The pain would never end, of this he was certain. Hours and days ran together, time holding no meaning. Images flitted through his tormented mind, fleeting and unfocused, but he held the impressions for as long as he could. Warm, feminine laughter. Happiness. Love. A baby crying. Family. And he tried, God how he tried, to hold onto those moments, but then another wave of red hot and blinding pain would wash over him, obliterating them.
It was almost always her now, that tortured him. The angry angel with the white hair. She toyed with him and tormented him like no other. Her taunts were cruel and vicious, and the wounds she inflicted were even worse. She flayed him with glee, her laughter cut like her blades over his worn skin.
“Are you hungry?” she asked him, holding a raw and bloody steak in one hand, walking in front of him, clad in barely-there leather and fishnet stockings. She waved it around with relish as his stomach ached with emptiness, the growling and rumble loud in the small room.
With deliberate movements she teased him with the potential meal, sighing with satisfaction. “Mmmm. So good.” She leaned close to him, letting him smell the meat and blood on her hands.
He growled, but it came out low and weak, his body severely dehydrated and deteriorated from him ceaseless torture and lack of food.
Long fingers held his face as she leaned close to him. “Beg me to end your suffering,” she whispered.
“…Fuck…you…”
“No. Not ever again,” she chimed merrily. With almost cheerful enthusiasm she picked up a thin, curved blade and began to work him. She sliced his throat, the blood gurgling in his mouth. She touched the tip of the blade to his newly regenerated eye and flicked, slicing it open and removing the eyelid. “Beg,” she commanded.
“Go…ta..hell.” he panted, crimson dribbling along his chin and over his bare and wounded chest.
She grinned. “Ah, no, this is heaven.” another long slit and he grit his teeth.
*Shinobi.*
*I’m busy.*
*This is important.*
*It had better be.* Another slice of skin and a splash of scarlet.
*Your wife is asking for you.*
Wolverine’s head lolled. The woman in front of him grinned. “I must go, pet.” she said, kissing his cheek. “More pressing matters require my attention, but when I return, I will make you beg.” she promised.
Wolverine watched her go. He hated that white haired bitch with every ounce of his being. He blocked out the pain of his body by fantasizing all the ways he was going to kill her.
Ororo smoothed the soft, plush green and gold blankets over her bare legs, a carefully controlled vacant look on her face as she watched the bedroom door. In a few moments Shinobi Shaw would step through that threshold and it would take every ounce of her self control not to lunge at the fucker and rip his throat out with her bare hands.
She took a shaky breath, keeping her mind and face carefully blank. The telepaths would sense something wrong if she let her anger get the better of her. She needed to play this just right, if she had any chance of finding her husband and her son. A brief stab of pain momentarily stole her breath. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, Logan…
Last night when she had been crawling on the floor, pain making her nearly delusional, she had known that he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. He was real, and he was hers, and they had a son together. A beautiful baby boy with dark hair and deep eyes and stubborn little chin. Chance…
She heard the door creak open. “Ororo.”
With deliberate slowness she allowed her lids to lift, revealing deep blue eyes. She gazed at the man in front of her, impressed with her own ability to look at him impassively. She tilted her head, a rueful smile on her full lips. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” she asked quietly.
The man approached the bed, his dark hair pulled into a neat queue, tied at his nape. He wore a light gray, perfectly tailored suit and a gold watch. The band glinted as he strode towards her. “You don’t recognize me?” he asked, a touch of false concern on his cultured voice.
She shook her head slowly. “I’m afraid not,” she replied. “I was waiting for my husband. Shinobi Shaw. Do you know him?” Please, oh, please let her be believable.
“I am him.”
Ororo gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “I-I am sorry,” she said, eyes slightly wide. She studied him, her gaze taking in every inch of him. Shinobi. He looked exactly how she remembered him. Tall, good looking, sensual and charismatic…how she loathed the sight of him. With a slight tremble, that she didn’t have to fake, Ororo reached for his face. He leaned towards her, his brown eyes closing when her slender fingers stroked his chin. “Shinobi?”
He groaned a bit, making her feel ill. “It is good to hear you say my name,” he said, capturing her hand and kissing her fingertips.
It took every bit of will power she had not to jerk away and ram a few thousand volts of nature’s fury up his smarmy ass, but she refrained, her absolute focus on finding her family.
“How is it that I don’t know you?” she asked. She touched her bruised lips. “And why am I so battered?” she tried not to sound accusatory, but a hint of it tinted her voice.
Instead of being suspicious, Shaw immediately tried to soothe her. “You were attacked, my love.”
She frowned. “Attacked?”
“Yes. A man attacked you, he hurt you. He caused you to miscarry our child.”
At this, genuine tears filled Ororo’s eyes. Oh, Logan…our baby. I didn’t even get a chance to tell you… “Yes,” she whispered. “I remember the blood.”
Shinobi cradled her jaw. “Sshhh. It’s all right, love. You’re safe here.”
Yeah, right. “I want to remember you…” she murmured, feigning confusion. “My head hurts.”
“Shall I send for something? A sedative perhaps?”
“No!” she nearly shouted.
Shinobi frowned.
“I-I’m sorry,” Ororo covered. “It’s just I feel so out of it, as it is, and I don’t like it. I want to remember you.” She touched his face again, trying not to flinch. “To remember us.”
He smiled, sickeningly sweet. “You will, love. In time I am certain you will remember.”
Ororo looked around her room. “Like this place, for instance,” she continued. “I don’t recognize it at all. Where do we live?”
Shinobi gave her a probing glance, but Ororo kept her face carefully blank. “In my ancestral estate,” he supplied.
“Oh.” She ruffled her short locks. Short? “Um, what happened to my hair?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
She lifted one bare shoulder. “I mean, I get the impression it was longer once.”
“Ah. Yes, it was.” he stated, offering nothing.
Ororo closed her eyes, trying to remember. She remembered a tall man, with a disturbing gift for disorientation, and a teleporter that grabbed her. She remembered a needle being shoved in her arm, and the blurry image of Logan as he was also ported with her, drugged heavily. She remembered feeling helpless as the darts had embedded in their skin after their home had exploded. Oh, their home…gone… But nothing after that.
“Are you all right?” Shinobi’s voice caused her to open her eyes.
“Yes.” she lied smoothly. “Who attacked me?”
Shinobi sat on the edge of the bed, lifting her hand in his. “I’d rather not discuss the vile creature. He has been dealt with accordingly.”
Ororo’s heart stopped. “He’s dead?” she whispered, her throat closing.
“He very well wishes he was,” Shinobi said with angry satisfaction, his sensual mouth turning white at the corners.
“Is he…in jail?” she asked.
Shinobi’s brows lowered. “Why so interested?”
Ororo lifted her chin. “This monster killed our child, you said. I want to know that he is being dealt with.”
Shinobi smiled, but the speculative gleam did not leave his eye. “Rest assured that he is.” He opened the drawer to the nightstand behind the bed, pulling out a gold circlet. “It is time you put this back on,” he said softly.
Shinobi lifted her left hand and for the first time, Ororo noticed that the her wedding ring was missing.
Logan. Ororo squelched the riotous emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She could not risk the telepaths picking up on her longing. “You must be a loving husband,” she said, with false sweetness. “To be so generous.” She watched as the gold and diamond band circled her third finger.
“This is only a fraction of the riches I will bestow on you, Ororo.” He leaned forward, his lips touching hers.
Don’t vomit, don’t vomit, don’t vomit…
She pulled away when she felt the flick of his tongue on her lips.
“Ororo?”
“I’m sorry, I just…well, I don’t remember you,” she said, hoping he bought it. “Maybe you could tell me of our life together? How long have we been married?”
“Not long.” He answered vaguely.
“Oh. Well, could I get a tour of our home?” she asked. “Perhaps something will come back to me.”
He looked ready to refuse, so she pulled his head to hers and kissed him. “Please,” she said softly.
“I could use a little more persuasion,” he said idly.
She smiled and kissed him again. She felt his hand tug the blanket away from her and his hand cup her bare breast.
It is just my body…It is just my body…
“You have lovely breasts,” he groaned.
Ororo was silent, trying to maintain her careful control.
Shinobi bent his head and licked her nipple. “I am going to take you now,” he said, pulling off his jacket.
“But..wait…” Ororo protested.
“Why?” he asked, unbuttoning his shirt.
“I am still recovering from…everything.”
“When you are recovered then,” he said.
Ororo struggled to keep her smile. “O-of course.”
“You should sleep,” he said. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. And Ororo?”
“Yes?”
“You are quite a good liar, but your eyes are a dead giveaway. I will break you in. In the meantime, I shall take great pleasure in mutilating your worthless pet.” Before she realized his intent he pulled a syringe from his pocket and jabbed her upper arm.
Ororo didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, instead she simply closed her eyes before he saw the tears shimmering there. Logan…Chance…Hold on, I’ll find you…
“YEEAARGGG!!”
“Music to my ears.”
Wolverine blinked, his vision blurred by pain. He growled at the white haired woman walking towards him and his current tormentor.
“Oooohhh, I’m shaking,” she mocked.
“…Bitch…” he spat.
“The name’s Storm.” she leveled a gun at him. “Remember it!” Bang!
Wolverine jerked as the bullet hit him. He bared his teeth. “I will,” he vowed.
“Marvel Girl to Cyclops. I got nothing.”
“Copy, Marvel Girl. Same here.” There was a distinct note of frustration in the X-Men’s Red Leader’s voice. This was the third Shaw residence that they had staked out in the past two weeks, to no avail. Currently he and Jean were in front of Shinobi Shaw’s Manhattan Estate.
“Gambit?”
“Not’in at da club neither.” The Cajun sounded down right pissed off, which he was. Some fuck had his Stormy, his padnat and it was all he could do not to lose it. If it weren’t for Ali and the babies he didn’t know what he’d do. The thought of losing any of them made him hurt. He could only imagine the pain and anguish Stormy and Wolverine felt, knowing their baby was in the hands of a madman, hell bent on revenge.
“Let’s head back to the mansion, maybe the Professor has picked something up on cerebro.” Jean suggested. She too felt the pain of her teammates loss. At one time she believed herself in love with Wolverine, however, seeing him with Storm had shown her what kind of love she really wanted, and could have with Scott. Although beginning as enemies, she and Storm had forged a bond that was solid and true. Jean considered the white haired beauty one of her dearest friends, and knew Ororo had come to accept her the same way.
“You and Cyclops can ‘ead back, chere, but Gambit gonna stick it out a bit longer.”
“I’ll stay as well,” Kurt’s accented voice came over the comm.
“Very well.” Cyclops confirmed. “We’ll be back in two hours to pick you both up.”
“D’accord.”
“Ja.” Nightcrawler agreed. “We must not gve up hope,” the blue furred mutant said. “Storm and Wolverine are the strongest people we know. They can overcome anything.”
There was so much blood, and a baby was screaming.
She struggled to sit up, but found she was strapped to a stretcher, her arms and legs bound tightly so she couldn’t move.
Bright lights whizzed past overhead and she heard voices, droning on in rapid medical terms.
Logan? Where was Logan? And Chance? Was that him crying? Did he need her? Goddess, please, let her get to her baby.
Where was she?
A needle stabbed her arm, a fiery liquid entering her bloodstream. “No!” she screamed.
“All will be well, Storm. You are where you belong.” A dark voice whispered from the fog clouding her brain.
“…Loooogaaannn…” Her tongue was thick, his name sticking to her.
“There is no such person.”
“Lies…”
There was a faint buzzing sound and she felt her long tresses pulled tight as clippers sheared her silken locks.
*Logan!*
*There is no Logan.*
*Please…*
*Shhh. Shinobi will take care of you.*
*He can rot in the deepest pits of hell!!*
A scalpel in the light, it’s sharp blade making her blood run cold. The blade pressed to her temple, following the faint scar left by the implantation of her former neural inhibitors.
“Stop.” she mumbled, drugged.
“This will only hurt for a minute, darling.”
*Don’t call me that!!!*
*Touchy, aren’t we?*
*I’m going to kill you all. Every last one of you.*
*Hahaha…save your idle threats, Mrs. Shaw.*
*My name is Ororo N’Dare Munroe Howlett. My husband is the Wolverine and he is going to gut every last fucking one of you!!!*
Agony as pressure increased in her temples, blood pouring from her nose.
Soft thuds sounded the approach of the man she hated most in her life.
“Hello again, Mystery.” Shinobi Shaw stood beside her strapped in form. “I have waited a long time to see you broken.”
“Where…is my…son?” she rasped.
“You have no son.” he smiled. “At least not any more.”
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
Ororo bolted upright in her bed, a scream lodged in her throat, her chest heaving and tear streaks on her face. She took great gulping breaths, trying to regain her composure. She was thankful that she was relatively clear headed, whatever sedative Shinobi had given her, not lasting. Although no where near the extent of Wolverine’s, Ororo herself possessed a healing factor that kept her from catching colds, and scarring and from being effected by drugs for any great length.
She glanced out the small window across the room and a frown marred her grief stricken face. Through the slit she saw that the sky was crystal clear, the stars twinkling in the night sky.
Cautiously she rose from the bed and walked towards the window, her frown deepening as she realized that she could no longer feel the elements around her. She could feel the pull of the planet, as she always had, and she could see the patterns in the wind, but she felt nothing. Fear clawed at her. That bastard had taken everything!! Her son, her husband and now her powers.
With a soft cry Ororo fell to her knees, the weight of everything suddenly too much to bear. Logan!!! Chance!!!
*Mrs. Shaw?*
Ororo laughed bitterly, sobbing harder.
*Mrs. Shaw?*
*Where is my husband?* Ororo demanded.
A flash of a dark basement grazed her mind before the telepath could completely block it. *Shinobi is occupied.*
*I meant my REAL husband. *
*Are you ill?* The telepath changed the subject.
*Is that you, Emma Frost?* Ororo stood, wiping her face and making her way towards the adjoining room door, careful to keep her intentions hidden. She had a feeling there was someone on the other side.
*There is no one by that name here.*
*Don’t give me that.
*There is no Emma Frost.*
*Uhn-huh. Just like there‘s no Logan.* Ororo moved closer to the door. *Tell me. Have you ever heard the adage about a mother and her cub?*
*Excuse me?*
*Knock-knock!* Ororo yanked open the adjoining door, rushing into the room, startling the guard and the blonde telepath sitting in the center of the room.
The guard tried to grab her, but Ororo spun, lifting her elbow and catching the large man in the jaw, followed by a jab to his nose and a palm thrust. With the quickness of a street thief she snatched his gun from its holster as his lifeless form fell to the floor and rammed it into the soft spot under Emma’s chin. “Don‘t even blink,” she snarled.
