Confident. She studied him for a moment, and he thought he detected just the slightest hint of heat in her eyes. But when she blinked, her eyes were impassive. He moved and allowed her to enter the foyer. She stooped to pick up a briefcase. Then, she entered the mansion and looked around, taking everything in, her eyes darting to and fro, intently. Confident and perceptive.
She wasn’t what he expected, dressed conservatively in her cream, pinstriped business pantsuit. Her white hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Her light perfume wafted on the air between them, but underneath it, he could smell her natural smell, the slow, dizzying aroma of sandalwood. Machine gun blues seemed to bore into his eyes when he looked at her. She didn’t break eye contact with him, as so many people did, because they claimed his stare was too intent.
She was tall, and she didn’t seem to mind her height as some tall women did. She didn’t droop her shoulders, or bend her spine, to make herself appear shorter. She walked with her shoulders back and her head held high, taking each step with sureness, the sway of her hips saying, “Come-hither.” Jean had been right, the woman was downright gorgeous, but she didn’t seem so much like the wild free spirit that Jean described her as.
That didn’t make her any less beautiful, and she definitely appealed to that physical side of him. But there was something about her that sent off warning signs in his head. She greeted those she knew and introduced herself to those she didn’t know, walking around the mansion, as if she’d never left. She was courteous with just a hint of coldness, gracious with little emotion.
He watched the way she moved about the mansion. She moved with the stealth of a panther, subtly peeking over her shoulder, changing directions suddenly, doubling already taken paths. She moved like a woman being followed, like a woman on the prowl. He didn’t think she was consciously aware of it. It was something that seemed like a force of habit.
How many everyday businesswomen moved like that? He knew a huntress when he saw one. Question was, what was she hunting exactly? While she was talking to the Professor, Logan pulled Jean to the side. Jean held a tray of iced tea. It shook unsteadily, when he grabbed her arm. She blushed a little, looking around”for Scott most likely”before she pulled away from him a little.
He wasn’t concerned about Scott at that moment. He was more interested in her friend. “What did you say she did again?” he asked. He’d never known his instincts to lie about someone, and he was getting a vibe from Ororo that bothered him just a little.
“She works at large company as a personal assistant. She calls herself a glorified secretary.” Jean said with a slight smile, looking over at Ororo.
Logan turned his eyes to Ororo, as well. She leaned her neck to one side, massaging the side of her neck with lissome fingers, pushing her collar down slightly, in the process. He furrowed his eyebrows, studying the back of her neck. He could see the beginnings of a tattoo. It was the start of a barcode, but before he really get a good look at it, she straightened her neck.
There was something strangely familiar about the tattoo. He could remember seeing one like it before, but not on her. He’d seen it on some punk at Harry’s Hideaway that hadn’t known how to hold his liquor or his temper. That could just be a coincidence, but he remembered one of the barkeeps, his friend Cormick Grimshaw, making a comment about the man. “The scum. He thinks he can come here and start trouble just ‘cause he works for some big shot.” Cormick would never tell him who the “big shot” was.
“What company?” he asked.
“You know,” Jean said thoughtfully, “I can’t seem to recall, or maybe she never said.”
Jean shrugged. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact that her friend had conveniently forgotten to mention what “large company” she worked for. She walked into the parlor with the tea, and Logan followed. He needed to be around her to confirm his feeling. The Professor excused himself from the room. Jean and Ororo talked around him, as if he weren’t in the room at all.
She made light conversation. He listened as she said she couldn’t believe how much the mansion had changed, or how much so-and-so has changed, or how many people there were at the mansion now. She said something about missing the mansion, and Logan took his opportunity. “So why did you leave?” he asked interrupting their conversation.
Her composure ruffled for a moment, as she stared him with quirked eyebrows, and Jean’s cheeks flamed redder than her hair. Apparently, he touched a raw nerve. “I married the love of my life,” she said almost sardonically. Whether her tone was in response to his question or to this “love of her life,” he was unsure. She took a sip of her tea, and just like that, she was back to that calm, cool demeanor.
“Perhaps, we should go the garden.” Jean said, her cheeks still burning. “We recently remodeled your greenhouse and started using it again. I’m horrible at gardening, but Logan isn’t so bad at it.”
“That should’ve been torn down years ago. Why did you keep it around, anyway?” Ororo asked with a faint smile.
“Just in cause you ever decided to come back.” Jean said, averting her eyes away from Ororo. That was a none-too-subtle way of saying she wanted her to come back.
Ororo just laughed warmly, and stood from her seat. “I would love to see it. I imagine it’s more beautiful now than it ever was,” she said. Jean stood, as well, hooking arms with Ororo. Jean shot him a look that warned him not to follow behind Ororo’s back. He sat back in his chair, looking at the briefcase she’d left on the coffee table.
What had she been thinking when she agreed to come to the mansion for lunch? She hadn’t been thinking”not about the mansion or lunch, anyway. She made a promise to Jean, though, and she never backed out of her promises. She was a little nervous about visiting the mansion after so many years. She saw Jean often enough, but they usually met in the city somewhere.
She’d rang the doorbell, sitting her briefcase on the ground, waiting expectantly. This could be a very nice visit, and maybe, she did need to visit more. This had been the only home she’d known for so long. She pulled at the bottom of her suit, driving away the last of her nervous energy, as the door to the mansion opened.
The man who answered the door, who she’d eventually come to know as Logan, was handsome, but not in that clean-shaven, waifish way that was posted all over the billboards and the magazines. He was all thick muscles, brooding good looks, and dark hair like one of those men off the cover of a tawdry romance novel. She had to keep herself from having a few tawdry thoughts about him as she walked into the mansion.
He’d scratched at his dark stubble while waiting for her to speak first. She thought he saw a hint of disappointment in his eyes, and she wondered what outrageous stories Jean had told him about her. She didn’t think she wanted to know. He was suspicious of her. He wasn’t so obvious about it, but she knew how to pick up the subtle signs. It was the way he watched her, as if he was just waiting for her to make a wrong move.
She didn’t blame him, but if he thought she meant to bring trouble to the mansion, he was sadly mistaken. Keeping trouble away from the mansion was one of the reasons she didn’t visit. They already had enough of their own problems without the added bonus of hers.
Jean chatted flippantly, leading Ororo to the greenhouse. Ororo detected an underlying note of tension in her voice, though. Jean had never been really good at hiding her emotions, a trait that Ororo had sometimes envied when they were younger. She wouldn’t push. Jean would tell her what was on her mind before she left.
The greenhouse was verdant with life. Someone had done a very good job in the greenhouse. She longed to just kick off her shoes, get down on knees, and dig in the dirt. Goddess, how long had it been since she’d actually done that? Too long that was for sure. She had a few potted plants in her apartment that she dedicated her time to, but nothing like this.
“You should take some time off. We could go somewhere together, just the two of us.” Jean said. “I need a vacation, and you need one, too, whether you admit or not, Ms. Workaholic.”
“A vacation would be nice,” Ororo said wistfully. It would be nice to get away for a little while, to do something halfway normal for a little while. She wouldn’t have to worry about her next assignment. “The Islands would be nice to visit this time of year. What would Scott think about you running off, though?”
She knew how Scott could be in command mode. She was nowhere near the workaholic that Scott was. He just might forbid Jean to go anywhere because the world might blow up at any given moment, and of course, the X-Men would have to somehow fix that. He was dedicated, tied and true, to the X-Men and their goals. Speaking of Scott, she hadn’t seen him when she came into the mansion. Ordinarily, Jean and Scott were always together.
“Scott can sod off.” Jean said darkly.
“Sod off? You’ve talked to Betsy recently, haven’t you?” Ororo said with a chuckle, trying to lighten Jean’s mood, but it didn’t do much good. Ororo couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Betsy, anyway. Betsy loved her English brew”particularly “Stout””and her English expletives.
“I’m being serious.”
“What’s wrong?” Jean and Scott were always that couple that was sickeningly perfect, always had been. They had their arguments like regular couples, but it never took long before they stuck together again as if nothing even happened. They were so damn sweet together. At least, that’s what she’d always thought.
“We’ve been having problems, lately,” she said, looking down at her hands. “Supposedly, Logan’s… flirting is what’s causing the strain between us, but I’m not so sure that’s it.”
Jean told Ororo that ever since Logan had been at the mansion he’d always flirted with her. She thought it was partially because he liked being the thorn in Scott’s side more so than his feelings for her. Ororo had noticed the way that Logan seemed to hover around Jean. She hadn’t thought too much of it, though. Men did that at times.
“It seems like all we ever do is fight about Logan, and he knows that I’m not interested in Logan. I’ve told him that repeatedly.” Jean sighed. Scott could be jealous, but he wasn’t a raging, jealous boyfriend. He was usually pretty confident in his relationship with Jean.
“If you’re relationship could survive Warren, it can survive Logan, too.” Ororo said with a note of confidence. She placed her hand over Jean’s and squeezed it reassuringly. Warren had pursued Jean relentlessly when they were younger, and it hadn’t helped things any that Warren was slightly manipulative. In the end, though, it was Jean and Scott like always.
“I know, but I don’t think Scott’s being completely honest. Logan hasn’t been flirting as much lately. I think Scott’s seeing someone else, and these fights about Logan are just a way to wedge us away from one another.” Jean said, frowning.
“What do you mean seeing someone else?” Ororo asked. She might’ve laughed if Jean hadn’t looked so serious. She didn’t think that Scott had what it took to be a cheater. He was just too dedicated. “You think he’s cheating on you. Come on. This is reliable, serious Scott we’re talking about here.”
“But Ororo, I saw it!” Jean said, burying her face in her hands. “I didn’t actually see them together, him and the blonde, but I saw… in his mind… I didn’t mean to…” Jean trailed off.
Ororo was quiet for a moment. Scott cheating on Jean just didn’t seem right. “Couldn’t it have just been a fantasy?” Ororo asked. She just couldn’t see it. Scott? Cheating? No way. If Scott was cheating, the world should go spinning off its axis at any moment.
“It could have been.” Jean said, but she didn’t sound convinced that it was. “But there was just something too real for it to be just a fantasy.”
“Have you talked to him about this?” Ororo asked. She was trying to remain neutral on the situation since she’d only heard Jean’s side of things. There had to be an explanation for all of this.
“I can’t do that, Ororo. Then, he’ll accuse me of snooping inside his head. Or he’ll say that I made it all up because I really want to be with Logan. It’ll just lead to another huge fight. What am I going to do?” Jean sniffled.
Ororo didn’t know what words of advice to offer her, so she hugged her instead. It was just all so unreal. Scott and the word “cheat” just didn’t go in the same sentence. “You have to talk to him.” Ororo insisted.
“I can’t!” Jean repeated with more fervor. Ororo had never known Jean not to talk about something that was bothering her, especially when it came to her relationship with Scott. Maybe, it was much more serious than she realized.
“I’m sure that I’m due for some vacation time at the office. We’ll make a date of this, okay?” Ororo said, stroking Jean’s hair, changing the subject. “We’ll go to Negril or wherever you want to go and forget all about men while we sip Piña Coladas on the beach.”
They didn’t talk about Scott, anymore, as they took their lunch in the garden. They reminisced about the old days, but were careful not to tread on any talk that was too painful.
Logan didn’t open her briefcase immediately. He debated with himself before he actually went through with it. He even left the room, thinking that maybe it would be gone by the time he got back. It wasn’t. He took that as a sign to mean that it was all right to snoop through it. The clasps of the briefcase opened in his hands with a pop.
He paused before he opened the briefcase. If he did this now, there would be no turning back. He reasoned that if she was trouble, then they should know, right? On top of her papers was a manila folder, a man’s picture was clipped to the outside with a paperclip. He recognized the man in the photo. It was Davis Cameron.
Davis Cameron’s father had contacted the X-Men seeking protection for his son who was coming to New York to handle business for him. Logan never knew what came of the conversation between Chuck and Davis’s dad, but he knew that it hadn’t ended too well. Was Ororo part of the business that Davis was handling?
He didn’t get a chance to snoop any further, as Ororo reentered the parlor. She moved toward him, quickly, slamming the briefcase shut. She barely missed his fingers in the process. She glared at him, any earlier hint of politeness and warmth ebbing with the passing seconds.
“Snooping isn’t polite,” she said in a voice that was about three degrees cooler than her usual speaking voice.
“Who said I was polite?” he asked. “You got somethin’ you tryin’ to hide?”
He took the glare she gave him to mean that she did. “You do not just go rambling through a person’s private belongings because you feel like it. Now, if you will excuse me,” she said. She never let her voice rise above its soft timbre, but it continued to grow colder.
In the foyer, she was all smiles again, as she prepared to leave. “Couldn’t you take the rest of the day off?” Jean asked hopefully.
“Too much work and I have other engagements this evening, too.” Ororo answered. She hugged Jean, tightly. “We’ll talk soon and make plans. Maybe, we can meet up for dinner, soon.”
He followed her from the mansion, just to ease his curiosity about her. She was probably harmless, but he had to be sure. She took a cab back into the city. He followed at a safe distance on his bike. She got out in front of a boutique and started walking. She moved in the same manner she had in the mansion, prowler-mode. She didn’t go directly to work.
She dawdled around, window-shopping, for a little while. She even went into a store or two but came out empty-handed. Then, she went to a small, open café, opened her briefcase, and took out the folder that he’d seen. She studied the picture on the front for a moment before unclipping it from the folder. She opened the folder and removed some papers.
He saw her eyes move slowly from left to right while she sipped on a cup of coffee. She read and reread the papers from her folder. What he doing sitting there watching her? She was probably just doing work, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he had about her. There were some things that already didn’t add up in his mind.
Finally, she left the café, and he followed her to a large, looming building with level after level of windows”Shaw Enterprises. She threw away the cup and walked into the building. She worked for Sebastian Shaw. Sebastian Shaw was the leader of the Hellfire Club, the innermost circle being comprised of all mutants. They were suspected in a number of illegal activities, but nothing that could be linked back to them. Being rich had its advantages.
The Hellfire Club wasn’t the only place where questionable activities went on. Shaw Enterprises was suspected of some shady business ethics, as well. Once again, nothing could be proven. The fact that she worked for Shaw didn’t make her evil, but it didn’t make her good, either. He knew that working for Shaw didn’t make her evil, but it didn’t make her good, either. Shaw’s establishments were a breeding ground for criminal activities.
This didn’t prove anything besides she worked for a maniac, whether that made her a bad person or not was still up for the debate. Jean mentioned she was a personal assistant. That didn’t mean she was Shaw’s personal assistant. She could’ve worked for any number of people in that building, but she was still on Shaw’s payroll regardless.
He just couldn’t see that many people working for a company and everyone blind to what Shaw was doing. He wouldn’t believe it. It was all a matter of survival. They were protecting their high profile, overpaying jobs. He’d turn the other cheek, too, if it were him.
He turned and started to walk away until the wind shifted. Her scent rode the winds, and he turned back to the Shaw’s building. She was walking back out again, but she was no longer wearing the suit from earlier. She was dressed in all black, the outfit fitting her like a second skin, her hair flowing freely down her back. She was no longer the prim and proper businesswoman who told him that snooping wasn’t polite.
She ran her free hand through her hair before walking to a black car parked in front of the building. She got in the passenger side. His bike was still parked close to the café. She would be gone by the time he got it, but he had a feeling she was going to pay Davis a visit. And if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt to ride by just to make sure.
Ororo picked the lock easily without a sound, slipping into the man’s apartment. She knew he would be in his bedroom watching a tape of Aussie Rules Football. He did so every night at 11pm without fail. She knew Cameron’s routine by heart, following him for nearly a week and a half. She’d taken the rest of the day off after lunch with Shaw’s approval.
She made one last appeal to Cameron. At least, that’s what he thought it was. What she was really doing was taking in the fine details of his apartment. She’d been there before, but she liked to investigate again from time to time just to be sure. He still wasn’t biting. Not that it mattered. “An alliance, Mr. Cameron, would be in everyone’s best interest,” she’d said while mentally thinking of all the ways she could take him out at that moment.
Davis Cameron was the mutant son of a renown Australian crime lord. He was definitely a “babe-magnet,” as he liked to refer to himself, with his sun-kissed skin lightly dusted with freckles, silky, blonde hair that fell into his eyes, and his athletic build. Cameron had always let it be known that he was more interested in surfing, women, and the AFL than business.
The man sent his son in his place to negotiate with Sebastian about the “terms” of an alliance. Sebastian even put the Cameron up in an apartment to make his stay more comfortable. Ororo thought it was more like subtle bribery, a way of saying, “You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”
Cameron’s father wanted a bigger share than Sebastian was willing to give. They negotiated for weeks and still no agreement. Sebastian shrugged and said he would count his losses, but no heir for Cameron’s father meant that if something “accidentally” happened to the man in Australia, then someone would have to take over his “business.”
Ororo wondered where all these alliances and acquisitions were going. Sebastian had been almost maniacal in them. The way he was going he was going to control much of the economy, but someone would stop him before that really happened. Right? He couldn’t amass that much power without someone stopping him.
She slid along the wall of the apartment, silently, creeping toward the bedroom. The door was already opened, and she stood observing him. He was completely unaware that she was standing there. He was immersed in the world of football. He reached for a glass on his nightstand, turning his head toward her, dropping it to the floor when he glanced her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in alarm, jumping from his bed.
“Sending you Mr. Shaw’s regards,” she said coolly.
She could hear someone in the apartment, running towards the bedroom. She had to make this quick. She struck hard, and she struck fast before he could do anything. Two fingers to the throat to cut off his air supply for a moment. While he tried to catch a breath, she grabbed one of his arms and used her elbow to strike him in the chest. She pushed him back not letting go of his arm. A kick to his vitals”once, twice”pulling him into her hard.
She pulled one of the twin blades from her the case and plunged it deep in his abdomen. She backed away from him, letting his body fall to the floor. He was still breathing. She stood motionless for a moment. Should she escape or finish the job? A quick twist of the neck, and it would all be over. No time, she said to herself, rushing to the window.
Logan ran into the room, just as she slipped through the window. Davis’s body was on the floor. He was alive. He knew he should’ve tried to get help for Cameron first, but he followed her out the window. He had to see her face to face, to let her know that he’d seen her, knew what she was up to.
He could see her just disappearing onto the roof while he climbed the ladder to the top. When he reached the roof, everything was silent, but he could smell her. There weren’t many places to hide on the roof, anyway. When he found her, she took a defensive stance against him, twin blades in her hands, one still stained with Cameron’s blood.
Her eyes were cold, empty. She seemed like a different person completely. She made the first strike, underestimating him. He slapped her hand away easily. He could tell she wasn’t trying. It was more like a warning strike. Instinct took over and when she lashed out at him again with her blades, his claws surfaced, slicing through the metal of her blades as if they were warmed butter. He could smell her panic, her fear, as the edges of her blades fell to her feet. Her eyes widened in disbelief and she swallowed hard.
She let the remaining parts of her blades slip from her hands. There was a standstill moment. Neither moved, and then the spell was broken. She turned and ran from him. “Hey! Wait!” He called, pursuing her. The winds started to howl furiously, as he gave chase. She didn’t even pause when she came to the edge of the roof. She hopped on the sill of the roof and jumped.
“Don’t“” He started, but instead of taking the nosedive he expected, she seemed to dash across the space between the buildings as if she was running on air.
She landed on the next rooftop with ease. She turned to look at him, extending one hand palm up. She beckoned him with her fingers. “Bring it,” he heard her say, her mocking laughter dancing on the winds.
He looked over the edge. He may be considered indestructible, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he would never make that jump, and he had no desire to eat pavement. Healing was a bitch, anyway. He backed away from the edge of the roof, never taking his eyes off her. She made no move, and he half-expected her to stand there, waiting for him to do something.
The toe of his boot hit something, causing it to scrape against the rooftop. He looked down at the object “ her blades. He heard movement in her direction, and he jerked his head back to where she was standing. She was gone. He sighed. She wasn’t going to make this easy. He stooped and picked up one of her broken blades, inspecting it carefully. On the handle, opened mouth double dragons intertwined around one another, encircling a shimmering, golden blossom, one ruby eye from each dragon glinted back at him. He knew that insignia.
It was associated with an exclusive underground club, the Kurogaisha. Not just anybody could get into that club. It was reserved for the elite. He’d heard it was housed in an auction house that was part of Shaw’s turf. Must’ve been half-true. “Looks like I just got an invite,” he muttered to himself, gripping the handle in his hand.
Ororo hadn’t made a blunder like that one since her first kill. She thought she’d seen Logan following her earlier, but she hadn’t been sure. She thought she caught a glance of him, but when she looked again, she saw nobody. She figured if he was really following her he would’ve given up because she took her time going back to Shaw Enterprises, but he fooled her.
She thought she could wait him out on the roof. She was actually surprised he followed her. She figured he would eventually go back in to help Cameron by calling the ambulance, and she would slip in and finish the job while he was on the phone. She knew he would have to go out of the bedroom. She hadn’t seen a phone in the bedroom where Cameron’s body was located. He killed that idea, too.
Why had he followed her onto the roof in the first place? Shouldn’t his first priority have been Cameron? Maybe, she hadn’t wounded Cameron as badly as she thought she had and that had given him a chance to follow her. She couldn’t believe it, though. She was accurate for the most part. She sat back in the chair, nearly slumping. Victor looked her questioningly. She’d been in a pretty nasty mood since she’d gotten to The Kurogaisha.
The room they occupied was reserved only for the members of the inner circle of the Hellfire Club and their “playthings.” They were always far removed from everyone else, believing their money was better than every other rich person’s in the world. She wasn’t part of the inner circle; she was just told to meet Sebastian there.
She sat at one of the tables with Victor, contemplating how she was going to tell Sebastian that she hadn’t been able to finish what she’d started. With any luck, though, Cameron would be dead.
She hadn’t missed with her kicks; she was sure of it. She kicked him hard enough to rupture his spleen and his kidneys. He would have to bleed out, however, and she was sure that Logan probably got him help before that. She hadn’t been so sure with her blade. Her mark hadn’t been true, and she didn’t think she hit anything that would cause him serious damage. It was a clean penetration wound and probably missed all vital organs.
“Whaddya mean you didn’t complete your assignment?” Victor asked her when she finally told him what was bothering her.
“How can I put this? The mission was aborted. I failed.” She hissed at him, angrily. What didn’t he understand? Not completing her mission didn’t bother her more than the fact that Logan been following her, and she hadn’t even known it. She was supposed to be better than that. She was supposed to know when someone was tailing her.
“Why?” A demand rather than a question.
Because not everyone can be the perfect killing machine like you, she thought to herself. “Because I was nearly caught,” she said instead, taking another sip of her wine.
“Bullshit. You’re too good to get caught unless you wanted to get caught,” he said.
“Yeah, Vic, I really wanted to be caught. I always thought prison orange would suit me.” Ororo said with a roll of her eyes. Being caught was the last thing she wanted.
“You nearly got caught by a cop?” he asked, incredulously.
“No, he wasn’t a cop,” she said slowly. He might as well have been, though. She knew how the X-Men felt about anything illegal, and she’d done her best to keep it away all these years. She visited the mansion one time, and this was what she got in return.
She decided that it was best to omit the part about knowing who it was and the part about the metal claws that sliced through her blades. Her blades! She reached for her scabbards only to find them empty. Shit, she cursed to herself. She had panicked when he had destroyed her weapons. If his claws could slice through metal, she could only imagine what they would do to skin and bone, and she sure as hell hadn’t wanted to stick around to find out.
“Shaw’s gonna be pissed when he hears this one.” Victor said with a snort.
Did he honestly think she didn’t already know that? “Thanks, Victor. I really appreciate your vote of confidence,” she said, scathingly, casting him a sideways glance. She sighed heavily, wishing she could just hurry up and get it over with.
Author’s Notes: Whoa, this chapter came out way longer than I anticipated, even though I didn't intially think it would be this long.
I’m just posting this story here for now (and possibly AFF, if I can stop being so lazy), Sparkle. Just wanted to make sure everything stayed rating-safe before posting it at ffnet, which I think it will be. So, I’ll post it there, eventually… sometime or another… when I’m feeling less lazy…
Yes, Delia, to answer your email, this will be a series”well, a trilogy at least. I’m already working on the outline for the second part when I’m not working on my stories. I have big plans for this story and subsequent stories that follow.
Felina, I promise you know everything you need to know in due time. ;) When have I ever let you down, girl?
Thanks for all your nice reviews, everyone. This was very experimental, and I’m glad that you all thought it came out well. :) I was actually somewhat nervous about this story because I’ve been working on the idea for so long that I didn’t know what expect myself. I still don’t. I have an outline, but this story has changed and evolved so much from the initial idea that I wouldn’t be surprised if it continued to do so.
Chapter title comes from the song “Who’s that Girl” by Madonna.
“Machine gun blues” is a phrase from the song “Love” by The Smashing Pumpkins.
“AFL” stands for Australian Football League, just to be clear.
Next Chapter: Entr'acte: God's Hand
