Author's Note: This is one of the few times I will literally beg, and I am literally begging you not to smash the computer screen, or give up on the story, or do any sort of violence toward anyone or anything after reading this chapter. I PROMISE on everything that is personally holy to me that in the next chapter, everything will get better, so PLEASE bear with me! On a lighter note, I want to thank everyone who has stuck with the story through the good, the bad and the ugly. I cannot thank you enough, and you are awesome beyond belief!



Chapter 28: Harsh Truth

The next two weeks felt like a blur to Elektra. Without Batista at her side to ground her and keep her in the present, all she did was go through the motions of existing, as though she had left her body to observe it from some higher plane. Her performance in the ring didn't suffer; after all, she had learned long ago to shut down her own emotions and maintain a specific persona inside the squared circle. But backstage, where there was no need to pretend anymore, she had shut down, period.

Other than the Divas, Elektra still hadn't told anyone that she was leaving Raw for good. The other women assumed that she merely wanted to leave the brand quietly, and thus kept the information to themselves. But the truth was that Elektra just didn't know how to break the news to Orton...or to Batista.

Her complicated relationship with the Legend Killer had become even more so since Survivor Series. Orton had interpreted their kiss in the center of the ring as a signal that Elektra was ready to take it to the next level. But in reality, she knew that it had been a mistake. Kissing Orton hadn't made her feel vindicated...it had made her feel dirty. Whatever Batista had been doing with Christy Hemme out in the hallway, he obviously hadn't been doing it to hurt her. So why had she stooped to playing petty little games that, in the end, caused her nothing but misery?

Besides, nothing could change the fact that whenever she looked at Randy Orton, she was reminded of the utter helplessness she had felt while in Evolution. Despite all his attention and support over the past few weeks, it couldn't erase the memory of what he had tried to do at Vengeance. Men like you don't change... Those words still rang as true for her now as they had three weeks ago. It didn't matter what Randy had done to help her; she still couldn't trust him, and in her mind, he would always be nothing more than a reminder of all that she hated about Raw.

And as for Batista...Elektra didn't how to approach him, let alone tell him. She was too ashamed of herself to even look at him; how could she work up the courage to tell him that she was leaving forever?

Elektra had not even thought about what life would be like without even the presence of Dave Batista. She knew that she was repressing her emotions, shutting herself off from the cold reality that she would never see him again after tonight. Doing this could only set her up for major emotional damage in the future. But Elektra just couldn't come to grips with that reality, not yet. Maybe not ever.

The silver-eyed Diva pondered all of this as she sat on a bench next to Trish in the women's locker room, watching the events of Monday Night Raw unfold. It was Randy Orton's turn to run Raw, and he had used his authority to organize an impromptu "lingerie fashion show" with Stacy Keibler and the rookie Divas. In truth, it was nothing more than an opportunity for the Legend Killer to tell some of the most beautiful women in the world to take off their clothes and dance around the ring. Whether it was the sheer stupidity of the whole thing or the general numbness of being she had felt for several weeks, Elektra was amazed by how much she didn't care about what Randy Orton did.

Trish pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, stifling a laugh. "Oh my God, this is almost embarrassing!" she exclaiming. "They all look so awkward out there!" She cocked her head to the side. "That one in the blue...who is she, again?"

Elektra chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "M-something...Melissa? Melinda?" She snapped her finger abruptly. "Melina! That's it!"

"Well, she's terrible!" Trish replied. "If she's gonna be that shy about walking about in her underwear, she needs to consider a career change." The Women's Champion turned toward Elektra. "If you don't mind my asking...why aren't you out there?"

Elektra's mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. "The entire world saw me in my bra and panties three weeks ago; what's the point in giving a repeat performance?" She looked around and noticed that the room had gone deathly silent. The only thing it needed was a few cricket chirps. "Okay...that was a joke. Why'd everyone get so serious all of a sudden?"

Trish leaned in a little. "Little word of advice...when you're making a joke, try not to sound so bitter." She said it lightly, but there was definite meaning behind her words. The two Divas fell silent for a few moments. Finally, Trish spoke again. "So...when do you meet with Theodore Long?"

Elektra leaned back, recrossing her ankles. She didn't look over at the blond Diva. "Tomorrow night, at the SmackDown taping."

"In other words, this is your last night on Raw." Trish answered. It was more of a statement than a question. Elektra's only response this time was a nod. Trish sighed. "I really wish you'd think about this," she said quietly. "Are you really going to solve anything by leaving?"

"Trish, I have thought about this!" Elektra interrupted. "I've thought a lot about this! But I can't stay here anymore. Everything I look at reminds me of Dave, and I can't stand it. I have to go someplace where I'm not worried about turning a corner and running into him."

"Are you going to tell him?" Trish asked.

Elektra felt tears sting her eyes, and instantly became angry at herself. Dammit, she was not going to cry, not now! If she started weeping, she knew she would never be able to stop. "Trish, I haven't even been able to look him in the eye for three weeks. What do you think?" The last sentence came out harshly, and she hadn't meant it to.

Trish, however, was unfazed. "And what about Randy? Are you going to mention something to him?"

Elektra cringed and covered her face with both hands. "I don't know. I don't know!" she groaned. "I still don't really know how I feel about him. I know I don't love him. Every time I've kissed him, I've felt physically ill. But I can't ignore the fact that he's been there for me when I've needed someone the most–"

Both Divas jumped at the sound of laughter that came from the far corner. They turned around to see Lita straddling one of the benches. She was bent over, her body shaking with repressed mirth.

"What's so fucking funny?" Trish demanded, irritation marring her face.

Perhaps even more tragic than the sordid soap opera that was Elektra's life was the deterioration of the friendship between Trish and Lita. It was bad enough when the red-haired Diva became pregnant after sleeping with both Kane and Matt Hardy. But what made it worse was the WWE creative team's decision to make Trish her rival. It had been hard on the Women's Champion, having to say such horrible things to her best friend whenever the cameras were rolling. It hadn't helped matters when Lita was forced to marry the Big Red Machine as the result of a SummerSlam stipulation. Or when Matt Hardy had been the victim of a Chokeslam off the Titantron. Or when Lita lost the baby a few months later.

So much pain, so much loss, and to top it off, she was married to a man she hated...no one was really surprised when Lita finally snapped. But no one had expected her to turn on Trish. After all, Trish had been one of the few people who had stuck by Lita through everything, and was always one of the first to defend her against the inevitable verbal attacks. For a while, everyone assumed that Lita was just lashing out in her grief; that she had mixed up fantasy and reality and was confusing Trish's in-character comments with the real thing.

But when Lita broke Trish's nose at Survivor Series, it became clear that the Queen of Hardcore was not acting out of some displaced insanity. No, Lita was perfectly lucid when she swung that chair at Trish's head. The bitter irony was that the red-headed Diva truly did hate her best friend. And it wasn't because of the nasty remarks, it wasn't because of her grief...it wasn't even the Women's Championship that caused her to hate Trish. It was the simple fact that Lita had lost everything while Trish had emerged unscathed. And this was something that Lita could neither forgive nor forget.

Elektra eased herself to the edge of the bench, preparing to step in should another altercation occur. Trish, meanwhile, had risen to her feet, holding her Championship belt down by her side. "You got something you want to say, or are you going to sit there cackling like a hyena all evening?" From her tone, the Women's Champion was definitely pissed by now.

Lita looked up, suppressing a giggle. "Sorry, chica, it's not you I'm laughing at...it's her." She pointed over at Elektra, who frowned, puzzled. Lita continued, leaning back and bracing herself on her hands. "Going on about Randy and how he's always been there for her, when he's the one who–" She burst into another fit of laughter, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Elektra felt a tingling sensation in her stomach, that familiar feeling that told her something was wrong. Unbidden, a picture was starting to form in front of her eyes, and although she didn't have all the pieces yet, she knew she was not going to like the final image. Slowly, Elektra stood, never taking her eyes off the Diva in the corner. "He's the one who what?" she asked, carefully enunciating each word. Lita's laughter finally ceased, but she didn't answer; merely stared back at her like the cat who's just swallowed the canary. Something about her self-satisfied smirk infuriated Elektra, and she suddenly stepped over the bench, closing some of the distance between her and Lita. "Don't stare at me like you don't know what's going on!" she snapped. "Answer the damn question!"

Now it was Trish's turn to step in. "Elektra, come on. You know she's just messing with–"

"No!" Elektra's vehement reply forced the Women's Champion to take a step back. The grey-eyed Diva pointed at Lita. "She obviously has something she wants to say. So, c'mon, Amy, spit it out! Randy's the one who what?"

For a few seconds, Lita didn't answer. Then, she rolled her eyes and smirked. "What the hell...like it's gonna change anything." She leaned forward, pausing for dramatic effect. "You really think that Randy gives a damn about you? He doesn't care about you–"

Elektra felt anger race through her limbs. Not only was Lita avoiding the question, but she was adding insult to injury. "You shut up!" she retorted, painfully aware of how juvenile her response sounded. She tried to push past Molly Holly and Victoria, who had materialized out of nowhere to block her path.

Lita continued, her voice mocking. "–He just wants to fuck you–"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Elektra shouted. The next words passed her lips before she could even check herself. "Everyone knows you lost your mind after you lost your baby!" As soon as she said it, she clapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to be so nasty. It was as though, in her rage, all the locked doors of her subconscious mind had been flung open.

It must have struck a nerve with Lita, because her smile vanished and she rose to her feet. Mentioning the miscarriage was always guaranteed to unleash the red-haired Diva's unholy wrath, and from the look in her brown eyes, her anger had just been released from its delicate cage. "Oh really?" Her alto voice was low and dangerous. "I don't know what I'm talking about? Look at you! You're so stupid, you can't even see that Randy set you up!"

When Lita uttered those last four words, it was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. Elektra froze. She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't even process what she had just heard. To process it would be to accept it, and the idea was far too monstrous to accept.

Lita continued, her smugness gone. "Yeah, that's right. Orton's played you from the start. He knew that he could never touch you while you were still in Evolution...but he also knew what Triple H would do to you if he ever caught you cheating...and that the only way to neutralize the Animal was to make him think, just for a second, that you were interested in someone else. He made sure that the first thing those two saw when they walked in the room was you making out with him. He made sure that he was the one at your bedside, not Batista. He's done everything he can to make you believe he's the only one you can trust...while keeping you away from Dave. Hell, he even had his friends beat up the Animal, just to make him stay away from you. And it's worked. He set you up and you fell for it, you stupid bitch."

Elektra didn't even flinch at the insult; her mind was whirling too fast to hear it. Everything she had believed to be true about that night was a lie. Everything she had believed to be good about Randy Orton was a lie. Everything she had assumed about Batista...that had been a lie, too, and she had been stupid enough to let herself believe it. The thought that Orton had deliberately manipulated her away from Batista made her want to vomit. This isn't happening. This can't be happening... But it was happening. This harsh truth had been forced into her, jabbing at her heart with its sharp edges. She stared at Lita, trying to rein in her anger with the few remaining threads of her rationality. "How long?" Her voice was hoarse with emotion.

Lita frowned. "You mean how long he's been planning this?" She shrugged. "Who cares?"

"Leets–" Trish spoke warningly, but Elektra cut her off.

"No, no, no! Stop fucking around!" Her voice was a scream by now. She managed to inch just a little bit closer. "How longhave you known about him?" Lita didn't answer, only stared down at the floor sullenly. "How long?" Elektra pressed, her tone carrying an underlying threat.

Lita looked back up, and there was honest-to-God hatred blazing in her eyes now. "Since Survivor Series." she spat.

Elektra did the mental calculations almost instantly. "Two weeks...you've known for two weeks what he did, what he's still doing... that I'm leaving because of him... and you never said anything?" Lita's silence was a better admission of guilt than words could provide. Elektra slowly moved back a step, rage flickering through her brain like lightning, turning her vision the color of blood. "You fucking cunt!" she shrieked. Before the other Divas could stop her, she launched herself at Lita, tackling the redhead and sending both of them crashing to the floor. Elektra wrapped her fingers around Lita's throat, not even feeling the scratches from the other woman's flailing hands. Her heart, long cold and dead, was now alive again, pumping hot blood through her veins. She couldn't even form coherent thoughts anymore. All that mattered was the need to release this pent-up wrath.

"Get this whore off me!" Lita gagged, her face turning the same scarlet hue as her hair.

It took Trish, Victoria and Molly Holly to drag Elektra away from Lita, and even then, it was a struggle to restrain her. Elektra kicked and screamed like a wild animal, her eyes shooting silver sparks. Lita slowly got to her feet, massaging her neck. No one moved to assist her. Her eyes were filled with a strange mixture of hate, astonishment...and fear.

"Why?" Elektra finally regained enough rational thought to be able to form words. Tears slid down her face, but she didn't seem to notice. All her attention was focused on her former friend turned enemy. "Why did you do it?" She was almost pleading. "What did I ever do to you to make you hate me like this?"

"Why?" Lita snapped, her eyes narrowing. She slowly moved forward, like a wounded animal choosing to fight rather than die trapped in the corner. "Why should you get to live happily ever after when life is shit? I watched Matt Hardy get chokeslammed...why should you end up with the man you love?" She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You should have learned this lesson a long time ago: this is the WWE. There are no happy endings."

Elektra stared back at her incredulously. "Oh my God," she whispered. "You're insane. You really have lost it this time."

Lita let out a short harsh laugh. "I've lost it?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows. "Who's the one who decided to join Evolution? Who's the one who chose to hook up with Triple H? And who's the one who started screwing Dave Batista, despite the consequences?" Lita gingerly rubbed her bruised throat. "You were making stupid decisions long before I was. All that's happened to you...Randy may have planned it, but you brought it on yourself. You deserved what happened to you." Lita lowered her voice. "People call me a slut, but you were whoring yourself out from the beginning. You should have expected something like this."

"At least I'm not like you!" Elektra shot back. "Playing with other people's lives... dragging everyone else to your level so they feel as shitty as you do." She paused, catching her breath, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to you... about what happened to your baby...but I'll never forgive you for this," She lunged forward again, her voice rising in volume. "Do you hear me, bitch? I will never forgive you for this!" Elektra finally pulled herself free, but instead of heading for Lita, she turned around and made a beeline for the door.

"Where're you going?" Trish asked, her voice full of concern and worry.

"Where do you think?" Elektra answered without turning around. She turned the doorknob.

Lita smirked. "Like it'll change anything."

Elektra turned around, and the look in her eyes was enough to make even Lita fall silent. Her voice was a quiet whisper of menace. "At least I can say that I tried." Pulling open the door, she stepped out into the hallway and disappeared from sight.

Lita looked around for the first time, and saw that everyone was staring at her, their faces expressionless. "What?" she demanded. "What, are you all judging me now? Like you wouldn't have done the same–"

"Amy," Trish's voice was low and resigned. "I'm going to turn around and count to five. And if you're still here by the time I turn back around, I'm going to kill you. Understand?"

Lita's mouth dropped open in shock. "What? You can't be serious–"

Trish spun around. "One," she counted. "Two," She had just reached "Three," when she heard the door open and close with a slam. Trish sighed and let her head sink down. "Goodbye, Amy," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.


Elektra couldn't remember when she had ever been this angry. It felt as though rage was actually escaping from her body as bolts of white-hot electricity. She had never been so charged, so tensed and ready to explode at any second. Or maybe Lita's revelation had already been the metaphorical flame to the powder keg. Either way, anger consumed her, walked beside her, whispered into her ear with its insidious murmur. But this time, anger was also her friend: instead of clouding her thoughts, it pulled everything around her into sharp focus. Her thoughts were few, but decisive: Randy Orton would pay. If it was the last thing she did (and with him being General Manager, it probably would be), she would make sure than Randy Orton paid dearly for his crimes.

She reached the GM's office, the door's face adorned with the Raw logo and simple block lettering reading "Randy Orton, General Manager". The door itself was slightly ajar. Elektra could hear feminine giggles emanating from within.

Lifting up one pink, jewel-encrusted stiletto, she kicked the door in as hard as she could. It flew open, hitting the adjacent wall with a BANG. As it bounced back, Elektra brought its swing to a halt with her forearm, ignoring the sharp pain as her funny bone met steel. Slowly, she pulled her arm back down to her side and stepped into the room.

Orton was there, along with the five Divas from the fashion show. He was sitting on the edge of his desk; they were gathered around him in a semi-circle, all of them clad in short silky robes. Orton had been leaning over toward Stacy Keibler, presumably about to whisper something in her ear, and now he was still frozen in that expectant position, his fingers grazing Stacy's chin. His eyes were locked on Elektra. The other Divas–Christy, Maria, Candice and Melina– were all staring at her as well, their mouths agape, their eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights. The whole scene seemed like a standoff from an old Western, as though the slightest movement might provoke some sudden violent reaction.

Elektra never took her eyes off Orton. "All of you...get out." she growled.

This time, the Divas looked from her to Orton uncertainly, as though unsure of whose authority to respect. Elektra clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palm until she felt one or two pierce the skin. "Now!" she screamed, her voice reaching decibels unheard even in a sold-out arena during the Undertaker's entrance.

Without another word, the five Divas scattered, scurrying around Elektra and out the door. Before the tumbler had even clicked into place, Elektra had closed the distance between her and the Legend Killer. Orton opened his mouth to speak, but Elektra swung her hand up, slapping him across the face as hard as she could. She slapped him again. And again.

The Legend Killer finally snapped out of his initial shock, and grabbed both of her wrists, bending her backward over the desk. Elektra struggled and tried to pull her hands free, but Orton was too strong. "Calm down, calm the fuck down!" he yelled, his face filled with confusion and irritation. "What the fuck?What the fuck is your problem, stomping in here like this, interrupting me–"

"Cut the bullshit, Randy!" Elektra spat, her eyes glued to the Legend Killer's. "You should know why I'm here, you fucking bastard!"

Orton frowned. "Is this...is this about the fashion show?" he asked hesitantly.

Elektra felt a fresh surge of rage. "Don't patronize me!" She pushed on Orton's chest, and he finally pulled back, freeing her wrists and allowing her to stand up. "Don't you dare patronize me!" She shoved her finger into his face. "I don't give a shit about your fucking strip show out there! This is because of what you did to me three weeks ago, you son of a bitch!"

Orton stared at her. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied slowly, but the look in his eyes betrayed that he did.

"Do me a favor, Randy!" Elektra retorted. "Behave like a fucking man for once and tell me the truth!" She stepped back, still pointing at him. Her whole arm was trembling. "You set me up," she whispered. "You planned the whole thing. You made sure that Hunter would see us, that Dave would see us...knowing how they would react, knowing what would happen. And after it was over...after they practically tore me apart, you were conveniently right there, crawling inside my head just like a spider, making sure I believed you were the only one I could trust." Elektra looked away, trying to blink back tears. When her gaze returned to Orton, her eyes were like chips of ice again. "You took everything from me, you unimaginable bastard." she whispered harshly.

Now it was Orton's turn to look away, and when his eyes met hers again, all vestiges of humanity had vanished from his face. All that remained was a handsome but emotionless mask. "I'd ask you how you found out, but it doesn't really matter now, does it?" His voice was as lifeless as his face, but his tone...his tone was almost casual.

Elektra's heart was pounding within her chest. She felt like she was having a stroke; her mind was moving too fast for her body to keep up. For a moment, she couldn't speak; her throat was filled with a huge ball of emotion. "Why?" she managed to gasp out, and in that single word, all of her anguish could be heard.

"Why?" Orton repeated her question mockingly, stepping forward. Elektra backed up, not wanting any more contact with the Legend Killer. "Why? Because I'm Randy Orton, that's why! Everything I've ever wanted–Championships, women, power–I've gotten, one way or another. But you–" He reached out to touch her face, but Elektra shied away. Orton slowly lowered his arm and continued, his voice dangerously soft. "You were always the one thing that I could never have. It didn't matter what I was–Intercontinental Champion, the youngest World Heavyweight Champion–you always treated me like a joke." Orton began to pace, stalking back and forth. "It was bad enough, watching you act all high-and-mighty...but then I find out that, out of all the guys on the roster, you were fucking Dave Batista." He stopped and stared hard at her. "It didn't surprise me that you cheated on Hunter. The guy's a dick. But...the Animal? How desperate were you?" He rushed on before Elektra could even consider answering the question. "Besides...like I told you before...you and me, babe...we were meant for each other."

Elektra's grey eyes grew wide. "You're crazy..." she whispered, her voice incredulous.

"Am I?" Orton shot back. "Or am I just the only one who knows the truth...that deep down, in those places you don't like to think about, it isn't Hunter or Dave that you, but me!" He moved closer, but Elektra was too shocked to pull away this time. "So I 'took care' of things, I send Dave a message...just so that once, you'd have no choice but to turn to me." He smiled, and it was like looking at a Death's Head mask. "Yeah, I set you up, and you know what? I enjoyed every second of it. That beating I took...it was worth it just to see you get taken down a peg or two. And afterwards...watching you walk away from Dave, seeing that tiny spark of hope in your eyes die a little bit each day..." Orton licked his lips. "It really turned me on, if you know what I mean."

Elektra closed her eyes. "Helen of Troy..." she whispered to herself.

Orton's smile disappeared. "What? What are you babbling about now?"

Elektra slowly opened her lids again. "Someone once told me that I'd be in the middle of a war. But I never thought that you'd be a part of it." She slowly took a step backward, only too aware that she was running out of room to maneuver in. "Were you even planning on telling me this? Or were you just going to wait until there was nothing left in me? Until I was completely humiliated?"

Orton shrugged. It was chilling to see such casual gestures paired with a sociopathic countenance. "To be honest, I thought I'd be fucking you by now. But for some reason, some reason, you kept putting me off." He sighed, and a hint of genuine annoyance crossed his face. "Man, to think...I was this close–" He held his thumb and forefinger a centimeter or so apart. "–Thisclose to having you, to making you scream with pleasure."

Elektra couldn't suppress the ripple of amusement that welled up inside her, or the laugh that escaped her lips. "You're kidding, right? Sorry to disappoint you, but you weren't that close. You were never that close." Orton's features twisted with rage, but now it was Elektra's turn to cut him off. "You know that I'd have to be crazy, right? To want to touch you?"

"You didn't seem to feel that way three weeks ago," Orton interrupted, his expression relaxing back into that vile arrogant smile.

Elektra stared back at him coldly. "Who said that I was thinking about you? Yes, I kissed you...but the only way I could keep myself from throwing up was by pretending you were Dave."

Orton's jaw twitched and he grabbed her shoulders, pushing her backward until she hit the wall. Leaning down, he shoved his face into hers, his handsome features distorted by hatred. "After everything I did, you're still hung up on him. Why?" he whispered through gritted teeth. "Dave Batista is a jacked-up freak of nature; I'm the Legend Killer. What is it about him, huh? What could you possibly see in him?"

Elektra smiled bitterly. "Randy...if I have to explain it to you, then I know you'll never understand." She stared defiantly up at the Legend Killer, who eventually backed away a few paces. "Why is it so hard for you, for anyone to believe that I love Dave Batista?" Elektra pushed herself off the wall. "God, you are just like Hunter. You think just because you're the Game or the Legend Killer, or whatever other name you give yourself, that I'm automatically going to fall all over you. Well, I played that game with Hunter. For ten months, I let him think that he was my world, and in return, he protected me. And I played that game with you. I let you believe that you could have me at some point, and you let me use you as a kickstand. I'd thank you for that... if you weren't also the reason I needed a kickstand." Elektra stepped up toward the Legend Killer, her voice growing stronger. "But you know what, Randy? I'm sick and tired of it. I'm tired of hiding behind men I hate. I'm tired of being fought over like a title belt. But most of all...I'm tired of using my body as a bargaining chip. From now on, it's about what I want...and all I ever wanted was to be with Dave." Now she was practically touching Orton. Her mouth was next to his ear. "Face facts, Randy: I don't need you anymore, I'm not afraid of you anymore, and I don't owe you anything. So take a good look, Legend Killer. Take a good long look at the one thing you can't have because I would neverever sleep with you!"

Orton's body tensed, and for a moment, she thought he was going to hit her. Instead, he clamped his hand over her mouth, shoving her back against the wall with a crash. Elektra tried to scream, but all that came out were a few muffled sounds. "If I were you, I'd watch what I say. You never know when you'll have to take it back." Orton hissed. "So...you're in love with the Animal. So you're willing to throw everything away just to be with that jacked-up nimrod. But did you ever stop to think that maybe Dave doesn't love you? Maybe after everything that's happened, he doesn't think that you're worth it anymore." Orton relaxed his grip on her face, but only slightly. "So let's see how badly Dave is willing to fight for you. I'm going to make a match for tonight." He held up his free hand, spelling out imaginary letters on a marquee. "The Legend Killer Randy Orton versus Evolution's Animal Dave Batista. The prize...you. And if I win...I finally get what I want from you."

Elektra started to ask what that could possibly be, but then she looked up into the Legend Killer's eyes and gagged when she saw the raw lust gleaming in their depths. "Oh God, no!" she managed to gasp out. "No way! I'm not that desperate!"

Orton's response was to squeeze harder, his fingertips digging into her flesh, hard enough to bruise her skin. "This isn't a request–it's an order. Don't forget, I'm General Manager. I'm God now! If I win tonight, we're going to come back here, and you're going to get on that couch, and get ready for the fuck of your life." The Legend Killer leaned in even closer, his lips almost grazing her skin. "Did I mention that you'll be at ringside to watch? But don't get any ideas...if you interfere, in any way, I'll make life miserable for you and him. So...what do you say, beautiful?" His features had all the physical appearance of charm, but without warmth, the effect was just skin stretched over bone.

Elektra could only stare up at him. She was helpless and they both knew it. Orton was right: as General Manager, he was God. And although Elektra had a backup plan, a place of refuge to turn to...she couldn't leave Batista at the mercy of the Legend Killer. The fact that the rift between her and Batista was the result of a psychopath's carefully concocted scheme...Elektra couldn't leave now, not after knowing the truth. She didn't care what happened to her; if there was even the smallest chance that she could be reunited with the Animal again, she would take it, no questions asked. That was love, wasn't it? Knowing when to stop running away and start fighting for the most important thing that you can ever feel?

Elektra glared at Orton with utter loathing in her silver eyes. She vowed that whatever happened in the ring, it would not end the way the Legend Killer planned. "I hate you," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

Orton shrugged. "You'll get over it." Elektra had this peculiar sense of deja vu; that she had heard these words before, that she had been forced to make this same kind of impossible compromise before. Orton let go of her face, and grabbed her wrist, tugging her toward the door. "Now, we better hurry," he remarked, his voice carrying only the barest hint of menace. "Because that match...is happening right now."