Hi guys! This is my second attempt at writing some Saints Row stuff. This is a bit of an AU where at the end of Act 1, Killbane doesn't attack the Saints and attempts to form an alliance with them instead.
This is a really long one-shot and I was going to divide it up but I couldn't find the right places to cut it. For those who lick it hot 'n limey, enjoy ;)
EDIT: Fix some things that were bothering me.
You Can Leave Your Mask On
The Morning Star sure did have a lot of shit.
The Boss shifted through another pile of bright coloured lever arch files and numerous sheets of paper. Every inch of her desk was covered in records sheets, billing addresses, international criminal contacts, requisition forms and an endless supply of invoices. A sigh escaped her chest as she scanned through a shipping manifest, looking for anything of particular interest. When the Saints had taken control of the Morning Star tower in Loren Square, she had no idea that they kept so much paperwork though she knew she shouldn't have been surprised. Phillipe Loren – before he had been squashed flat by an enormous steel ball - had been very meticulous with his records. He kept everything in both digital and paper format, which had meant several trips back and forth from his tower in Loren square to the Saints headquarters. She looked up and scanned her surroundings. Boxes were piled upon boxes, which were piled upon more boxes. It was as if they were breeding in her office. It was a truly disheartening sight. So frustrated was the Boss that she was suddenly claimed by the desire to throw all the Morning Star paperwork into a pile then set in on fire. She looked longingly at the silvertoned lighter on her desk, briefly contemplating the idea of arson. It was only through sheer willpower – and the inevitable hissy fit that Pierce and Shaudi would throw – that stopped the Boss from throwing the boxes outside and setting them ablaze.
She dropped the sheet of paper and leaned back, rubbing her eyes and not caring in the slightest that she was smudging her makeup. She needed a drink. Or two. Or ten. She got up from the desk chair and padded over to the coffee machine, edging her way through boxes. She flicked the machine on and stretched arms out as it boiled and filtered out dark coffee into a Lets Pretend mug. She was stiff and sore despite it only being one in the afternoon.
The Boss had been pouring the milk into her cup when she heard the sound of something ringing. She stood for a moment, trying to remember why the sound was so familiar. It took her brain a few seconds to register that it was her own mobile phone that was ringing away merrily on her desk. The Saint turned and scrambled back across the room, crashing into boxes and tipping over others in a rather unladylike manner. She snatched the phone up, her teeth clenched. She didn't recognise the number but damn it, she was too pissed off to care. Whoever was calling, it had better be important!
"What?" the Saint barked down the phone.
A voice she didn't recognise answered her, tutting in disapproval. "My my, such dreadful manners." The voice was deep with a rumble, it made her think of the whisky she liked to indulge in every so often: smooth, amber tones, with a bite that caressed. Her innards give a squeeze and she straightened up. "Who are you? How'd you get this number?" she demanded.
"Details, details. First an introduction. My name is Killbane, a member of the Syndicate. I trust you're…familiar with us."
Her fingers clenched around the cell phone and she felt her gut lurch like a wild horse.
Oh god.
The Syndicate.
Of course they couldn't have been defeated that easily. She had been an idiot to think so. Apparently cutting off the head of the snake simply was not enough. The hydra had sprouted another head.
"So what do you want? An apology for Loren?" she replied, sinking back into her leather chair because her legs were shaking so badly she feared she would collapse.
To her great surprise, the voice on the other end remained calm. "No no, of course not. I'm not a fool, Saint. Phillipe underestimated you. I won't make the same mistake," he replied, voice dropping down an octave. The Boss felt her skin tense, as if it were about to jump right up off her bones. She sucked in a breath, waiting with a hammering heart for the inevitable threat of blood and retribution that was sure to come. Instead, he merely continued just as calmly as before. "I however, see the potential that the Saints could bring to the Syndicate. If you're willing, I would meet with you at some point."
"Why?"
"To discuss the possibility of an alliance."
The Boss almost hung up on him right then and there. Her last, final image of Johnny flashed across her mind and a sudden burst of rage exploded behind her eyes. The nerve of the man was just so unbelievable that she intended to give him a good piece of her mind before she slammed the phone down.
"The Syndicate killed my best friend," she snarled down the phone. "Why the fuck would you think I'd even consider – "
Killbane cut her off flat. "Phillipe and the Morning Star were responsible for the death of Johnny Gat, not the Syndicate itself."
The Boss scowled furiously. "How convenient for you."
However, the voice remained ever composed and controlled; as if he had been expecting such an outburst and knew exactly what to say and how. "I protested against it, but Phillipe was determined to see you dead. He felt that the Saints needed to be taught a lesson in respect," Killbane responded.
The Boss felt her belly give an uncomfortable squeeze, coupled with the familiar pang of loss. Yes. Losing Johnny was a lesson they all felt. And felt hard. The Boss thought of Shaundi – how fragile and broken she seemed at Johnny's funeral. She remembered the way Shaundi gripped the silken cord that lowered his coffin into the damp earth on that grey Stilwater morning. She looked as if she were never going to let go. "It was a hard fucking lesson learnt," replied the Boss, remembering how she had had to prise Shaundi's fingers from the cord so they could lay Johnny to rest once and for all.
"I agree and it should've been avoided all together," Killbane responded. He sounded almost genuinely sympathetic - as if he actually cared that Johnny was dead. It was a refreshing and welcome change from the open hostility the Saints had received for the past three months. Then, her delayed common sense suddenly kicked into gear and she gave herself a mental slap. Oh stop it. He's probably just trying to win your trust over that little voice muttered at the back of her head. She sighed, suddenly feeling very old and tired. "Okay Killbane. I'll hear you out."
"Now I just knew that you weren't as unreasonable as Phillipe claimed you were."
She almost snorted down the phone. Flatterer. "So what's your offer?"
Killbane cleared his throat. "I'd prefer to discuss it in person. Perhaps tonight over dinner?"
The Boss froze, her world coming to a complete standstill. The request was so astonishing, it took her a couple of minutes to process it. Killbane – member of the Syndicate - asking her out for dinner? How could this be happening? To her? Rival gang leaders just didn't ask her out for dinner. Ever. It just wasn't the done thing.
She wet her dry lips and attempted to form a coherent sentence. "Tonight?"
"Yes, tonight," he stated firmly. "Is that a problem?" Something about the tone of his voice told her that there had better not be.
It is, the Boss thought to herself, because I have nothing nice to wear. She straightened up in the leather chair, mentally calculating how it would take to find a nice dress and to make herself presentable on the Saints behalf. "No that's fine. I'm not doing anything away," she replied, casting her eyes over the piles of boxes and paperwork in her office that would have to wait for another day.
"Excellent. There's a restaurant near Loren square called Orlais. Do you know of it?"
The Boss nodded, her blonde fringe bobbing. She did know of it. She had driven past it countless times over the past couple of months. All dark polished wood, sleek silver decorated with dark cherry, it was the sort of establishment that catered to the rich and wealthy – which lately had not been her. "Yeah, I know where that is." She paused for a second. Dinner at an expensive restaurant with a former enemy who wanted to discuss cease fire terms? The Boss frowned. It was almost too good to be true. She was blonde, but she wasn't stupid and not about to live up to that particular stereotype. "This had better not been a trap," she added.
"I thought you might have hesitations so as a token of good faith, I'm having an associate of mine transfer the funds that Phillipe took from you."
Ah.
Well.
She was plum out of words to express her astonishment.
"Alright. You've convinced me."
"Excellent. Shall we meet for seven?"
"Dinner at seven at Orlais? You know, this could almost be a date."
Killbane gave a low, rumbling chuckle down the line that she felt through her bones. It soothed her scattered nerves. "And if it was?" he asked with apparent amusement.
Despite herself, the Boss gave a smirk. Men. They could be so presumptuous. "I'm out of your league honey. See you at seven." she replied before thumbing the little red phone icon on the touch screen, effectively hanging up on the masked wrestler before he could respond. She knew it was immature and silly but there was truly something satisfying about getting the last word in with Killbane. She slipped her mobile into the back pocket of her snug jeans and trotted out to the living quarters find the rest of her gang members.
It didn't take her long to find them. All three of her lieutenants were in the living room. The Russian Giant Oleg was engaged in a fierce chess match with Pierce and Shaundi was sprawled out on her belly flipping through the latest glossy edition of Hello Steelport! And chewing on some apple bubblegum. Every so often, she blew a green bubble that exploded with a loud pop.
"Oleg, what do you know about Killbane?" the Boss asked, startling her fellow gang members.
The Russian looked up from his chessboard, clutching a piece that he had taken from Pierce. "His real name is Eddie Pyror but he will not answer to it. He was Loren's attack dog and the muscle behind the Syndicates forces. He operates the gun running, illegal gambling and the steroid business of Steelport from the 3 Count Casino. To the outside world, he is a masked wrestler with fans all over globe and has an impressive winning streak. He can be polite and charming when the occasion calls for it," Oleg responded, effectively dropping his knowledge bomb. The giant surveyed her curiously and she knew there was little point in even trying to lie to him. Oleg could sniff could deception like a bloodhound could a fox. "Why you so curious?"
The Boss held up her cell phone, unable to stop the smirk from spreading across her face. "Because he just called me and asked me out to dinner."
All three of the Saints looked at her with utter astonishment.
Suddenly, the chess game was completely forgotten.
Shaundi was the first to break the stunned silence.
"No. Fucking. Way."
The Boss glanced at her "Seriously, I couldn't make this shit up even if I tried. He wants to meet me to discuss the terms of an 'alliance.'"
"Did you agree?" asked Pierce, his brow furrowed.
The Boss gave a shrug, as if the idea of dinner with an enemy didn't bother her in the slightest. "Yeah, I wanna see what he's got to say."
Shaundi's dark eyes flashed. "You can't be fucking serious Boss. He's part of the Syndicate. The Syndicate killed Johnny!"
The Boss focused her gaze on the former Hippie. Yeah, I know. I was there too. Shaundi was going to be the tough one to get around. Her blind grief and rage had made her unpredictable – not that the Boss could really blame her but she had to try and make her see straight. "He claims that he had protested against Loren's handling of us and deliberately didn't send his Luchadores after us when we first got here, despite being ordered to," the blonde reasoned.
Those big dark eyes narrowed again, looking almost cat-like. "And you believe him?" Her tone sharp, biting and hit every wrong nerve and suddenly, the Boss felt a rise of indignation. She struggled to force it back down before she bit back, which wouldn't have helped matters at all.
"Look, I have no reason not to. And he gave me back all the funds that Loren stole from us as a token of good faith. "
Pierce leaned forward on the plush leather sofa with his hands laced together. The Boss could see his mind working over, digesting her statement. "Explains why the Luchadores haven't attacked us at all since we've been here. And they know we're here."
"We've got a fucking bomb. They don't," Shaundi snapped back.
"Which wouldn't have mattered anyway because Killbane had much more man and fire power. The Syndicate is equipped with military grade shit. Could've stormed in here any time he wanted," replied Pierce.
Oleg, who had been quiet throughout the debate – suddenly cleared his throat. The Boss looked at him because when Oleg spoke, it was in her best interest to listen. "I think you meet with him and hear out his proposition."
"Oleg! Not you too!"
The Russian looked pointedly at the former hippie. "Killbane will be looking for someone to replace the hole that Loren left. This could be good for us yes? 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer' as the old saying goes. Use this advantage and take whatever information you can get from him," Oleg stated, putting the Boss in mind of a general giving instructions to his soldiers. He was definitely ex-military, despite how much the Russian said otherwise.
"So you think I should go?" The Boss asked, pushing her advantage.
"I would not force you to but it would be beneficial for the Saints to hear what he has to say."
All three of the remaining Saints looked to the former Hippie. Shaundi snapped her mouth shut with an audible click. She got up from the plush leather chair, picked up her magazine and stormed out of the living and up to the stairs. Her door gave a great slam that made the blonde's teeth rattle in her gums.
"Think she'll be okay?" asked Pierce.
"Yeah. She'll need some time to cool off but she'll be fine." The Boss gave a grin and pivoted around on her heel. "Besides, she'll be dying to find out how it went," the blonde called over her shoulder as she stalked up the stairs and into her bedroom.
Sometime later found the Boss staring at the woman in the glossy mirror – who didn't look anything like her. Her bleach blonde hair had been brushed out of its usual ponytail and worked into loose curls. A circle of black glass beads glittered around her throat and small silver studs were threaded through her earlobes. Her makeup expressively dark and she had been plucked and waxed to within an inch of her life. A spaghetti strapped dress curled around her figure. It was a dark amethyst colour with the hem only reaching her mid thigh. The blonde had picked it up from Leather and Lace during an end of season and hadn't intended to ever wear it. She had been shallow and bought it purely for the label. She just adored Christoph Valkerie and his work.
Surveying herself in the mirror, the Boss sorely wished she hadn't bought it at all. It didn't seem to suit her and probably would have looked much nicer on Shaundi. Jeans and waistcoats and blazers were her thing, not sexy cocktail dresses. Oh get a fucking grip. It's not like you're trying to seduce him. You just need to look nice that little voice in her head muttered again. Ignoring the annoying voice of reason in her head, the Boss retrieved the little black leather bag that held her car keys, purse and her hand gun then climbed into a pair of dark grey strappy sandals that belonged to Shaundi. The former Hippie had eventually come out from her room at around five in the evening and took over curling the Boss's long blonde hair. She had given the dress her seal of approval and then offered the Boss a pair of heeled sandals for her outfit. She still hadn't been particularly pleased but at least stopped stropping all over the place.
Casting one last glance at herself, the Boss collected up her bag and left the master bedroom. Downstairs, Oleg and Pierce were playing another round of chess. Shaundi was slouched on plush armchair, channel surfing and looking irritated as usual. When an advert for Nyte Blade flashed on, the tanned woman scowled even more and changed the channel again.
The Boss descended the stairs, her heels tapping on the marble staircase. "Well, do I look okay?" she asked, walking into the living sofa.
Pierce looked up, stared for a moment then gave a wolf whistle. "Damn Boss, you clean up good."
She did a twirl, feeling her curls bounce in a way that only Shaundi could have produced. "What you think Oleg?"
The Russian gave her the once over and smiled approvingly. "You look very lovely maya krasavitsa," he replied before moving a black piece across the check board.
Her glossy lips parted into a grin and she looked to the tanned woman sat on the couch. "Shaundi?"
"Now you're just fishing for compliments," she remarked. Her tone was sharp but her expression was mischievous. The Blonde felt an intense rush of relief. It was a damn sight better than it was before.
"Damn straight," the Boss fired back before she glanced at the jewel studded Rolex watch that glimmered on her wrist. "Well, it's almost seven. I should probably go," the blonde stated before fishing around in the leather bag for her keys.
"You got a gun?" asked Pierce.
"In my clutch bag."
"Atta girl."
I'm not expecting any trouble but I always feel naked without one," she replied and headed towards the lift. "See you later."
"Go get 'em Boss," Pierce shouted through from the living room
"And call us if you require any assistance," added Oleg.
"And be fucking careful," came Shaundi's response.
The Boss grinned as the metal doors of the lift slid shut with a loud hiss. God, she loved them all so much. Suddenly, she was seized with the desire to halt the lift and send it straight back up so she could kick off her shoes and flop onto the couch next to them. She wanted to curl next to them on the sofa and watch a shitty movie. She gave herself a mental shake. She was meeting Killbane for The Saints. She had to meet with him. She just had to.
A few minutes later, the lift hit the bottom level that was the garage and the doors slid open again. The Boss stepped out of the lift, trying hard not to wobble all over the place in her heels. She felt like a plate of jelly in a dress. She suddenly envied Shaundi – who could sprint in heels when required. The former hippie made it look so easy.
She found the Neuron parked at the furthest end of the garage – the only speck of silver amongst a sea of purple and violet. The Boss walked over to the car, her heels tapping loudly against the concrete. She opened the door, tossed her clutchbag in then slid into the leather driver's seat. She breathed in the smell of fresh, real leather. She loved the smell of leather. Fake leather didn't nearly have the same scent. The blonde pushed the key in the ignition, gave it a twist and the car roared to life. She shoved the clutch into reserve and the car inched backwards out of the parking space. Another twist from the clutch and the gearbox shifted again. As the vehicle drove up the ramp to the road outside their headquarters, she felt her mouth dip into frown. Johnny couldn't drive a manual car. She had never had a chance to teach him properly and the one time that she did try, he ended up booting her out of the car. Johnny apparently didn't like being told when he was doing something wrong. The memory made tears bite at the corner of her eyes. The Boss blinked them back and instead, focused on the road ahead.
At nearly seven in the evening, Steelport looked an awful lot like Stilwater – only everything seemed to be bigger and brighter. Strips clubs, casinos, live shows, the city had it all. It could have easily passed for glitzy, glittering Las Vegas. Spanning, flashing billboards stretched up entire buildings that were taller than any skyscrapers in Stilwater. Advertisements for Planet Saints, Three Count Casino and various other department stores flickered on digital posters. Lights of every different colour, shape and size sparkled and twinkled. On the radio, adverts for Murderbrawl and Nyte Blade blasted out at her. She could have easily retired to Steelport once she was done in Stilwater. There was always something to do at any time of the day. The city never seemed to sleep.
It didn't take very long to find Orlais. The blonde parked the car in one of the restaurants parking spaces. She sat for a moment, hands clenched against her thighs. Her heart was pumping beneath her chest and she didn't have the faintest idea why. Perhaps she was about to become the youngest person in history to die from a stress induced stroke.
Taking a deep breath, The Boss retrieved her clutch bag stepped out of the car onto legs that weren't nearly wobbly as they were before. At least she was getting the hang of heels. Dark brown eyes scanned the carpark, looking for the trademark black with green star paintjob that was the Luchadores. She couldn't see a Syndicate car parked anywhere. Maybe he wasn't there yet. The thought brought her more relief than it should have. She crossed over the carpark and pushed open the glass lobby door.
A waiter decked out in black and white as on her in a second. "Good evening ma'am," he nodded, giving her the once over. The blonde suddenly felt very self-conscious about the length of her dress. Maybe it was too short after all.
She cleared her throat, trying to steady out her voice "Ah, yes I'm meeting someone here."
"Do you have a reservation?" Something about his tone suggested that he did not think that she did.
She felt herself bristle like a little cat and she straightened up. She wasn't about to let some little shit talk down to her. "Yes, it should be under either Killbane or Pryor," she said with some satisfaction.
His face suddenly tightened, as if he had bitten into a lemon. "Of course, right this way Ma'am." He gestured her to follow him into the rich, dark restaurant. He weaved her through tables filled with other patrons – people that she did not recognise. It was only then did she become painfully aware that it was indeed a Syndicate establishment. The furniture was dark wood and looked as if they belonged in a showroom somewhere. The tablecloths were heavy fabric in beautiful shade of cherry patterned by floral swirls. The light fixtures on the walls were shaped in the trademark star of the syndicate. Beneath her heels, the plush carpet was a very deep shade of pink that she just seemed to sink into.
The waiter finally stopped and gestured through to one of the side rooms that seemed distinctly more private and bigger than the other tables.
And there, sitting in the one of the high backed chairs, was Eddie "Killbane" Pryor. He wore a high quality black suit with a silken lime green tie laid perfectly straight against his chest. His mask was a combination of black, green and swirls of crimson; matching his suit perfectly. When she approached, he stood up from his chair. He was taller than she imagined he would be, standing around about six foot five. He was bulked out and when his arms shifted under his suit, she could see the fabric pulling against solid, defined muscles.
He was, most definitely, not out of her league.
She forced her gaze back up. "Killbane. Good to finally put a face to the voice," remarked the Boss, walking up to the perfectly laid table.
Killbane smiled, his teeth impossibly white and straight. "A pleasure, Saint," he responded in that rumbling, dark voice that sounded much better without the crackle of static from her cell phone. She held her hand out, as was expected of her. Killbane reached out and enclosed his large warm hand around her own smaller one, squeezing gently as he shook her hand. The sensation caused her pulse rate to shift in gears and she looked up to inspect what little she could see of his face. His eyes were a shade of mocha brown - not too dissimilar from her own. They swept over her small frame and - judging from the slight jerk of his throat - were apparently very satisfied with what they saw. The wrestler circled then around her and the Saint caught a sniff of him as he moved behind her to pull the chair out. He smelt like a mixture of male cologne with sandalwood and a little bit of spice. God, he smelt good. It took a lot of effort for the blonde not to reach out and tug him back just so she could get a good whiff. Instead, she restrained herself dropped into the seat and shuffled forward as Killbane sat back down on the chair opposite her. "Were you waiting long?"
"No, I had only just arrived." He held up a bottle from the nest of ice on the table. "Wine?"
"Yeah, sure," she replied. Personally she preferred a good beer but she wasn't about to turn down his hospitality.
The wrestler poured the wine out into the glass flute next to her place. His movements were practiced and precise, as if he had been doing it his whole life. As he poured out another glass, the Boss glanced around. "You know, this is an improvement. Last time I had a meeting with the Syndicate, I was tied up." As soon as the words had left her mouth, she wanted to take them back. They sounded bad, even to her own ears.
The wrestler's dark eyes flashed with amusement. "Is that so? I could get some rope if you'd prefer it," he said, mouth curled into an almost predatory grin that made her skin tingle. She met his intense gaze and smiled. Two could play that game. She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the edge of the table, her fingers laced together. His eyes dropped down a fraction and the Boss saw the jerk of his throat. "Oh could you? That would make this meeting really authentic," she purred.
Her response earned her a rumbling chuckle. "I'm sure I could find some. I'm a very resourceful man." Those intense eyes were twinkling at her again, watching to see how she would respond.
"Maybe later, after dessert." She gave him a wink for good measure and saw his throat tighten again.
"My but you are a tricky temptress."
"I try my best." The boss paused for a moment. "So, you said you had a business proposition you wanted to discuss."
The wrestler waved his hand dismissively. "Oh no no, not 'til after dinner. Why spoil a good meal with talk of a business deal?"
"That business deal is why I got all dressed up nice."
Killbane's eyes dropped again and he gave her another perfectly practiced smile. "So I see. It suits you by the way."
"Flatterer."
"I say it because it's true. Would you prefer I didn't?"
The Boss felt her skin heat up. "I'd prefer if you actually talked business."
The wrestler tutted. "Patience, little Icarus. Patience. Dinner first," Killbane remarked before picking up the menu and scanning it briefly. Clearly he wasn't about to budge until he had eaten. Typical man. Always thinking with his stomach.
Unable to do anything else, the Boss picked up her own menu and scanned through. She glanced up at the masked wrestler curiously, unable to work out his intentions. Such an odd man this Killbane was. Here she was all ready and armed with her demands for a business dinner yet he didn't seem to be the least bit interested in talking business. Apparently, he was more interested in whether in would have steak or fish that night.
"This really wasn't what I was expecting."
Killbane raised an eyebrow behind his mask. "And what were you expecting?"
"I dunno. A trap or ambush maybe. I suppose I keep expecting your Luchadores to come bursting in the door any second and put a bullet in my head," the Boss replied, reaching for her glass and taking a sip of the dark red wine.
"If I were planning an ambush, I wouldn't have chosen here. I happen to like this place," stated Killbane.
The Boss wrinkled her nose behind her wine glass. "It's a little too pink for me."
"I agree. Green would be better," replied the wrestler, not taking his eyes off the menu.
"Or purple," she suggested before glancing back down. "I think I'll get the steak." Yes. A steak was exactly what she needed. An artery clogging, fifteen ounce steak.
He looked at her, as if he wasn't expecting her to go for a nice, good chunk of meat. He probably expected her to peck at a salad for the entire evening. "What? I like steak, and I'm hungry," she stated.
Killbane just laughed again. "Ah, a strong appetite. I admire that in a woman," he remarked, his mouth curled into a smirk that she suddenly found unbelievably sexy. She wanted to reach over and run her hands over the silk of his mask, just to see how it felt beneath her skin. Sweat clammed on the palms of her hand and she resisted the urge to wipe it against her dress.
It was going to be a very long evening indeed.
Dinner, turned out to be more pleasant than she had anticipated. She managed to make it through the entire three course meal without having a heart attack. The food was excellent and the company was amicable. Killbane was the perfect gentleman throughout the entire dinner. Not a word of the Syndicate or Loren were mentioned. He was dramatic and quite clearly an entertainer. He seemed to know exactly how to keep her attention and how to make her laugh for the first time since Johnny had died. It was nice to laugh. She had forgotten what it was like.
Once the dessert dishes had been cleared and expensive coffee had arrived, the Boss sat back with her hands laced across her belly; feeling satisfied and full.
"Now, we should get down to business," remarked Killbane, taking a gulp of his coffee.
"And just when we were starting to have some fun," replied the blonde, clicking her teeth with her tongue.
The heat in Killbane's eyes intensified and she could practically see him undressing her with his eyes. "Haven't you heard not to mix business with pleasure?"
"Honey, that's the best kind though."
He gave her another teasing smile. "Oh I agree entirely. Once we are done here, I will show you how the people of Steelport have fun." She heard the implications upon his words like the crack of a whip. Oh yes, he definitely felt the attraction as well. She wasn't imagining it. Her eyes drifted to his large hands. They were nice hands; the fingers blunt and nails trimmed round and no-nonsense short. He'd be strong and the blonde wondered how they might have felt skimming down her hips. A shiver of awareness cut through her. How long had it been since she had a good fuck? Too long. She hadn't even so much as thought about it since she had buried her best friend.
"Yeah why not." She paused for a moment, trying to collect her scrambled thoughts. Killbane's proximity was making it difficult for her to concentrate on anything. "So what's this alliance you've been on about?"
Killbane leaned forward, looking the very picture of a businessman - a stark contrast to his mask. "It's the standard invitation that Phillipe used to give out to potential members. The Syndicate offers protection and discounted weaponry, in addition to a section of the city under your total control."
"Sounds good. What's the catch?"
"Phillipe had wanted sixty six percent of your business correct?"
"Yeah, in exchange for our lives. Bit of a bum deal really."
"I would suggest only thirty three per cent."
The Boss frowned. "No, that's still too high. The Saints brand is worth a shitload of money. I may be blonde but I'm not stupid," she pointed out.
Killbane narrowed his eyes. "Twenty five percent then."
"Twenty."
"Seventeen."
"Fifteen."
"Ten."
"By Apollo's chariot woman, are you trying to bankrupt us?"
"Absolutely. I wanna see the Syndicate squirm a little."
"Thirteen per cent then. And that is my last offer."
The Boss paused, weighing up her options. Thirteen was a damn sight better than sixty six per cent. "Well, that's a better offer than Loren gave us. But I'll have to take it back to my gang. We're a team and I want their input."
"Oh course." Killbane snapped open the briefcase that had been sitting on the third chair and pulled out a stapled document. The Boss peered over. She could see the Syndicate Star printed in the center of the front page. He held it out to her. "Here's the contract."
She took the contract and skimmed over it briefly, "I'm going to have my attorney look over this if I even decide to accept your offer. I don't want any hidden clauses to come fuck me over."
"You don't trust me? That cuts me deep."
"Of course I don't trust you, you'll probably have an ulterior motive." She gave the contract a little shake. "For all I know, this could be a sex contract," she stated. Images of silken bindings, damp skin and satin sheets cracked through her mind like a bolt of lightening over the Gulf of Mexico. Focus, the little voice muttered in her head.
The wrestler smirked. "I wouldn't need a sex contract to bed you."
She gave a snort. "Is that so?"
Killbane nodded, the heat in his eyes almost impossible to ignore. "You'd come willingly to me my dear, preferably while on your knees."
"And you know that for a fact huh?" the blonde replied, learning forward slightly. She wasn't entirely sure she could take the sexual tension that was bubbling between them much longer.
"I certainly do."
"You'd put money on that?"
His eyes flashed again. "I would. I'd wager I could have you screaming before the nights end."
That was the breaking point.
Her legs suddenly moved beneath her and the Boss stood up, unable to take any more consuming heart. She was all too aware of the dull throbbing in her core. This man was getting her off by his words alone and it frustrated her to know that she'd have to go home and deal with the problem herself. Bastard.
Killbane followed her up from the table then closed the small gap between them, as if he realised she was suddenly about to bolt. Russet coloured eyes looked down at her, pinning the blonde with his intense, ardent stare. Before she could say anything else, the wrestler placed a hand on her neck then leaned down and slanted his mouth right across hers in a positively crushing kiss. She felt her heart stop then roar to a start again. His tongue and teeth worked together, completely robbing her of any resistance. A moan escaped the Boss's throat and suddenly, her hands had a mind of their own. They reached up and fisted the lapels of his suit, desperately trying to pull him closer. He was so much taller than her – even when she was in heels – that she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him. A broad hand slipped around the small of her back, holding her there against his expansive frame as his mouth worked against hers in a mind-melting mess. God, he tasted as she imagined he would – hot and heavy with a hint of cinnamon from the coffee he had just finished drinking. Undoubtedly masculine.
After what seemed like an eternity, the Boss pulled back for air but didn't manage to get very far since Killbane's hold on her didn't loosen one bit. "Your place or mine?" she asked, not bothering to elaborate. She didn't need to. They both knew exactly what they wanted, what they needed.
His hand curled further around her possessively, stroking the fabric of her dress. "Mine, unless you're feeling adventurous. I could have you right here, right now on this very table but the manager might not be too happy," Killbane rumbled in that deep voice that made her legs shake. No one she knew had a voice like that. It sent chills down her very spine.
Keeping his hand pressed against the hot skin of her back, he lead her back through to the restaurant. She avoided the stares of the other diners, keeping her eyes trained purely upon the glass door. She need not have bothered. The mere presence of Killbane kept the diners from staring over long.
Once they were out in the warm, Steelport night air, Killbane reached down and slammed his mouth against hers again. The Boss's breath hitched in her throat as his tongue coiled around her own. A broad hand tangled itself into her blonde mane, tilting her head for better access. There was nothing gentle about his administrations. Nothing at all. The wrestler bit and nibbled her lips, leaving them throbbing. He was all power, strength and passion; a combination that she found incredibly attractive. "That dress, my Little Icarus, is utterly maddening," Killbane murmured as he broke away. He stroked the fleur-de-lis tattoo imprinted on her neck and her pulse rate quickened in response.
"Do you think I should lose it?" the blonde breathed, her hands tightening on his suit.
Killbane let out a sound that she could only liken to as a growl. "Yes. But not here. Come, your chariot awaits."
The Boss looked over her shoulders. Sure enough, there was a sleek Syndicate limo waiting on the curb. His large hand enclosed around her small one and the wrestler lead her over to the waiting vehicle. Like the perfect gentleman, he held the door open for her. The little voice in the back of her head tried to interject reason but she refused to listen. She'd been listening to that same little voice for years and it had not gotten her anything but loneliness. It stopped her from pursuing Carlos. It stopped her from pursuing Johnny. She had finally met someone she wanted so badly it hurt and she didn't even care he was the enemy.
Pushing all hesitation aside, the Boss slid onto the cool, air conditioned back seat of the limo. She smelt the familiar scent of soft leather and suddenly remembered her Neuron parked in the car park. "Oh shit, my car," she exclaimed.
Killbane slid in after her, tossing the briefcase and her clutchbag on the opposite seats. "Relax, I'll have it brought over." He tapped the blackened out window twice and limo rolled off the curb. The Boss barely even registered what happened next. His hands were suddenly on her hips and he pulled the Boss onto his lap, her knees pressing into the warm leather of the seats. Settled upon the wrestler, she could feel him through the fabric of his trousers. The sensation sent a jolt of desire straight into her belly. He kissed her again, claiming her mouth, claiming her entirely. His large hands smoothed over her in fleeting touches, not focusing on anything particular rather just exploring. Her blood hummed with need and another groan escaped her as Killbane started on her throat. She felt wrong, but so good. She slid her hands across the silk of his mask, satisfying an evening long craving. Manicured fingers traced over the studs then ran along the zipper at the back.
Beneath her, Killbane suddenly tensed and he pulled away. The Boss peered at him through hooded eyes. "What's wrong?"
"The mask stays on."
"You wanna fuck me with your mask on?"
"Is that going to be a problem?"
A grin split across her face and the Boss leaned her forearms on his broad shoulders. "No, that's actually unbelievably kinky," she replied before kissing the silken fabric on his forehead. She didn't even care that he wanted to leave his mask on. Fucking a man in a mask would be an all-time first and definitely something to brag about.
The wrestler let out a sound unlike anything she had ever heard before and suddenly, before she take another breath, Killbane reversed their positions. He pressed her into the back seat of the car.. Hot leather merged against equally hot skin. Every single one of her nerves felt so sensitised to the point where she was afraid she would combust any second. Calloused palms ran up her legs, smoothing their way up the back of her calves then to the crease behind her knee. She trembled beneath him – out of need rather than fear – as his fingers brushed up against the hem of her skirt. His eyes caught hers for a brief moment and the Boss was stunned to see such intensity staring back at her. He held her gaze as he slid her dress up inch by agonizing inch. She was suddenly very glad she had decided on wearing some sexy underwear and when Killbane suddenly inhaled sharply, she knew he appreciated what he saw as well.
For a few moments, the masked wrestler didn't do anything. He simply sat there, stroking the flesh at her thighs – as if he couldn't figure out what he wanted to do. Did he really intend to fuck her in the confines of the car as it drove through the city? The idea was wicked and exciting. The Boss opened her mouth to ask him, only for her words to become a strangled cry as his hand slipped up her dress again and into her warm core. Strong fingers pressed and stroked, pushing and filling her at just the right spots to make her cry. God, even his hands were big.
Killbane was relentless, pushing her over the edge again and again with a single hand. The Boss writhed and thrashed and generally forgot all about dignity. She could do nothing but arch against the hot leather, utterly helpless under Killbane's ministrations. Pleasure crashed through her entire body, wave after wave of it. She couldn't remember her own name – much less a time when she had last had it so good. His name escaped her throat in cry more than once. She barely even noticed the increasingly rapid breathing of Killbane himself, she was too caught up in the mind wracking sensations that he was invoking.
After holding her through one last final shudder, the wrestler smoothed her dress back down and pulled away from her as if nothing had happened. The Boss lay against the seat, chest heaving and heart singing. She felt satisfied for the first time in years. "What about you?" she asked, once her breathing had calmed down enough to form a coherent sentence.
Killbane's eyes glittered out from behind his mask and his mouth curled into a jaw-dropping smile. "Don't you worry about me Little Icarus. I'm far from through with you."
And, as if he had planned it to the very second, the car came to suddenly halt. The glittering lights of the 3 Count Casino flashed through the darkened windows. Killbane had taken her right back across the city, far away from her Saints. She knew she should have panicked but for some reason, she didn't. The man had had her utterly helpless in an orgasm induced stupor, yet he made no attempt to harm her. He could have killed her right then and there when her defences were gone, yet he didn't. Did he really have the hots for her or was the seduction all an attempt to win her - and by extension the Saints - over?
A warm hand on the damp, exposed skin of her back jostled her out of her musings. Killbane gave her a gentle push forward and the Boss managed to get out of the limo into the warm night. Her legs wobbled beneath her and the masked wrestler reached a hand out to steady her. "Shit, I can barely stand now. Thanks for that," she remarked.
Killbane chuckled and his mouth dropped down next to the shell of her ear. "I didn't hear you complaining before," he breathed before nipping the junction where shoulder met neck. The Boss shuddered.
"Where the fuck is your room?" she asked, impatient from her desire and need.
"The penthouse suite at the top," he answered. The wrestler took her hand again and lead her up the stairs into the busy casino that was 3 Count. She clung to him, shivering despite the warm Steelport evening air.
The Casino was in full swing at half eight at night. Embracing fully the Luchador spirit, the Casino had been decorated to within an inch of its life by someone who subscribed strongly to the concept that "more was better". Any tackiness passed for ambience. Everything was part of the fun. The citizens of Steelport were eager to pour their money into twinkling slot machines whatever the time was. No one noticed Killbane move through the casino with the small blonde and when they reached the lift, Killbane barked at a passing Luchadore that he didn't want to be disturbed for the rest of the evening. The Luchadore Specialist looked at her curiously and the Boss smiled back knowingly. That's right honey. I'm a Saint and I'm about to fuck your boss.
When the doors of the lift slid close, Killbane didn't waste any time in slipping his large hands onto her hips, pulling her against his frame. The Boss pressed against him, holding onto him tightly as she slid her tongue along the seam of his lips. With his height, it was easy for the wrestler to take control again and his tongue invaded her mouth with an intensity that she had quickly come to expect from him. It made the Boss's senses soar and all thoughts fled from her mind – other than how to get him naked as quickly as possible. Dragging her hands along his strong jaw and down his thick throat, she was met the barrier of his shirt. With quick fingers, she tugged his green silk tie off then casually stuffed it into the pocket of his slacks. "Gods above woman, you are a tease," Killbane hissed.
"And don't you forget it," she breathed back. Killbane gave another deep rumble, his fingers digging into her skin as she started on the buttons. When the blonde eventually worked them free, his hands tightened more; reminding her how gentle he was with her and how much strength he could use if he wanted. The Boss slid her hand down his shirt, feeling his expansive muscles twitch beneath her fingertips. She continued her explorations downward, past the solid stomach and further still to the evident need pressing against the confines of his slacks. Would he even fit? The Boss was very aware she was physically quite small and Killbane was clearly a big fellow. She brushed her hand against him and he responded with a hiss then shoved her against wall of the elevator. "Careful Little Icarus. If you keep this up I might just take you right here instead," Killbane remarked, pressing hard against her that she realised the extent of his arousal.
The very thought made her shake. "God, that would be unbelievable. I wish this elevator hurry up," she hissed to the lift – that seemed to be taking its good sweet time reaching the top.
His mouth dropped to the sensitive spot on the curve of her neck and he bit down hard enough to pull another groan from the Boss. "Patience my dear."
They must have reached the top floor for the Boss heard the high pitched ping and the door hissed open again. His hands slid to her thighs and he lifted her up from the ground as if she weighed nothing. The Boss coiled her legs around the wrestler, not willing to break the contact. Killbane walked into the supremely male domain, the small blonde clinging to his frame.
There was nothing girly about his apartment, no stars or pink or deep cerise to be seen. It was upmarket and expensive and modern in every sense, yet minimalist. The furniture was a combination of sleek black leather, cool metallic grey and deep, dark green fabrics with paintings lining the walls. In a mounted cabinet next to the spanning flat screen, gold and silver trophies winked out at her.
She didn't get much chance to admire his collection further for the wrestler was carrying her through to the master bedroom with single minded determination. He opened the door one handed then kicked it shut again with a booted heel before he set her down. God, this was it.
No restaurant. No restraint.
Killbane went for her throat – literally. The wrestler tangled his hand through her blonde curls and tilted her head so he could caress her windpipe. His tongue found the spot of skin that throbbed from her rapid pulse and the Boss groaned again. If he kept it up, she'd come apart before she even reached the bed. Killbane caught her mouth again in a scorching kiss before he finally started on the zipper on her short dress. Fingers found the small zip at the back and in one swift movement, he jerked it down. The dress dipped forward, exposing skin and chest and purple lace. Killbane growled in appreciation as he ran his thumbs over the purple fabric. Her lungs tightened beneath her chest as his fingers pushed beneath the lace to the sensitive bud below. He toyed with her flesh, calloused fingers pebbling the skin there. Another surge of molten lust and pleasure rushed through her belly.
"Did Johnny Gat ever do this to you?" he growled over her ear.
She squirmed against him, breath coming in short pants. "No."
He squeezed again, swirling her with the rough pads of his thumb. "Has anyone?"
"Not in a long time. Killbane, please just fuck me already," she choked, too aroused to even feel embarrassed.
He didn't respond verbally. Instead, he bunched up the fabric around her hips and pulled the garment over her head, tossing it to the floor. She felt the sudden rush of air hit her but didn't feel the chill for Killbane gathered her up in his arms. His hands dropped down to her back and they both froze suddenly as he brushed against a mess of scarring. It started beneath her rib cage and stretched around to the small of her back in an ugly, uneven mark. A memento from her shadier, Stilwater days.
"Who did this?" Killbane asked, his voice dark and deadly as he traced the edges of the scar. For some reason, his tone only aroused her more.
Jyunichi's sword flashed in her memory. "Some asshole Ronin in Stilwater got too close once," she replied, keeping her tone casual. She didn't want to relive that fight. Even just thinking about it made her scar ache.
"Is he dead?" His hands tightened on her back.
"Yeah."
"Good, I would have crushed his skull beneath my boot if he wasn't."
The Boss felt her heart swell beneath her chest with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She pulled him down for another kiss that was more in gratitude than lust. They tumbled across the room with hot, tangled tongues, leaving a trail of shed clothing in their wake. When Killbane finally hilted into her fully, the Boss almost cried with intense, mind shattering relief. The wrestler filled her completely, satisfying that empty longing that she hadn't even know existed until it suddenly wasn't there anymore. They moved together in perfectly synchronisation, rolling around on his expansive bed. He knew exactly where to kiss to make her scream, as if he had been her lover for years rather than only a few hours.
When it was finally over, they lay together in the bed sheets, bodies sweating and skin cooling. Every single nerve and muscle ached in a truly satisfying way. It had been a while and Killbane wasn't gentle - not that she would have had it any other way. She was content to draw patterns on Killbane's broad chest, marvelling at the hard muscles. The wrestler dozed in and out of sleep, as men tended to do after sex. "Shaundi and Pierce are probably going crazy right now since I haven't phoned them," the Boss remarked, trailing a finger down his stomach muscles.
"You always keep them informed on your sexual exploits?" the wrestler asked, cracking one eye open.
"No but I was going out for dinner with a former enemy. They probably reckon that you've taken me hostage or killed me," replied the Boss. She needed to call them – Pierce at least since he probably wouldn't freak out nearly as badly as Shaundi would. The Boss could just hear the tirade in her head already.
Killbane, however, had different ideas. His thick arm around her tightened when she made an attempt to try and wriggle away from him. "I like this hostage idea. It has potential," he replied, his large hand running down the curve of her hipbone.
The Boss shivered. "Still, I really should phone them." She reached for the handset on the beside table only to be rolled back under the masked wrestler, her lips once more engulfed by Killbane's mouth.
The telephone lay forgotten.
Whew! That took forever. I literally couldn't do any course work until I finished it because it was just distracting me too much. There's some parts I don't like but I'm fed up staring at it. Oh man, Killbane is really hard to write! I couldn't put many mythology references in without making it seem too odd.