Disclaimer: I only own Tamara Owens. Vince McMahon owns everything and everyone else.
On another note, I wrote this while I was in a very terrible mood, not to mention the fact that it was three in the morning when I started it.
Plot: Tamara Owens; a WWE Diva, is finally returning to the game after a long three year absence, and the people who had once made her life a living hell were going to experience first hand that it's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for. Normally, Tamara would be the type to forgive and forget. Well this isn't a story about forgiving or forgetting. This is a story about revenge...
And now without further ado, I present to you...
Drag Me To Hell
Chapter One
She sat in her lipstick red 2011 Dodge Charger with one leg drawn up on the seat and her arm hanging idly over her jean clad knee. A Newport cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth as her hazel eyes gazed hatefully at the business end of the arena. Many superstars and divas were dressed in their expensive clothes, showing off to the screaming fans. The divas were dressed in Prada, wheeling their Louis Vuitton luggage into the building while the male side of the roster were dressed in Armani, or some were in street clothes trying to convince the commoners that they were just like them so they could gain the people's trust.
It was a lie.
A lot of the people who walked in that building really didn't give two shits about the people they entertained for day in, day out. It was like clockwork. New city, new hotel, new arena, new people, new ring rats, and the cycle would start over the next day. The fans looked up to the superstars and divas like they were their fucking superheroes and none of them knew that the ones they idolized wouldn't even piss in their direction. Bunch of spoiled brats would piss in a golden spittoon first.
It made Tamara sick knowing that she used to be like them.
...No. Not like them. She actually liked the people she used to entertain. It gave her a sense of empowerment and pride that people loved her for her ability to kick someone's ass when she stepped into that ring as the Undertaker's daughter, Havoc. Of course, she wasn't really Mark Calaway's kid; it had just been a storyline that had discreetly faded out after she left. That was three years ago, and nobody had seen her since.
Not that they cared, anyway.
Tamara waited until the crowd had dispersed, and then she made her move. She got out of her car, took one last drag of her smoke before stomping it out and then headed toward the entrance with the All Access pass around her neck. With her appearance drastically changed, there was no chance that anyone would recognize her. Her once long raven black hair was now a fire engine red choppy punk rock do that barely touched her shoulders, her once pale skin was now nicely tanned thanks to the sun's natural light (she didn't believe in that fan n' bake shit that most of the divas enjoyed so much). She no longer wore the expensive Prada shit that graced the bodies of her former co-workers. At the moment she was wearing a simple pair of jeans, a plain black sweatshirt, and a pair of Nike shocks. After she flashed her pass to the two burly security guards, Tamara made an instant beeline to the one man who never gave her any shit about a damn thing. She knocked on his door, and there was a muffled "Come in," from the other side. She opened the door to see him busy with paperwork, not bothering to look up at whom had graced his doorway. She shut the door behind her and walked up to the front of his desk, looking down on his salt and pepper hair.
"Hello, Mr. McMahon."
The Chairman's head popped up to look at who had addressed him. A warm smile came across his face as he set his fountain pen down and stood up. "Good to see you again, Ms. Owens."
A half smile made itself visible on Tamara's face. "You should know better, Mr. McMahon. Call me Tamara."
Vince nodded, the warm smile still gracing his face. "Okay, Tamara. How have you been?" he asked. He gestured to the leather seat behind Tamara which she immediately sat down in. Vince sat back down in his own chair and folded his hands together atop his desk. "I've missed you these past three years, you look good."
Tamara chuckled. "I've missed you too, Vince. Anyway, I've been okay I suppose. Keeping a low profile and working out. My routine hasn't really changed much since I left."
Vince nodded. "Let me be frank, Tamara. I know you want to come back for some much needed revenge, and I'm willing to let you have it. It broke my old heart knowing that one of my best competitors wanted to quit because of locker room bullying amongst other childish things." He shook his head in disgust. "You didn't deserve any of the terrible things that have happened to you. But I knew that you needed a break and I gave it to you. You're a nice young lady, Tamara, and I want you to get your revenge."
Tamara's chest swelled with a hint of pride. Just a little. "Thank you, Vincent."
Vince smiled. "By the way, I'm also willing to let you do it on live television." He leaned forward and Tamara did the same. "When did you want to return?"
Tamara let a somewhat evil grin spread across her features as her heart thumped rapidly in her chest. "Tonight."
Vince chuckled. "I was hoping you'd say that. I've already had Anna make you a new outfit." He reached for the phone on his desk, his hand hovering over it. "Do you want me to tell her you're coming down?"
"Sure." Tamara replied. "If you don't mind, I'd like to keep this a secret from everyone else. Until tonight, that is."
Vince nodded once before dialing Anna's office number. "Consider it done." Once Vince confirmed Anna of what was going on, he hung up and faced Tamara once more. "Everything is all set, Tamara."
The young woman smirked. "Call me Havoc."
A wicked grin came across the old man's features as he nodded. "Welcome back...Havoc."
A/N: Well, what do you think so far? The title might change, but other than that, I'm happy with this first chapter. I'll put up a second one for sure.
