Author's note: Thank you from the bottom of my heart, everyone who is reading this. It brings me joy to bring Lindsay back for another chapter, and I hope you all love reading Vaas's antics as much as I do. Mwah, writer kisses! ~Katie.
"Thus Wendy first laid eyes on the dark figure who haunted her stories. She saw the piercing eyes, and was not afraid, but entranced."
Wendy upon seeing Captain Hook, Peter Pan (2003)
The last thing Lindsay expected was for the man to keep his promise. Promises and pirates did not seem to coincide very well on this island.
Yet, insert Zelda tune here, da-da-da-daaa!, here he was, standing in the doorway looking like he had fought to hell and back, battle worn and blazing. That solid of a layer of dirt and blood on any human being would generally make anyone (especially Lindsay, who believed that showering with a loofah was a daily necessity) flinch in disgust; however, the look on his face said that there were more important things to be worried about than personal hygiene, so she sucked it up and kept her eyes trained on him as he came into the room.
She knew she should've been caught off guard by his jackal-esque smile and his unwavering stare, both of which contradicted one another, but at this point, she (falsely) believed that there was little to nothing he could do to surprise her anymore. So when he sat down in front of her, legs crossed Indian-style, and looked at her pointedly as if he expected her to start talking, she just did.
"So…" Awkward. "What's your name?" she asked, not bothering with ceremony. He had said this was so she could ask questions, and he'd be damned if he went back on that one. She figured she'd start out with the basics and work her way up from there.
"Vaas Montenegro," He answered her, sounding like a young boy in class, over-annunciating each syllable as he reached down into his pocket and pulled out a small knife. Lindsay visibly tensed, but decided to keep going.
"I know I'm on Rook, but where on Rook? Any specific place?"
"In my camp." He was now dragging the knife back and forth across the flooring, scratch, scrape, she saw the lines carving into it, making a lopsided signature. "Also, if you don't stop boring the shit out of me, I'm going to find something much more entertaining to do than answering your stupid questions."
Gah. "Er, why am I here?"
He paused, his expression changing from bored as hell to interested in a manner of seconds. "Ah. Now there, there's a damn good one."
Nonchalantly, he flicked his wrist and sent the knife whistling through the air; she jolted, her breath hitched. It hit the wall a hairs length from her head with a resounding chnk , wobbling before growing still, embedded about an inch or so into the wood. She let go of the air trapped in her chest with a sigh of relief when she realized she wasn't getting stabbed today (yet, knock on wood).
She waited for him to answer the question. He didn't. He just sat there, staring at her with the same expectancy as he had before. She coughed uncomfortably and waited for a response, but it never came. What, was he expecting praise for the nice knife throw or something? Well fuckery, he could have some, hidden under four layers of pure sarcasm and terror.
"You know, you're a pretty scary guy, Vaas Montenegro." Lindsay essentially forced herself to laugh (a horrible awkward-teenager-at-the-mall kind of laugh that made her cringe with its carefree sound) and make her eyes meet his. Imagine he didn't kill anyone, Lins. Imagine you just met him here, you have no idea who he is or what he does. Imagine he's just a man with a fake gun and a butter knife and a really sweet personality underneath all that shit. Act your fucking guts out. I mean, that's what-
"-you gotta do, if something horrible ever happens. Just act like the Dickens and you'll get out fine. If someone ever tries to hurt you, remember: if they like you, there's a much bigger chance they won't hurt you."
"Really?" Wide-eyed, nine-years-old Lindsay was asking her, impressed with the very idea of lying like that. School taught her that lying was bad, but obviously, it could be used for good, too. Her own good. "Could I really be like that? As good of an actress as you, momma?"
Her mother laughed. "Of course. You got my genes, right? You'll learn to do it just fine. Just smile that cute little smile of yours, and you'll be okay."
"Tell me something, Lindsay, my princess. What would you kill for right now?"
His voice rang through her thoughts. She snapped back and repeated the question in her head.
She knew she should've thought out her response a little more carefully. But her mother's words, act, act, were still ringing through her head, clearer than day. So she turned to him, her smile wide and deliberate, and jokingly said:
"A shower."
"I was not being serious, Mr. Montenegro."
"I know. That's why this is so fucking hilarious."
Lindsay felt something being pressed into her hand; she couldn't see through the blindfold he had slipped on her, but she knew the feel of a gun and immediately recoiled. He pushed it harder, forced her fingers around it, held her arms out straight and tensed. She heard gasping near her, like someone who had been sobbing for a long time, and forced herself to ignore it.
She continued trying albeit her panic rising. "Please. I can't see. I don't want anyone getting hurt, not even you, V-,"
And just like that, the blindfold was ripped off her head. Perfect timing, this fucking pirate. She blinked, dizzy in the sudden sunlight; they were standing near the north end of the camp (or so she guesstimated), right by the dense treeline. She scanned around her quickly for any chance of escape (of course, there were none; pirates crawling out the wazoo left and right) before refocusing her eyes on what was in front of her. Or, more specifically, who.
It was a man, skinny and tanned, about forty years of age, and wearing the stereotypical mud-stained Hawaiian-print shirt and khakhis that made her cringe with how bloody they were. His hair was a light sandy brown with a few grays poking through, grown out so it hung messily around his ears, and his eyes were brownish , too, though puffy and swollen; he must've been the one crying. She knew he looked vaguely familiar, though there was no name jumping to her head. Probably one of the many dragged off her father's ship, no doubt, another random soul to meet his end on this hellhole of an island.
What Lindsay didn't get was why the man's face changed from pathetic to absolutely horrified when he looked up and saw her.
"Something on her face, hermano?" Vaas asked, pulling the gun out of her hands just as quickly as he had placed it in them. Sauntering over to the knelt man, he nudged his head with the barrel and said "Well, start explaining. She doesn't have all day. Actually," he cocked it and put it to the captive's head, "neither do you."
The man sputtered for a moment, then grew silent, shaking his head. Lindsay knew that look; she had seen it in every good slasher film from the nineties. It was being frightened beyond the point of words. Next to him, much less empathetic, Vaas rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Talk, or I will shoot you like the fucking animal you are," he said harshly, poking the gun barrel repeatedly into the man's cheek, almost comically. Crouching down, the pirate spoke right into the man's ear; Lindsay had to stress her hearing to catch what he was saying. "What kind of man does that, anyway, hm? Takes such a young little chica, so pretty, so helpless, onto an island filled with fucking pirates who probably wanna fuck her or kill her. Or both." His eyes glanced over to hers; but mainly the first one, they said. Fuck all, she was blushing. "Just to use her as collateral for his own bullshit mistake? That's not fair, hermano. That's just not fair."
"Wait," Lindsay said quietly, not quite understanding. "Collateral? The fuck does that mean?"
Vaas laughed. "You're adorable when you swear." He nudged the man again, harder. "Go on. Tell the princesa the definition of collateral, please."
The man took a shaky breath and, shrinking away from the pistol, finally managed to choke out: "I'm so sorry, Lindsay, you've got to understand. Th-this wasn't our idea at all. Just please, please don't let him kill m-!"
"Shut the fuck up," Vaas barked in warning, finger hovering on the trigger, squeezing the air in front of it. The man balked, jerked away, but Vaas held him roughly in place. "Do not beg for her forgiveness, cocksucker, you do not deserve it. Now keep going."
Quaking, the man continued, his head trained on the ground and avoiding her gaze. "I…I'm Leonard. Leo, remember? The captain of the ship, the Angelica, when we, your dad's..." Oh, so that was where he was from. He was the fucking captain of the ship she was yanked off a few days back. She had never caught sight of him on that particular cruise, seeing as probably he spent most of it shut below deck (where Lindsay hated, because it smelled like wet dog and/or wet drugs, which were both just as bad on their own and even worse together), but she had seen him talking with her father many times before on the few trips she had tagged along on.
Suspicious, but calm, she listened as he went on: "He… he was supposed to send more (here he said a word in Thai that Lindsay couldn't make out, but she's banking that it stood for either heroin or cocaine), a lot more with his last shipment here. But he couldn't get the extra in on time, and he still took the money for the full deal. When these people found out and called him again, they said they were going to…" He shuddered, attempting to leave the rest to imagination. But his captor wasn't having it.
"Come up to his little Thailand operation and put lead in his family, his crew, everyone." Moving the gun up to his own head, Vaas pretended shoot himself in the temple. "Bang, boom, done. Bloody fucking mess. That is, unless we got something to tide us over till we got our end of the deal."
"So… Wait, what you're saying is…" Lindsay's eyes suddenly flashed with understanding. No. That couldn't be it, though. She knew about what happened here on this island, she's heard from all the men about how they sell people, and her father was always a desperate whining piece of fucking shit but there was no way he could have sent her here knowin-
He totally did.
"…He sent me here to pay it off?"
She expected him to deny it fervently. But, with the expression of a man accepting his fate, the captain nodded. "We were told to send girls. They never told us why, but we knew what kind of business they do here on Rook. We figured that once the money was paid they would give you and Miranda back. That's what they told us, Lindsay, that's what they promised."
But Lindsay had already stopped listening. Instead she was seeing red.
Collateral. Definition: pledging property to a lender in order to secure repayment of a debt. Property. Fucking property. She was not property, no, she was no one's to buy and sell, not even her goddamn douchebag of a father.
Hell, this wasn't even her fucking job! And he had the balls to send her out here without telling her he was more or less selling her body to some psychotic fucks. 'Never told us why' her ass, by the way; what else were a group of violent slave trafficking men gonna to do with a girl in a place like this? That was not fair. That was not fair. Not to her, not fair to the crew, and again, not fair to her, which was the most important part.
Family comes first her ass, too.
I mean, what kind of father does that? Lindsay's jaw clenched, staring at the man and suddenly seeing her dad in his place, kneeling before her, begging for forgiveness. Looking fucking pathetic as always. What kind of spine do you have to lose to think sending your daughter into Hell was fucking worth it? This is really the lowest of the low, and I've had nineteen years to see a lot of shit. I mean, if mom had been here…
Lindsay shook that thought off. That was stupid. Mom wasn't there. Mom isn't here. Still, she squeezed on the trigger that was no longer in her hand tightly. She was so, so very angry.
"See, now, that was a promise I was gonna break the second your ship hit the island," Vaas cut into her thoughts again, as he was apt to do, walking back over to her with a concerned expression, "Until we decided that the price of your papa's business was more than just two fucking girls. So we're gonna be keeping you all saaafe and sound until he gets back to us with that cash. And we all live happily ever after."
He resumed his place behind her, wrapped her fingers around the gun once more, and pointed it straight at the captain's forehead. "So here's your chance, princesita. You can put a bullet in the guy who aimed the gun at you in the first place, free of charge."
Without hesitation, her hand clenched around the metal without his help. But she didn't pull the trigger. She wanted to, so badly, but couldn't. Not until she gave herself a proper excuse.
"This man…" she asked without looking at the man who no doubt felt the shift in her arm as she gripped the gun on her own, "Is he going to die here anyway? I mean, is he important to my father's business?"
Vaas inhaled slowly, and then answered. "Absolutely not. This fucker's gonna bleed anyw-"
She felt each muscle individually contract as her finger pulled the trigger. She felt the bang; her arms would've buckled on their own had she not steeled herself against the force a moment before. She expected a huge spray of blood to pop out from the back of his head; instead, there was only a fine mist of red and a few chunks of bluish… eugh that seeped out and settled onto the grass behind him. Not wanting to look at the gore for a second more, she closed her eyes, tight. Took a deep breath. Tried to dissociate.
But she couldn't block out the man beside her.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" she heard Vaas mumble in her ear, letting the gun slip back into his grip as her hands shook.
She nodded stiffly. "Yeah."
It was the most convincing lie she had told yet, mainly because it wasn't really a lie at all. She knew it. And, from the way he pulled away, unquestioning, so did he.
Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" stuck firmly in her head the entire walk back. And no matter how hard she tried, no matter how many songs she conjured up to block it out, it simply wouldn't fucking unstick. The entire situation seemed bizarrely casual, the happy tune plucking its way through her brain, she just shot a man, and nothing made sense anymore.
Because it wasn't guilt she felt. It wasn't horror from seeing someone's insides hit the jungle floor.
It was just how fucking easy that was. And how good that bang felt in her elbows. How genuinely nice it was to see that split second shock on the face of a man who had screwed her ass over. Almost the same expression as a dying buck, she thought.
Lindsay remembered how great she felt the first time she took down her first hunting kill, out in the woods with her father back when they lived in the states. A feeling of vengeance, she recalled, for her mother's near death in that stupid car accident which seemed like forever ago.
This felt no different. The deer would've died anyway. Mercy killing, she thought. It was just a mercy killing.
She heard Vaas laugh for the hundredth time this afternoon as he strolled leisurely beside her; she was wondering if she was really that fucking funny, or if he was just really easily amused. He was studying her expression closely, and for a moment, she swore he could read her mind, because the look he gave back simply said, no, no it wasn't, you sick, twisted little cosita!
As he walked her into the familiar cabin that had been her home for the past few days, he pulled her close and gave her the gentlest kiss Lindsay ever thought possible from a man like him on her forehead, just above her right eyebrow. She leaned into it, only a little, and didn't flinch when he wiped away the single tear that had escaped from her eye with his thumb. "Good job, princesa," he whispered softly, fingers smoothing down her hair. "Good job."
As he left, he stopped in the doorway, glanced over his shoulder, and added: "I'll get you that shower by tomorrow, ja?"
She waited until he was shutting and locking the door behind him to sink back down to the splintery floor, motionless, exhausted, thoughtful, and oh so satisfied.
Today was the first real day of Lindsay's two-week vacation on Rook Island. And boy, was she already having fun.
