Chapter 10: Enter Randy Orton

Elektra stretched her muscles, already cramped from the hour-plus trip between Philadelphia and Hershey. She leaned back against her pillow, trying to find someway to nap without having the sun beating down on her face. Even with her sunglasses, the rays were still too bright to allow her to sleep. She rolled over on her side, bunching up the waistline of her knee-high skirt in the process. Elektra suppressed a grunt of irritation, and instead tried to rotate the garment back around to its original position without providing a peep show to the rest of the car.

She sensed eyes on her, and looked up to see Orton turned around in his seat, staring at her. Though his sunglasses hid his eyes from her view, she could tell by the suggestion of a leer on his face that he was enjoying himself at her expense.

"Geez, Randy, could you come off as even more of a pervert?" Elektra asked icily, pulling herself up into a sitting position and making sure to keep her legs tightly closed.

Randy smiled, that arrogant demeaning smile that he flashed so often in the ring. "What do you care? You're a Diva; you must be used to men ogling your goodies by now."

Behind the wheel, Batista rolled his eyes as he maneuvered the car down the busy highway. Traveling with Orton and Elektra was like riding in a car with two siblings who hated each other. The pair had developed a natural antagonism almost immediately after her introduction into Evolution, and more often than not, they were at each other's throats. Like right now.

Elektra gritted her teeth, trying to quell the urge to break the Legend Killer's nose. "When guys check me out in the ring, that's one thing. But when some jerk-off tries to look up my skirt when I'm taking a nap...that's something else."

"Yeah," Orton replied. "It's called foreplay."

Elektra looked at him incredulously. "You are unbelievable. Do I have to remind you that the man I'm seeing is not only your leader, but also your World Heavyweight Champion?"

Orton shrugged, as if this was merely a formality. "Maybe...but I'm still the Intercontinental Champion, and currently the highest-ranking Champion in this vehicle. That must entitle me to something."

Elektra sighed, grabbing her IPod off the seat. "Go to hell, Randy."

Orton's smile faded and his expression was suddenly filled with contempt. "You know, you're a lot prettier with your mouth shut."

"Oh, grow up," Elektra retorted. "At least I didn't get the crap kicked out of me at the Rumble last night by Mick Foley."

At the mention of Foley's name, Orton's features twisted with rage. "Bitch." he spat.

"Dick." Elektra shot back.

"Slut."

"Asshole."

And then, Orton went too far. "Cunt." he muttered, but loud enough for the entire car to hear.

At the mention of the dreaded C-word, it was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the car. Elektra's irritation exploded into full-blown wrath. "You fucker!" she whispered between gritted teeth. She lunged for him, but was thrown back against the seat as Batista suddenly swung the car off the road, cutting off an SUV in the process. The shrill beep of its horn filled Elektra's ears as her head snapped back sharply, hitting the seat cushion. Orton's face collided with the headrest, his sunglasses breaking with a loud CRACK. Batista slammed on the brake, and everyone was thrown forward. Elektra nearly rolled into the space between the front and back seats; Orton discovered how it felt to have the back of your skull hit a windshield. For a few moments, there was nothing but silence as the two eventually realized that they were going to live.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Dave," Orton yelled. He seemed more surprised than hurt. "What the hell are you doing? You could have killed us–"

His words were cut off when Batista turned and grabbed him by the collar. The Animal yanked Orton toward him, nearly strangling the Legend Killer with his own seatbelt in the process. When Batista spoke, his words were clipped and cold.

"Watch your fucking mouth." he said in a quiet voice filled with malice. "I don't give a shit about what you do in your free time, but if I ever, ever hear you using that kind of language with her–" He nodded back at Elektra. "–or another Diva, or, hell, with any female anywhere...I will put your goddamn head through a wall."

Orton pulled free. "Geez, Dave, when did you become so politically correct?"

Batista's expression didn't change. "You want me to practice with that car window first?"

Orton seemed like he was actually considering the idea for a second or two, but then he leaned back, the familiar arrogance crossing his features. "What can I say? I just don't trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die."

"Hey, fuck you, Randy!" Elektra yelled from the back seat as she slowly pulled herself back up.

Batista jabbed a finger in Orton's face. "You...shut up...and you–" He twisted around and pointed at Elektra as well. "–learn how to ignore him. You know it just eggs him on when you get mad." Batista looked from one to the other, measuring each of them with his gaze. "I swear to God, if I have to stop this car again, it won't be pretty–for either of you. Understood?"

There were a few moments of petulant silence, then a sullen chorus of "Yes..." from Orton and Elektra.

"Good." Batista turned back to the steering wheel, put the car into drive, and pulled back out on the highway. As they sped along, he glanced into the rearview mirror. Elektra had stretched herself back out across the seat, her eyes closed. She shifted slightly, lifting one of her legs to cross it over the other and revealing just a glimpse of inner thigh. She didn't seem to realize this time that Batista was watching her. Or maybe she did. But what neither of them knew was that Orton was staring at her as well.

Elektra hoisted herself onto one of the black equipment crates stacked in the hallways and inserted her IPod earphones into her ears. Scrolling through the menu, she selected one of her old standbys–Rob Zombie–and leaned back, bracing herself on her hands. Normally, before Monday Night Raw, she would be in the Evolution locker room, listening to strategies for the evening and giving Triple H the right...encouragement...before he went out to the ring. But now, after the episode between her and Orton earlier that day, she didn't feel the same sense of safety that Evolution normally evoked. No, now she didn't felt safe around Orton.

As heavy metal riffs echoed in her brain, she mentally revisited the fight between her and the Legend Killer. It wasn't necessarily what he had said (though she hated being the recipient of the C-word as much as any other self-respecting female) that had made her so uneasy; it was how he said it. There had been real malice in his voice as he spat those words at her, and she began to wonder if Orton's feelings for her were nothing but hate. Hate...and something else.

Two weeks ago, he had cornered her in the Evolution locker room, crowding her up against the shelves and flashing that confident smile of his. Leaning close, he had made her what could best be described as an indecent proposal: one night with him, anything goes. No one would ever know, he assured her in that slimy way of his, especially not Triple H.

Elektra's response had been to laugh in his face. There was nothing in the world he could possibly offer, she replied condescendingly, that would make her want to lower herself to his level. The look that had come over Orton's face still made her shudder, and she was almost positive that if Batista hadn't returned to the locker room at that moment, Randy would have killed her.

It didn't matter what type of assurances Orton made; Elektra knew too well that any intimacies between them would come with strings attached. Orton was just as ruthless as Triple H, and he was willing to use anything and anyone, including his fellow Evolution members, to reach that coveted top spot on the Raw roster. If she slept with him, it would mean that he would always have some kind of power over her; a tortuous secret to make her do his bidding. In her dangerous position, Elektra could not afford to give that kind of leverage to anyone, especially to Randy. She feared what Triple H would do to her, but she feared just as much what Orton was capable of doing to her.

But the worst, the absolute worst, was that Elektra feared some part of her wanted Orton as much as he wanted her. It wasn't anything like what she felt for Batista; no, these feelings must lurk deep in her subconscious, deep within that dark place she was loath to return to. It was this same darkness that had once reveled in the destruction of Chris Jericho. Randy Orton was evil, Elektra was almost sure of it. So if what she feared was true, and lust for the Legend Killer did exist within the dark corners of her mind, what kind of darkness was she capable of?

Thankfully, her disturbing train of thought was interrupted by a familiar but unexpected voice: the mournful hound-dog tones of the Hardcore Legend, Mick Foley.

"Excuse me," he was saying to her. "But would the First Lady of Evolution happen to know where that little jack-off Randy Orton would be?"

Elektra pulled the earphones out of her ears, smiling at the stocky individual with his mop of curly brown hair. "Tragically, unfortunately...no. But I am flattered by the title."

Foley smiled in return, exposing the gaps where teeth had once resided. "Well, despite my deep hatred for Triple H and the rest of Evolution, I've come to regard you as its single ray of sunshine."

Elektra pressed her hand to her heart, truly touched by the simple compliment. "That's so sweet." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't tell anyone that I told you...but I happen to know that the little jack-off is going to be saying a few choice things about you in the ring tonight."

Foley touched his thumb and forefinger to his temple as though doffing an imaginary hat. "Much obliged." And faster than she would have suspected for a man of his build, he was down the hall and gone.

Elektra had just plugged her earphones back in when she heard angry footsteps coming from the opposite direction. Randy Orton stormed around the corner, his GQ-worthy face twisted with rage. As soon as he spotted her, his eyes lit up, as though he had finally found a suitable target for his rage. Elektra felt the pit of her stomach drop, but she kept her face calm. A few quick strides and Randy was right in her face, bellowing: "Where is he? Where's that bum, Foley?"

Elektra didn't flinch, didn't blink; merely leaned back a few inches. "Personal space, please."

Orton moved back, but his body language was still tense. "They told me he went down this hallway. Where is he?"

Elektra could hear him perfectly, but just to mess with him, she carefully pulled out her earphones one by one. "Once more, with feeling."

Randy leaned in again, his face a few inches from hers. "Did...you...see...Foley?"

Elektra nodded, as if this was obvious. "Of course."

Randy smiled, though it was only a half-smile and did little to alleviate the terrifying expression on his face. "Where is he, then?"

Elektra stared back into his face, looking a lot calmer than she felt. "I don't know." she stated slowly, enunciating each word.

Something passed over Orton's face like a shadow, a kind of dark realization. "You do know, don't you? You're just not going to tell me."

Elektra could feel her heart pounding, but she tried to tell herself that Orton was a bully and all she had to do was stand up to him for once to make it stop. "No, I'm not." She abruptly pushed herself off the trunk onto the floor.

"And why not?" Orton's voice was calm, way too calm. Elektra could almost see the storm clouds brewing, but she forced herself to respond anyway. He's just a bully, he's just a bully...

"Because he's polite," she retorted, brushing past Orton. "And because he doesn't treat me like a blow-up doll. But don't feel bad," she added as she started to make her way down the hall. "There's going to be lots of things that I won't bother to share with you."

She had walked barely ten steps before strong hands clamped around her throat and she was thrown bodily against the adjacent wall. Her skull met cinderblock with a sickening SMACK and the only thing she could see for a few seconds were bright dots of color. She couldn't scream; she barely even breathe. All she could do was gasp helplessly for air as Orton shoved his face into hers, an expression of crazed anger on his face.

"You little bitch, you think this is some kind of game?" he snarled, his voice low enough for only her to hear. The hallway was quiet, devoid of any nearby voices. No one would be able to hear her unless she screamed, and Orton had made that impossible. She grabbed helplessly at his hands, trying to peel them back from her neck, but his grip was as powerful as iron. "Don't you get it? Foley is the enemy and this is Evolution. You are either with us or you're against us."

"I've always been on Evolution's side!" Elektra spat out between gasps. "It just pisses you off that I'm not with you!"

Orton's response was to tighten his grip and lift her up even higher. Now Elektra was almost off the ground; she had to balance on her toes to keep herself from choking. Orton leaned in close, his face still angry but now mixed with a sick desire. "Why are you so uptight, anyway?" he murmured. "What's the matter, not getting enough satisfaction from the Game? Maybe Hunter isn't man enough for you. Maybe what you need is a real Champion..." He pressed closer, his lips grazing her temple. Elektra felt him growing hard against her leg, and wanted to throw up.

"You?" Her voice was incredulous and full of revulsion. "You're disgusting...and you're pathetic." Even though she was terrified, she forced herself to stare into his eyes with disdain. "I only fuck men, Randy...not little boys."

Orton pulled back and she saw the rage building up in his eyes again. He was ready to snap. Elektra knew what he was thinking. "Go ahead. Do it." she whispered. "Hit me. You know that you want to." Orton hesitated, but Elektra pressed on. "Go on and hit me, you fucker, and try explaining that one to Hunter!"

For an instant, Orton's hands tightened ever so slightly around her neck, then he abruptly released his grip and stepped back. Elektra collapsed to her hands and knees, coughing and sucking in air. Orton towered over her, staring down at her form without pity. "Someday, he's going to get tired of you, and I'll be the only person you can turn to."

Elektra looked up defiantly, still clutching her bruised neck. "I would rather die than let you touch me." she retorted.

Orton smiled, and it was the most chilling thing she had ever seen. "Be careful what you wish for." What had Lita said? There was nothing there...nothing to make you think he's anything resembling a human being... Well, she was witnessing it firsthand.

Elektra looked away rather than continue to stare into those lifeless eyes. She felt Orton's hand caress her hair gently, tenderly, then grab a handful and pull back not so gently. Elektra closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him. Hot tears squeezed out from beneath her closed lids. All she could hear was the sound of Orton's voice, as cold and terrifying as Death itself. "Just remember this, Elektra...things change."

He let go and Elektra fell into a limp head on the floor. His footsteps faded away, but she remained motionless for a few more minutes, just to make sure that he was really and truly gone. As soon as she pulled herself to her knees again, the nausea returned and she pitched forward.

This time, she did throw up.

Once her stomach was finished emptying itself of its contents, she staggered to her feet, using the trunk as a support, and tried to rid her mouth of the hot sour taste of bile and the icy tang of fear.