A/N: I love Victor Creed (the Liev Schrieber) mainly because he is hot as shit. But I've always wanted to write a romance story about him and an OC, so here it is.
Background Information: Victor has become a mutant bounty hunter. He picks up jobs with whoever hires him, and due to his lack of any and all morals, he kills whoever and whenever he wishes. He tries to avoid drama among his clients, and usually when he is involved it ends in death. This takes place about a year after the events of Wolverine: Origins. Review or message me with any other questions.
NOTE: Ali is from Oregon so her dialogue and speaking and thoughts are not completely correct. It is intentional so as to build her country girl personality.
Love, QK.
Chapter 1: Hired
Pain overwhelmed Victor Creed's senses as he thrashed against the restraints that bound him inside the plexiglas tube full of water. He screamed, though the air tubes in his mouth muffled the sound.
The pain was unbelievable.
He had been involved in 4 wars. He had been shot exactly 783 times. He had been injured in other manners an uncountable amount of times. He had killed exactly 569 people in his lifetime. He was nearly 200 years old, but he never aged.
And never in his life had he been in so much pain.
Stabbing, burning, aching, and stinging, intensified to an indescribable level. His mind was numbing from the intensity.
How had Logan withstood this? Victor was stronger than his brother. He always had been. He knew he was. He could handle anything that Logan could.
He wouldn't die. He was unkillable.
No amount of liquid metal of any kind would kill him.
He repeated it to himself, but his eyes were darkening. His mind was fading. He could feel his heart slowing, and it put him in even more pain.
The last words he heard before fading completely were:
"I told you Victor," Stryker's face appeared, "You're too weak."
And then there was blackness.
With a snarl, Victor's eyes snapped open and he sat straight up, panting heavily with his claws drawn.
He was disoriented for a moment.
It had happened again.
Nightmares haunted him most nights.
He looked around, slowly remembering where he was.
The answer was an abandoned warehouse in a bad part of New York City.
God he hated it here. It reeked of human stench, and it was filthy. There were no attractive women, and he had been in heat for a few weeks. None of them even smelled good. On the bright side, there were plenty of people who had challenged him while he stayed here, and so he had many chances to release his pent up anger. Usually his releases ended in death.
He stood.
He was naked, as that was often how he slept, regardless of where he was. He slipped on his boxers, jeans (scrounged from his last kill), and his ragged black trench coat. Looking around for his combat boots, he thought about what he would do today.
As always, he would check his mailbox in the upper East side, where he had registered himself. He rolled his eyes at the thought. God, he had wanted to wring that dumbass's neck. He hated having to rely on humans, but he had concluded that there were some things he simply had to do.
Anyway, he would check his mailbox for any work, and then he would leave this wretched city. He couldn't take another day. Maybe he would head to Wyoming. Spend some time in Yellowstone. Away from humans. Plenty of hunting over there. Maybe he could wait out mating season there, depending on how it went.
Having found his shoes, he left the warehouse and walked up the sidewalk to catch a cab.
Yes, he desperately needed some time away from the imbeciles that roamed the planet.
He whistled and raised his hand at a passing yellow car, which stopped for him and he stepped into it.
The world had changed so much from his childhood.
It disgusted him.
He told the driver where to take him, and leaned back in his seat to look out the window.
He could hear and smell the driver's blood, rushing anxiously through his veins. Victor had that aura. He scared people. He loved it, but on some deep psychological level that he would never show, he was lonely.
There were times when he greatly missed having Jimmy by his side. He wished he had found a mate, or something to keep him company at least. His life was boring. He yearned for excitement.
The car stopped, and victor placed the money into the drivers hand, making extra effort to lightly rake his claws on the man's skin. As he heard the human's heart rate speed up, he stepped out of the car and smirked.
He walked into the building and walked over to the wall of mailboxes. He turned the combination lock on his box to the correct numbers and opened it.
For the first time in two months, there was a letter.
He took it out of the box and used his claw to slit it open.
In it was a piece of paper and a few photographs.
Mr. Victor Creed:
I have found myself in need of your skills and assistance.
Enclosed in this envelope are pictures of a small farmhouse in Oregon, which is where you need to go.
A young woman lives in this house alone.
She is a mutant, but she is an amazing one.
She is unlike anything I have ever seen,
and I doubt you have ever seen anything like her either.
Please locate her.
Once she is in your possession, await further instructions.
Do not harm her.
Take the pictures from this envelope and burn this letter.
You will be paid 3,000 dollars in whatever currency you desire.
If you fail, you will be paid nothing.
Goodbye.
Victor flipped the paper over.
Nothing.
There was no address or name save for his own.
It was an anonymous buyer, but that was alright by him. As long as he got paid, he didn't care who he was working for.
He looked at the 5 pictures.
The house was beaten up and dingy, and looked abandoned. It appeared to be facing a forest, based on the pictures of the house from all sides. There was writing on the back of each picture. He'd read it later. The last image, however, was the one that caught his eye.
It was a picture taken inside of a restaurant. There was a woman at a nearby table with an apron on. She was holding a bin and she appeared to be busing the table of dirty dishes. She had brown hair, cut into a short style, and she appeared to be short with a bigger bust and an hourglass body. Victor could only make out that much about her, but for some reason, the image made something inside of him click. He cocked his head and flipped the photo over.
On the back of it were three words:
Ali Ward (Waitress).
Victor grinned and slipped the pictures into his wallet, and crumpled the letter before pulling a lighter from his pocket and holding it as it burned.
The flames engulfed it, and it hurt, but it made him smile. He enjoyed pain.
It reassured him he was still alive.
He walked out of the post office.
To oregon, he thought.
"This is horrible service. I demand to speak to your manager. We have been waiting for nearly an hour, just for some lousy, stupid waitress to bring us our greasy wings and cardboard pizza! Unbelievable!"
Ali fought to keep from losing her temper or crying. She gritted her teeth, and said in a gentle voice, "Sir, I am truly sorry that you have had to wait so long, but there's nothing I can do. I'll make sure to bring your orders as soon as possible but-"
"But nothing!" The angry man yelled, "Manager! NOW!"
She sighed, "Just a moment, sir."
She heard the man mutter behind her to his wife, "Or another hour."
She ran her hand through her short hair and tried to keep herself calm. People got hurt when she wasn't calm.
Buddy's Bar and Grille had been slammed all night. It was Friday night, and considering the Ducks were playing, every football enthusiast in Tillamook county had flocked to the restaurant to watch the big game.
She hadn't been able to take a break. She was hungry and exhausted, but the kitchen had almost completely run out of food and her manager, (the owner's daughter) Kelly, had asked her to stay an extra two hours, considering Stacy Lou had called in sick.
She pushed the door to the bustling kitchen open and walked in, looking around quickly for Kelly, who she found helping Noah roll out pizza dough with a phone on her shoulder. Probably someone calling a takeout order in.
She had to wait for Kelly to finish talking before approaching her, so she walked over to the full sink and started helping Martin wash dishes.
"Awful packed tonight," Said the boy, "You okay? You look exhausted."
She chuckled, "Might be cause' I am. And yeah, it sure is. Some guy out there is demanding to talk to Kelly because him and his wife have been waiting an hour."
Martin cringed, "Yikes. What a jackass."
She shrugged, "Aren't we all."
She glanced over at Kelly, and saw that she was off the phone. Ali hurried over to talk to her, "Kelly!"
Kelly turned, and smiled tiredly.
"Hey chicky. What's up?"
"There's a couple at table 4 who are demanding to talk to you. They've been waiting an hour and they're screaming at me," Ali updated her.
Kelly rolled her eyes and rubbed her temples before sighing and saying, "Alright. I'll go take care of it. In the meantime, you look exasperated. I'll take your tables for a while. You can do whatever you like for a few minutes."
Ali smiled gratefully, "Thanks Kel, you're a lifesaver."
"Anytime. Hey do me a favor and grab a pack of wings out of the freezer and take them over to Donna? Thanks."
"Sure," Ali said as Kelly walked out into the packed dining area.
After delivering the frozen poultry, She walked back over and helped Martin finish the sink full of dishes. Then walked out of the back door, tossing the bag of garbage she'd grabbed on the way out into the dumpster.
She plopped down on the step and pulled out a cigarette.
Shielding it from the wind, she used her lighter to light it and then inhaled.
As she exhaled, she ran the other hand through her hair.
This week had been a nightmare for her.
First, Trey had cheated on her with her best friend, so she had dumped him, and he had proceeded to key her red and black Chevy 1978 pickup. She hadn't slept at all, because Trey's friends usually came by her house around three AM and blasted music as long and as loud as possible. She had received hate e-mails and her phone was constantly bombarded by insults. Her guitar had a broken string, and she didn't have enough money to repair it. There were self inflicted cuts and bruises all over her body, and she had a sore throat from throwing up most of her food. Her depression from when she was a kid had resurfaced, and anymore she didn't think she was strong enough to beat it.
She was lonely.
She wished she had someone to tell her to eat, and tell her she was too beautiful to take razors to her skin. She wanted somebody to care.
And to top it all off, it was getting harder and harder to hide her secret.
She took a last drag from her cig and dropped it. She stepped on it and then walked back inside to keep working. It was going to be a long night.
A/N: So there's chapter one, folks! Next chapter will be up very soon. We will see what happens when Victor meets her.
Love, QK