Tyger Stripes

I don't own Victor Creed, thank god. I am not sure I would want to own his sick mind. Marvel Entertainment, Inc and Fox Entertainment can have him. I just want him to get out of my head.

Chapter 1 The Cat and the Canaries

He watched as she walked into the bar. Even through the one way glass he could smell her fear. He watched as she sat at the appointed table, her eyes shifting around the room, trying to find him. He never met with clients, but she didn't know that. Never spoke to them. That is what he had a mouthpiece for. Today, it was Trina; she could sense electronics, any electronics no matter how well hidden. He didn't trust this score, something felt off about it. He wanted to make sure she wasn't wired.

Trina walked to the table, without even a glace to the bar he was sitting behind. The bartender didn't even know he was here. He was keeping a low profile. He knew he shouldn't take this score, but frankly, the bloodlust was getting high, and a good, easy score would help, especially if he could bathe in the blood. He could hear everything that was being said at the table.

"Who are you?" The client asked.

"Don't worry about it." Trina replied. "Listen up; I am only going to say this once. You tell me what you want, I tell him. He tells me how much, I tell you. Half up front, you will receive instructions on what to do about the second half after the job is done." Trina's voice was pitched low, nice. She came in handy for a few things, that girl, but this was where her value was really placed, she could handle the clients.

"Here." The client passed a piece of paper across the table. Alarm bells started going off in his head. No trails, that's how he liked it. Paper left trails. Trina left the paper on the table, and looked at it.

"Turn it over." She said to the client. The young woman complied. Trina wasn't dumb. He might actually let her live a while, when he was done here. He never liked leaving loose ends.

"Ok, I'll take him the information. Stay here. Order a beer, and relax." Trina stood up and walked back across the bar to the staircase. Misdirection, it was the name of the game. He watched the client. The waitress came up, and she ordered a glass of wine. She didn't follow instructions well. When the wine arrived she drank half the glass in one gulp, her fear radiating off of her. He heard a door open behind him.

"Target is a white male, middle age, probably politically connected; name is Ashcroft, David Ashcroft." She waited. If he asked for more, she had the information, he knew it. But he didn't need more. Ashcroft was an ass, rich but an ass. Questions started to form in his mind but he let them go. He didn't want those answers.

"Is she wired?"

"No. Scared as shit, but no wire, I think it is legit."

"Twenty grand. Ashcroft will be an easy target."

"Ten by tomorrow, or now?" Trina asked.

"By tomorrow." He was watching her twirl her wine glass. He didn't think she had the ten grand. Probably was just hoping for a simple hit. He wasn't a simple man, no matter what people thought of him. He would have fun with Ashcroft. He hated that son of a bitch.

Trina walked up to the table and sat down again.

"He said, twenty, ten by tomorrow. You come back here, give it to me. I will contact you for the other ten after it is done. Take it or leave it."

He watched the blood drain out of her face. He knew it; she didn't have the cash to back it up. The thought of doing Ashcroft made him consider doing the job for free, for all of a second. He had his standards, and pro bono wasn't one of them.

"Ok, I'll have it by tomorrow." What? She couldn't have that kind of cash.

"Cash." Trina said.

"Ok." Trina stood up, leaving the table. The woman sat there a few moments, gulped down the last of the bad wine, and stood up to leave. He could see her reach into her wallet, and saw just how little there was in it. She dropped the last of her bills on the table, for a tip, and with shoulders slumped walked out the door. He stood up and climbed the ladder to the roof behind him. He wanted answers, something about this wasn't right.

He caught her scent immediately. She was walking down the dingy street below him. He followed along the roofline, never letting her out of his sight. A cold winter mist started to fall, and he watched as she crossed her arms across her chest, with her hands under her arms for warmth. Didn't she even have a coat? She came to a cross street and took a left, he jumped across the roofline and kept following her. She stopped at a dingy apartment building, and pulled a key out of her purse. He sat down and watched the building. It was an old building, with four apartments in it. He could tell two were occupied. A light came on in the third and he watched her as she entered the kitchen. There were three windows he could watch her through, on the front of the building.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of wine. He watched her pull a glass out of the sink and wipe it out with a paper towel before pouring it full to the rim. She wasn't feeling good about what she was doing, or there was something else going on. She pulled the piece of paper she had shown Trina out of her pocket and put it on the fridge. It was a picture of Ashcroft, from the newspaper. She turned her back on the kitchen and carrying the bottle and her glass went into the bedroom. He heard water start and knew this was his chance to get closer. He slipped down the fire escape of the building he was on, and across the street. There was no one around to see him, as he slipped up the escape on the building.

Her apartment was on the top floor. He heard the water shut off in the bathroom and her sigh as she toweled off. He used his claws in the stonework of the building to climb down so he could look in the window. There was a ledge he could rest on as he watched her. She came out of the bathroom wrapped in a large towel, hair wet from her shower. She still smelled of fear, and that was bothering him. He watched as she dropped the towel on the bed, and opened a drawer in the dresser next to her, her back to the window. She pulled out a pair of panties, and a night shirt. He watched as she slipped the panties over one foot, and then the other and pulled them up, smoothing them over her ass, the satin snug. He smiled at some of the things he could do to an ass like that, and then shook his head. Not tonight. She was the client, she was paying him, but someday, someday she might be a target, and then he could have his fun.

She pulled the night shirt on over her head, and then crossed to the closet. She reached up, the night shirt riding up, showing the curve of her ass in those satin panties again. She pulled down a box, and then sat on the end of the bed. He could see the box held papers, and several smaller boxes. She pulled out one of the smaller boxes, square and flat, with hinges and a clasp on the front. It looked like an expensive jewelry box. This woman was hiding something. She opened the box, but he couldn't see what was in it from this angle. He watched as a tear slid from her eye and down her cheek, as she closed the box. She reached out, almost blindly and grabbed the still full glass of wine, and drained it in a single gulp.

"Sorry, mom." She whispered, as she set the square box on the table next to the bed, then closed the larger box and put it back in the top of the closet. She climbed between the covers of the bed, poured herself another glass of wine, opened a pill bottle next to the bed and popped two pills in her mouth and drained the glass. He climbed up to the roof. She would sleep all night with what she took. Those were high powered sleeping pills he had smelled.

He sat up on the roof of her building all night, waiting to see what would happen. The next morning she came out early, and started walking down the street, he followed her, staying to the roof lines. She started hitting every pawn shop in the run down part of town where she lived. Each time she left one, she was more depressed and afraid. Finally he slipped down to the street level and watched as she entered another shop. He stood near the back door of the shop, to overhear what was being said inside.

"Sorry, I don't deal with that kind of merchandise."

"Please, you could sell it for ten times what I am asking."

"Not here I can't; and I ain't going to risk trying to sell it uptown; too many questions, girly."

"Do you know of anyone who might be interested?"

"Nope. That's really specialized merchandise. Take it uptown yourself."

"Thanks." She really was sounding depressed, desperate.

He waited for her to leave the store, and then followed her, staying well back. She entered another store, and he heard almost the identical conversation. What was she trying to sell? His curiosity was piqued. She had to have hit fifteen pawn shops, and no one would touch what was in the box. He stayed in the alley, watching as she passed by. Her brow was furrowed, fear and desperation practically gagged him, and she reeked of them. He made a decision, climbed the building and ran three rooftops down and jumped down into the alley there.

"Hey." He said as she passed by.

She jumped. He stepped out of the alley into the light. He was dressed in a T shirt, jeans, and boots, nothing spectacular, but he knew he was intimidating to say the least.

"I seen ya go inta several shops, you tryin ta sell somethin?" He asked.

"Yea, but no one is buying."

"You need the cash?"

"Yea."

"Let me take a look, I might be able to help." He didn't know if she was desperate enough to take him up on it, but if she was, that would give him a big clue. She pulled the box out of her purse and walked closer to him. She flipped the clasp and opened the box. Inside was a matching set of true canary yellow diamond earrings with the matching pendant all set in pure platinum. The stones had to be five or six carats each. These weren't the new irradiated shit that jewelry stores were trying to pawn off as natural yellow diamonds, these were the real McCoy. She had close to a million dollars in that box, and was trying to sell it in pawnshops.

"What are you asking for them?" He asked her.

"Twenty thousand."

"Sweetie, those are worth a hell of a lot more than that." He said.

"I know, but I need the cash."

He didn't know why he did it, maybe he did. That was a hell of a lot more than he was charging her inside that box. Maybe it was the desperation, maybe it was her liquid brown eyes, tears barely contained, or the quiver of her pink lips, but he found himself saying the words.

"Thirty grand, no less."

She looked up at him. He could see suspicion in her eyes. "Meet me at the corner of Fifth and Hudson in an hour, I'll have the cash."

"Ok."

She turned and walked away, slipping the box back into her purse. There was definitely more to this score than met the eye. He climbed back up the building and made his way back to his office. He opened the safe and pulled out three bricks of hundred dollar bills. Hell, he would make ten times this easy on the diamonds alone, and get to kill Ashcroft in the bargain. Something was still gnawing at him about this. He needed more details.

She was waiting at the corner, leaning on a lamp post, looking around, waiting for him to approach. He watched her from the roof. Her short hair blew loosely in the rising wind, she still didn't have a coat, and the temperature was dropping, again. He dropped to the ground in the alley behind her, where she wouldn't see, and stepped quietly out into the foot traffic. This was a busy corner, an easy place to meet up with someone, but far enough away from any real business districts that no one paid any attention to what was going on around them.

"Behind you." He said softly from the other side of the post.

She turned around, looking up at him. He held his hand palm down, the three bricks fitting easily in his hand. She took them, and handed him the box. He snapped it open to see the canaries laying there, just to make sure, and then nodded at her. She gave him a weak smile and whispered "Thank you."

"You better get someplace off the street." He said, pocketing the box. He pushed off the post, and walked away, his ears on her, listening for movement. He heard a quiet sob, and then her feet hurrying away. He ducked back into the alley and climbed back up to follow her. He followed her all the way back to her apartment building. She went straight to her kitchen and pulled out the three bricks. She counted it, twice, and then lay her head down on her arms on the table, and sobbed. He watched as her back heaved, fear was still rampant in her scent. He had thought the money would ease that, if anything it made it worse. Damn his curiosity. Now he had to know why? Why did she want Ashcroft dead so badly? She didn't seem the type. She wasn't hard, she wasn't cold, and she wasn't the type of woman to hire a killer. Why was she so desperate?

He waited until she left to go to the bar, and slipped into her apartment. He pulled the box down from the closet, the one she had been hiding the diamonds in. Inside were newspaper clippings. First, a case about ten years ago, an eight year old girl, found dead, no witnesses, no clues. She had been violently raped, but nothing ever came of the case. There was another clipping, from six months ago, stating the case was still open, with no suspects.

Two obituaries, a man and a woman in their late fifties, died on the same day, and a newspaper story about a murder suicide, the woman had shot her husband, and then herself. In the obituaries, one surviving daughter was mentioned. He was getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. In the bottom of the box was a file, neatly organized, all the case information from both cases, all the evidence, all the crime scene photos, all the theories and suspicions written down, and one name, one name kept coming up, David Ashcroft. He looked at the bottom of the file where most police files have a chain of custody receipt, because that is what it was. Detective Amy Southerland, Homicide Division, checked out two months ago.

In the bottom of the box was a badge, a gun, an extra clip, a set of cuffs, and a photo, about ten years old, of his client as a teen age girl, a younger girl, and two smiling adults. It was a vacation picture, and the whole family looked happy. He knew, he didn't need to ask, he knew why. Why a cop would hire a killer. He put everything back, and then decided against it, he pulled the file out of the box. He wasn't going to let her get away with this. She would pay, and pay the price he asked, for him to do her dirty work. His lips curled into a snarling smile. Yes he could think of lots of things he could do with an ass like that.

He slipped into his office, behind the mirror behind the bar. She was sitting at the table, waiting. Trina was sitting in his office when he opened the door.

"Price has changed, tell her that." He said as he sat down.

"To what?"

"I'll name it myself." Trina looked at him in shock. He never met clients face to face.

"Just show her this, and tell her the price has changed." He handed Trina a piece of paper out of the folder in his hand. It was the chain of custody receipt. "Don't read it. Don't look at it. I'll know, and you don't want to defy me Trina." He growled at her, showing his fangs. Trina was useful, but he didn't want her getting to think he wouldn't punish her for the slightest indiscretion.

"She will ask what next."

"Tell her you will take her to meet me. Use the Gable Street office. I will meet you there." He stood up, the file still clutched in his hand. Trina left, and he opened the safe. He put the square box inside. He still didn't know what he was going to do with those, but tonight was going to be interesting. He felt a low rumble in his chest, and realized it was laughter. He felt his body tingle with anticipation. Lust or bloodlust it didn't matter. He would satisfy both tonight.

"Damn frail cop." He muttered as he closed the office door. His eyes glinted, like steel. She would definitely pay his price. If there was one thing he hated more than a dirty cop, it was a desperate one. They were dangerous, to him, to what he did. She would pay; the diamonds were just the beginning.

He made it to Gable Street before Trina and the cop. He slipped into suite 213, and into the back office. He kept this place, mostly for meetings with people he knew, but tonight would be the last time he used it. He hated giving it up, it was a sweet setup, but he knew he would be moving on soon anyway. He would take care of this, clean up his loose ends and be on his way, bloodlust satisfied for now, and with any luck, sated physically as well.

He looked around the office. It was quiet, understated, desk, two chairs in front, sofa against a wall, and books in the book case behind the desk. There was even a computer but he never used it. It was all for show, or it had been until now. Tonight, it was for something else. He heard the outer office door open, and Trina and the cop's footsteps. He sat in the chair behind the desk, and turned to face the window, his back to the door. Trina knocked, and then walked in.

"She's here."

"Good, let her wait a moment. Did she say anything?"

"No."

"How did she react?"

"She went pale, and then just nodded. She hasn't said a word since." That was surprising, he had expected something. Maybe she was saving it for him.

"Good work." He reached out and grabbed Trina by the arm, his claws digging into her skin. "I am giving you a choice. You do good work, and you have a useful mutation. You can go where I tell ya, and talk to the people I tell ya to, or you end up like my last assistant." He could smell her fear. He knew she was a smart kid. She would take Erik up on his offer, join the Brotherhood. He put a card in her hand. It had a phone number on it.

"Your choice." She took the card and looked at it. She gulped, and then put the card in her pocket.

"That how I get a hold of Magneto, like ya promised?" She asked. She didn't want to end up like the last assistant; they still hadn't found all of his body parts.

"Yep."

"See ya with the Brotherhood, Creed." Trina said as she walked to the door. He knew that was what she had been wanting, a way in. She was a good kid, or rather a kid in a rough spot, who did what she had to for survival. She would make a good addition to Erik's crusade. He grinned. The fun was just getting started. One loose end down, two to go.

The door opened behind him, and he heard her walk in.

"Detective." He said, growling. He didn't want her to recognize him yet.

"You were in my house." It was said, flatly.

"I don't like questions." He said

"You could have asked, I would have told you."

"More fun this way." He laughed.

Fear was rolling off of her. He knew she was unarmed. The gun was back in her apartment, no stink of gun oil on her.

"What's the price?" Negotiating already, she was impatient.

"I haven't decided." He lied. He knew exactly what he wanted. He could feel the fine hairs on his body begin to stand in anticipation.

"I have the ten thousand." She started.

"I know." He turned around. She gasped at the sight of him.

"Then you have a whole lot more than twenty thousand already." He gave her credit, she didn't tremble, she held her chin defiantly, and anger began to creep in with the fear. Anger and fear were a good combination, now it only needed one more ingredient to throw him over the edge, and he was getting to that.

"Sure do, Darlin. And so do you?" He looked at her through lidded eyes. He had pitched his voice low, with a hit of bass timber, to see how she would react. Yes there it was, faint, but there. Like all women, or at least all the ones he had ever dealt with, that pitch, with that vibration, set them all off. She was getting aroused. He gave her a big grin, fangs glittering in the dim light of the office. Fear, anger, and now arousal, it was going according to plan.

He stood up and walked around the desk, sitting down on the corner, so she could see him clearly. He didn't bother hiding his growing erection. He wanted her to see it. To know what he had in mind, what his price was. Her willing or not he didn't care. Her screaming under him, pleasure or pain it didn't matter. That was his price, and there was no negotiation. She was a frail, disposable, she wanted him to mete out her justice, her revenge, well he would be damned if he wasn't getting a whole lot more than some diamonds and his own twenty grand cash.

She looked him in the eye. He gave her props for that. Good training, or more backbone than he had given her credit for, he didn't care. It made things interesting.

"So what exactly do you want?"

He crooked a taloned finger at her, a half smile on his face, eyes gleaming "You."

She stood her ground, and he laughed. Defiance, that just turned him on more. "Please fight me; please make this hard on yourself. I can't wait to hear you scream." He growled at her. She took a step back as he stood again, towering over her in the small office. She turned to run, but he moved like the cat he was named for, and grabbed her by the waist, throwing her to the ground. His hair had come loose from the pony tail he kept it in, when he was working, and his golden mane flowed over her as he pressed her body to the floor with his. He grabbed both of her hands, capturing them above her head in one of his paws. He gathered the other in the material of her shirt and ripped. No bra, even better. His large hand kneaded one breast, roughly, causing her to whimper in pain.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth with his, swallowing her whimpers as he dug in his claws. He was being careful; he didn't want to draw blood, not yet.

"What's the matter, Amy? Ashcroft's not worth the price." He taunted her. Her eyes flashed steel. He hit a nerve, big time. His face hovered above hers, waiting to see what she would do. Suddenly she lunged up, capturing his mouth with hers. He let her, for a moment, before taking control again. She was willing to pay his price that was interesting. He pulled back on the pain, and began stroking her naked torso under him. Pleasure was good, too. He watched as her eyes melted from rock hard to liquid chocolate. She was enjoying this, almost too much. He let go of her hands and barely lifting his torso off of her, pulled his T shirt off and threw it across the room. He heard her gasp as he laid his fur covered torso back down on her naked flesh. Her hands were still over her head, but she slowly raised them, running her fingers through the fur on his back and sides, as he nipped and licked down the column of her neck. The fear was gone, almost entirely. The anger was there, and desire, but something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I still need some answers." He said against her earlobe, using the timber of his voice to cause her to tremble under him. "Why are you willing to give up everything, even your life, to see Ashcroft dead? You are a cop, and from what I have been able to find out, a damned good one. Wouldn't it be better to make him suffer, use your laws ta get him?" Her hands were combing through his mane, stroking the outer lobes of his ears as she looked him in the eye.

"He raped and murdered my sister, when my parents tried to go after him, he had them killed. I investigated every missing kid, every unsolved rape and homicide trying to find links to that bastard. I put together an air tight case, and the DA wouldn't touch it. I was suspended, for harassing him. He dies, and thirty seven murders get solved, in one stroke. He dies, and thirty seven families get closure. He dies, and I go public, I give the press everything I have on that son of a bitch, to make sure those families know they weren't forgotten." The venom in her voice surprised him, along with the gentleness of her hands. He grinned at her, grinding his hips against hers on the floor, letting her know he hadn't forgotten why they were laying there. "Thirty seven mutant kids." She whispered. He froze.

He rolled off of her, the blood in his veins going from boiling to icy with those four words. SHIT. He didn't know how he was going to handle this. If he followed his plan, she wouldn't be able to do what she wanted. She would be dead. If it had been kids, just normal kids, he wouldn't have cared, he would have just taken her, taken her to death, and then gone for Ashcroft, because he was a bastard and deserved to die. But, she was putting her life on the line for mutants, to avenge mutants against a normal.

She sat up next to him, confusion in her eyes. He looked over at her, frowning. She wasn't trying to cover herself, just looking at him. He didn't care about a whole bunch, hell, the whole mutant issue was a non issue to him, he just went where they money was, but somehow, maybe he had been listening to Erik, maybe he had been listening to that blue asshole from the UN too much, but damn it. Those kids deserved justice. He shook his head. Shit, when did he care about justice?

"If you are going to kill me, the information is in a safety deposit box at First National Bank, with instructions to release it to the press in the event of my death." He knew, he knew she had known what he planned. Her plans were probably in place long before she involved him, or had she known who he was the whole time. The strange scent, the one he couldn't put his finger on, it was resignation. She wasn't afraid of him, because she wasn't afraid to die.

"Why did you wait so long to hire someone? You have known about this for months, you are a cop. You know who is available for hire; you know who would take a job like this."

"I wanted the best."

"No, you wanted to die." He snarled at her. It was strange, but he just didn't feel like being her assisted suicide. "My price, for Ashcroft, is you. You live, you make sure those kids are put to rest. You get vindication, justice for them. But first," He reached out his arm and pulled her against his chest on the floor. "You remember what it is like to live."

He kissed her, demanding she respond to him, his hands tracing her body as he sat up, then stood, carrying her to the sofa. He laid her back, against the cushions, his hands unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them down her long legs. He wasn't gentle with her by any means, she was scored, marked, and bleeding when he was done, but he would be damned if she wasn't smiling in her sleep when he left her on the sofa. He had reminded her that there was life after death, and he hoped she would take that lesson and move on.

He pulled the office door shut, locking it, so no one would disturb her. Two loose ends, hell both still loose, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to tie either one up. First Trina, and now the cop, well at last his bloodlust would be satisfied. He hit the rooftops. He knew exactly where Ashcroft would be, at home, in his fucking penthouse. He made his way across the rooftops, and then dropped to the street level. He was constantly amazed at how easily he could slip, unseen, in spite of his size and appearance. Humans were so gullible. He popped the service entrance door to the building, and climbed the stairs, quietly. He slipped into the service entrance of Ashcroft's penthouse. The asshole was asleep, at his desk. He grinned to himself. Slow, Ashcroft was going to die slow, thirty seven times slow.

He grabbed the balding grey hair, and pulled the sleeping, drooling head up, startling him. He lifted him up by his hair and turned him to face him, Ashcroft's feet dangling from above the floor.

"Do you know who I am?" He said low. "I'm death." He took his other hand and gently traced a line from the bottom of Ashcroft's ribs to the opposite hip bone with the tip of one talon. His guts spilled out of the cut, falling across the floor. He hadn't even screamed yet.

He smiled and grabbed a loop of small intestine. He wrapped it around Ashcroft's neck and tied it, just like a bow tie, and then looped another piece around the hanging chandelier. He pulled, suspending the murdering pedophile by his neck, effectively silencing any screams. He worked on him for hours, not letting him die too quickly, and then pulled out his phone and started snapping pictures. This was art. He wanted to remember what he had done here. He debated sending them to Amy, but decided she had enough demons. He didn't need to add any more.

He slipped out of the building, after using Ashcroft's shower to clean up. No one had seen, no one had heard, but it was time to leave. He went back to his office and cleaned out the safe. The square box rested in his hand. Yes it was time to leave. Maybe Eric had a job for him, something far from this place.

He hated cops, especially desperate ones. But one he hated most of all. Hated because he couldn't kill her, she was in his blood, and the further from this place he got the better, or he would go back. He looked back over his shoulder, the skyline silhouetted in the dawn light, staying here would be stupid and he wasn't stupid, in spite of what everyone thought.