Trinity
Chapter 9: The Devil Himself

A/N: Sorry for the mix up in the last few chapters, you guys. Chapter 8 got posted twice, so if you were confused, I apologize for that. Hopefully, we're back on track now.


"Where have you been?"

Randy looked up from the script he'd been perusing, more irritated by the accusatory tone than surprised. "What? I'm early," he stated, checking his watch just to be sure.

But Edge just shook his head. Pairing up with Orton hadn't been his idea. In fact, he'd been adamantly against it when Vince proposed the idea. Not because the younger superstar wasn't incredibly talented, but because he was a shifty, entitled asshole. He had been born into the business, unlike some of them who actually had to work for their positions on the roster. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't opposed to knocking a guy out for real in the ring. He was dangerous, and Edge didn't care for dangerous. Not when there was so much opportunity for injury in their business to begin with.

"We had a signing in Berkley two days ago. I been callin' you for three." With his hands on his trim hips, Edge waited for Randy's response, knowing full-well that he probably wouldn't have one. He never had an answer. Or, if he did, he didn't feel the need to share it. "Look," he stated when Randy shrugged and went back to reading his script, "we don't have to like each other here," he motioned with his head to the backstage area, "but out there, we're partners. A team. You might not give a damn about our fans, but it's your job to give them what they want. And they want to see us together."

Randy didn't even try to fight the roll of his eyes. When Vince had told him that he was going to be teaming up with Edge, he'd been happy about it, actually. On screen, Edge was one of the most vicious of all competitors. He would be able to get away with a lot more violence and destruction than he'd been able to accomplish on his own. It was a win for his career, and Randy couldn't deny that.

What he hadn't been ready for was the fact that Edge seemed to think that he was Randy's father. Always giving him advice, telling him how to best represent the company, how to cater to his audience. As if the fans would stop buying his gear just because he didn't show up at one signing. Like they would stop watching him on television because he ignored them in a hotel lobby.

"Dude, relax," Randy laughed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I had some stuff to take care of. It's taken care of. Move on," he advised, the cell phone in his pocket vibrating against his hip. Withdrawing it, he smirked and held up a finger. "Hey, man, what's up?" He listened for a moment and then disconnected the call and tucked a hand into his pocket. Without another word, he turned on his heel.

But Edge wasn't done. He'd had enough of being blown off by a punk-ass kid who, as far as he was concerned, didn't deserve to lace the boots of most of the guys in the locker room. "Don't you fuckin' walk away from me, Orton."

Randy just shook his head, one hand gripping his rolled up script as the other tucked easily into his back pocket. Edge thought he was hot shit because he was a veteran. He thought that his word meant something. He thought that he was the reason they were a successful tag team. He thought his opinion mattered. It was almost funny to Randy the way some guys acted like they were in some position of power around the company.

A heavy hand rested on Edge's shoulder as he seethed after the retreating form of his partner. Turning his head, he relaxed slightly as the hulking figure of Taker lumbered just behind him. "Dude, how do you hang with him?" he asked.

"He's not all bad," Taker answered with a slight smile. Or the closest thing to a smile he ever gave. "Can I give ya some advice?"

Edge nodded, seemingly eager to soak in the knowledge from his older, wiser counterpart. He wasn't the biggest guy on the roster, and he didn't have a huge arsenal of high-flying or power moves. But he had respect. Respect for the business, and for the guys who made it what it was. Anything Taker could give him, he would use to his every advantage. "Of course."

Clearing his throat, Taker stepped to the side and rested against the wall, his willing pupil centered in his sites. There was so much passion in the younger man's eyes, so much hope and idealism. This was the part he hated about this job, the part where he crushed dreams and disillusioned the kids who'd dreamed of this life for as long as they could remember. "You do what you do because you love it, man, and that's real admirable. Gonna getcha respect in the locker room and from the fans. It's cool. You're a good man, Edge. Orton's just gonna be more successful."

He didn't mean for it to, but Edge could feel his jaw drop. What the hell? Taker was siding with Orton? He had seen the pair leave arenas together, but had never really seen them talk at work. He'd never really bought into the idea that Taker would waste his time on a fuck head like Orton. But from the sounds of things, he had been wrong.

Shaking his blond curls, he tried to clear the nonsensical statement and form a thought around the confusion. "That's not advice," he stated, frustrated by the direction of the conversation. "If you're gonna give me something, make it useful," he spat.

He understood that the kid didn't like the news he was delivering. Who would? But Edge was close enough now, and he needed to know. He needed to know that he had to watch his step, that being so close to Orton could be a blessing or a curse. Clearing his throat, he rolled his shoulders and leveled the younger man with serious eyes. "You gave your soul to this business, Edge, but Orton? He sold his to the devil himself."

The statement was so preposterous that Edge wanted to laugh. He wanted to roll his eyes and have a laugh with Taker about the joke he'd just made. But the severity, the sincerity of the look the older man was giving him said that it was anything but a joke. Metaphoric or literal, Edge wasn't sure, but he knew that the man standing in front of him wasn't kidding. "What?" was all he could manage to ask, though he wasn't sure what followed the question. What was he talking about? What did that mean? What was Edge supposed to do with the knowledge? What what?

With another of his semi-smiles, Taker pushed off of the wall he'd been leaning against and clapped his hand on Edge's shoulder. "Look, it's easy, okay? Orton's only out for one person, himself. Stay out of his way, and he won't give ya a second thought."

And with that, Taker was gone, leaving Edge to stare between the direction his partner had gone moments earlier and the floor. What the hell was going on? And why was there an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach? One that said he was involved in something he'd never asked to be a part of? One that said he'd only seen the beginning of how evil Randy Orton could be?


Randy exhaled a breath and shook his shoulders. Most guys would consider a summons like the one he had received a death sentence. Most guys would be right. But Randy knew better. He knew that whatever waited for him was going to be good, and that he deserved it.

Lifting the handle on the car, he slid into the back of the limo and exchanged a handshake with Logan, who lounged against his seat in a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. "Hey, man," he smiled easily, turning to wink at the young woman seated on Logan's other side.

Rohan rolled her eyes from her place on the bench to Logan's right, as was her customary greeting for Randy. Maybe if the arrogance didn't ooze out of his pores. Maybe if that smirk didn't make it look like he was about to eat her for lunch. Maybe if he wasn't so damn irritating. But he was. Infuriating and predatory and cocky beyond belief. It had occurred to her that he really wasn't any worse than a lot of the men she had worked opposite in her career. Definitely no more so than some of the directors and producers she'd known. But Logan didn't talk about how funny those guys were, or how great they were at a party.

For a brief moment, Logan sat in silence, watching the moment that passed between his friends. It was clear that Rohan didn't want Randy to think that she gave a damn about him. It was clear that Randy would rather throw him out of the car and rip Rohan's little black dress from her body. And it was clear that he was about to choke on the sexual tension the pair was creating, whether they knew it or not.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, smiling when Rohan immediately turned her gaze to his. Orton thought he was the shit, but he was nowhere near commanding the kind of attention that Logan did. Didn't matter if he was the life of the party. He would still leave alone, if Logan wanted him to. And that was enough for the smaller man. "So I made some calls," he finally spoke, his voice low and even, as it always was.

The grin on Logan's face told Randy all he needed to know, and he couldn't contain the laughter that spilled over his lips. "It's happenin'?" He cast a glance back at Rohan, but she only huffed and sipped from the champagne glass dangling between her fingers. "Dude," Randy exclaimed. He tried to contain his excitement most of the time, but it was difficult when something he'd wanted so badly was dangled right in front of his face.

Accepting the hand that Randy so jubilantly offered, Logan nodded his head and reached for the bottle chilling at his side. "It's done," he confirmed, filling a glass for his friend, and one for himself. "Filming starts in January."

Randy loved wrestling. It was in his blood. But if he was going to achieve the kind of notoriety, and cash, that he had always dreamed of, he was going to have to branch out. As Hogan, Austin, and Rocky had before him, he was going to have to be seen by a broader audience, by a movie-going audience. He didn't tell the guys in the locker room, of course, that he wanted to act. They would have mocked him to no end. But he'd shared the information with Logan, and Logan had promised that it would happen when Randy was ready.

Though the boys celebrated as though he'd already won an Oscar, Rohan downed her champagne and cringed inwardly. Randy was a great wrestler - everything she had read or heard about his athletic prowess inside his given profession echoed that thought. Not that she would ever admit it out loud, but she'd checked him out on YouTube, seen him speak on the microphone, or in backstage segments with his co-workers. Sure, he could get by. He was even better than some of his contemporaries, but a great actor he was not. Critics would eat him alive once he showed up on screen.

And they would crucify her for sharing a scene with him. How Logan had ever convinced her to talk Jake into getting Randy a part in her newest film, she would never know. How she had gone along with such a preposterous idea, she couldn't begin to wrap her head around. And the tabloids? She would need another drink before she could even think about it.

She'd never hated the paparazzi. In fact, she liked when they popped up at restaurants and shopping excursions. It meant that they cared about her, that people would pay money for a magazine with her picture in it. It meant that she was relevant again. The fact that her relevance seemed to be twisted up with her pseudo-relationship with a professional wrestler was a pain in the ass, especially since he wasn't actually her boyfriend. But if it kept her in their sites, she could allude the topic of her personal life with the best of Hollywood's A-list.

"So how many hot love scenes we got in this thing?" Randy finally asked when the conversation between he and Logan and slowed. Rohan raised her hand, forming a '0' with her fingers, but Randy just shrugged. "Guess we'll just keep those at home then, huh, Sweetheart?" She stuck her middle finger up, but that only made Randy laugh harder. "You tryin' to flirt with me, Ro? Cause you know how I love that finger."

Logan cleared his throat and held up a hand before Randy could describe just where he liked Rohan's finger. There were some things he didn't need to know about his friends. "Alright," he said, tearing his gaze from Rohan's plunging neckline once again to speak with Randy. "You got a show to put on. Do me a favor."

Randy nodded, one hand on the door handle and the other on his knee. "Anything, man."

"Keep an eye on Shawn for me. Got a weird call from him the other night." Randy nodded and exited the vehicle, as though he understood exactly what that meant. When he was gone, Logan turned back to Rohan and smiled, motioning for her to join him.

Rohan slid across the seat and settled into the spot beneath Logan's outstretched arm. She couldn't explain why, but when he pressed a kiss to the side of her head, she felt a warmth spreading through her, like a favored child. Randy could party, laugh, and celebrate with Logan all he wanted. It really didn't matter how many inside jokes and handshakes the two men shared. It really didn't even matter how much damage Randy did in Logan's name. She would find a way to get closer to Logan than Randy had ever dreamed of being. She would find a way to be his favorite, no matter what she had to do.