Chapter 50: Escalating The Game
Elektra pushed open the door, letting it ease shut behind her as she walked quickly down the hall. Thankfully, Triple H didn't follow her. Not that he needed to; he probably knew that, threat or not, his words had shaken her to the core.
Something was happening tonight. Something was going down, and Elektra didn't know how she could stop it. She could lie to herself and say that she was just being paranoid; that there was no telling how much of what the Game had told her had been the truth. But that was how the Cerebral Assassin succeeded at manipulation: by building a brilliant pearl of lies around a single grain of truth. And all the lies in the world could not conceal the fact that JBL had once sneeringly referred to Batista, a Royal Rumble winner, as "not in my league".
What if the WWE Champion really was on his way over here? And if there were the case…what was it the Animal had said? If JBL decides to come here and cut me down...then he and I will have a problem...
Elektra exhaled slowly. It was a problem, all right. It was a very big problem. When Batista was pushed far enough, he acted without care or concern. She still had the occasional twinge in her back and neck to remain her of that. And if JBL or the Big Show or anyone else from SmackDown kept pushing, not even the assurances Batista had made to her might be enough to keep him from signing that contract, sending him to the other brand…and leaving her alone.
It wasn't a question of her own safety anymore; of what the Legend Killer or the Game would do to her if she was left unprotected. If Batista went to SmackDown, her heart would break. End of story.
A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her, stopping her in mid-stride. Elektra stiffened for a second, before realizing that it was Batista. He had been coming down the hallway from the opposite direction, and she had been too lost in thought to even notice.
As reading her mind, the Animal murmured into her ear: "And you tell me that I'm spacing out." He placed a light kiss on her neck. "How's my girl?"
Elektra smiled, her troubled thoughts flitting away to the back of her mind. "Better…now that you're here." She tilted her face up, lips parted slightly to receive his.
Batista did not disappoint; the kiss he gave her sent heat rushing over every inch of her body. His hands rested at the small of her back; propriety the only thing keeping him from letting them travel lower. Even other WWE Superstars got disgusted by excessive PDA.
His mouth was at her ear again, his voice husky with wordless desire. "It's too bad there're all these people around; I was really hoping to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day?"
Oh, that's right; today was Valentine's Day. Elektra had been so distracted by the events from last week that she had almost forgotten. No, not almost. Had forgotten. The silver-eyed Diva felt a sharp twinge of guilt and tried to push it to one side. "Wait until tonight." she whispered, her voice filled with a hunger equal to his.
"Do I have to?" Batista replied, half-jokingly, and Elektra couldn't suppress a throaty chuckle of laughter. Pulling back a little, she met his eyes, running her hands up his chest suggestively, feeling a small thrill at hearing the low groan of need escape from the Animal's throat. Bringing her arms up around his neck, she pressed her body close to his, their mutual desire warming the very air around them.
A long moment passed. The silver-eyed Diva hesitantly cleared her throat, her smile fading a bit. "Listen, Dave, there's something that I need to—"
"Sorry to interrupt," Triple H's voice had the dampening effect of a bucket of cold water. Elektra felt the aura of privacy surrounding her and Batista grow thin and shatter into thousands of pieces. Her facial expression never wavered, but beneath her mild countenance, she wanted to strangle the Game.
The gray-eyed Diva stiffened for a heartbeat, then rotated around, buoyed by the feeling of Batista's hands on her waist. The Animal wrapped his arms tighter around her, his eyes fixed on the Cerebral Assassin.
The World Champion's expression was pleasant, but also maddeningly inscrutable. Whatever he really thought about Batista or Elektra was locked up behind those blank irises, and just the fact that he was able to do so meant that he must be feeling extremely confident.
Elektra couldn't see the Animal's face when he spoke, but she felt reassured by the even tone of his voice. "Something on your mind, Hunter?"
Whatever he saw in Batista's expression must have pleased the Game, because the beginnings of a smile appeared at the edges of his mouth. "JBL, man…what an idiot. Thinking he can come here and throw his weight around." Triple H rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Look, when he shows up tonight…I just want to let you know that I'll take care of it. I mean, you've got a big decision coming up, you've a huge match tonight against Edge…the last thing you need to be worrying up is some jacked-up Texan with delusions of grandeur."
The Cerebral Assassin sighed, shaking his head as though the very idea of John Bradshaw Layfield disgusted him. "That guy just pisses me off—running his mouth, spitting in Evolution's face—"
"Hey!" The Animal's voice was sharp, perhaps too much so. Unawares, he tightened his hold on Elektra. "JBL hasn't been talking trash about Evolution; the only person he's been running his mouth off about is me. So as far as I'm concerned, whatever beef Bradshaw has is between him and me. And if he wants to show up here tonight and try to start something, fine. But no one else needs to get involved. Especially you." He paused, and Elektra knew that he was fixing the Champion with a stony stare. "Stay out of this, Hunter."
"But—" Triple H didn't get a chance to finish, because Batista took Elektra by the hand and led her in the opposite direction, away from the Game.
The Cerebral Assassin watched them disappear around a corner, his mouth finally curling into that terrible smile.
Batista had just reacted exactly as he'd hoped. Everything was falling perfectly into place.
The ring shuddered as Edge hit the mat, the victim of a devastating clothesline from the Animal. All around the arena, the multitude of fans oohed and cheered. The Canadian Superstar had been a pain in everyone's ass for the past five months, with his constant whining about being screwed out of the World Heavyweight Championship. Even though Batista was still technically part of Evolution, and even though he had interfered on behalf of Triple H during the Game's title bout in Japan the previous week, no one was protesting the well-deserved ass-whipping he was currently bestowing on Edge.
Elektra clapped her hands in encouragement, barely aware that she was doing so. Her body was running on autopilot; her mind thousands of miles away from the match. She could see everything around her—the gleaming white canvas, the bright red ropes, the two Superstars within the confines of the ring—she saw all of it and yet none of it at the same time. The only things she was aware of, the only things that seemed real to her, were a handful of words and sensations as dark and ominous as storm clouds gathering overhead.
This is between him and me…
If something happens tonight…
Stay out of this, Hunter…
Don't say I didn't warn you…
Unconsciously, Elektra touched her upper arm, where the Cerebral Assassin had grabbed her, as though his finger marks had been seared into her flesh. Her silvery gaze swept over to the adjacent side of the ring where the Game stood, one hand on the apron, one hand on his title belt, bellowing out occasional instructions to Batista. Elektra stared at him for several long seconds, vaguely aware that doing so would look very strange on camera. Just the fact that he was out here made her nervous, even though the match was for nothing bigger than sheer pride. She didn't know what he was thinking; what he was planning to do. For all she knew, he was going to try and lob another steel chair into the ring. And he was always so damned confident now. She could hear it in his voice, see it when he moved; that familiar swagger that he had possessed in the beginning of their relationship. Somehow, in the weeks since the Royal Rumble, all his fear, all his uncertainty of the Animal had disappeared.
Elektra could feel a faint throbbing in her temples. She wanted to press both hands over her ears, as though doing so would drown out the sound of Triple H's voice, its raspy timbre reverberating in her head. Sometimes, it seemed like the Game's voice was all she heard nowadays, always there to offer a new opinion, a new insight, a new reason why Batista should go to SmackDown. And now it was warning her not to get in the middle of a confrontation involving the Animal and JBL. No, not warning—threatening. But who was the bigger threat? JBL...or Triple H?
The silver-eyed Diva found herself wishing, hoping, praying that the WWE Champion would not come here. That the Cerebral Assassin was wrong, that whatever rumor he'd heard was just that—a rumor. Because if something happened tonight, she knew that no one, not even her, would be able to hold back Batista—and someone would definitely get hurt.
A fresh wave of cheers exploded in her ears, startling her back to the present. Elektra's pale eyes widened and she quickly looked back toward the ring, her focus momentarily on the match at hand. Edge was still where she remembered him: lying face-down on the mat, an ungainly mass of limbs and long blond hair. But Batista's attention was no longer on the Canadian Superstar, but rather on the Titanton. He stared at the screen without speaking, breathing hard, his sharp-featured face filled with angry bewilderment.
Elektra felt her heart plummet into her stomach. The moment she was dreading had arrived. Turning her head slowly, almost expecting to hear her neck muscles creak, she looked up at the massive video screen. It was exactly as she'd feared; the scene before her showed the entrance to the arena's parking garage, and pulling into it, enlarged to almost gigantic proportions, was the unmistakable sight of JBL's long white limousine, its hood decorated with its trademark longhorns. The gray-eyed Diva's mouth suddenly went dry.
No one moved; it was as though the sight of the WWE Champion's limo had turned everyone to stone. Then a figure emerged at the top of the ramp. For one awful second, Elektra thought it was JBL, somehow magically transported here from the confines of his luxury vehicle with the sole intent of wreaking havoc. But the second passed and she soon realized that the figure was only Flair, gesturing wildly at his Evolution cohorts. His frantic motions had two effects: they slammed home the fact that this was really happening, and they broke everyone's shared paralysis. Batista was the first to move, maneuvering between the top and middle rope and jumping down to the floor. He strode up the ramp, not acknowledging anybody or anything, not even really acknowledging the Nature Boy.
Elektra didn't move for several seconds; her body still seemed to be ignoring all commands from her brain. She could only watch helplessly as the Animal moved farther and farther away from her, his mind focused on the WWE Champion. Then she saw Triple H head up the ramp after Batista, and her frozen limbs sprang back into life. Walking quickly, then running, she chased after the Animal, hoping to catch him before he went through with this, hoping to stop him before he made a big mistake. "Dave!" she cried out, but the crowd drowned out her words. "Dave, stop!" If Batista could even hear her, he gave no sign; the enormous dragon tattoo covering his back remained the only thing in her line of sight.
The four of them—Flair, Batista, Elektra, and finally Triple H—pushed through the curtain into the gorilla area, almost tumbling over one another and knocking down a road agent or two in the process. Elektra finally reached the Animal, grabbing his left arm with both hands, trying to turn him toward her, trying to get him to see her before that red mist clamped down over his eyes. "Dave…please…stop—" she gasped, unable to even form complete sentences.
Batista turned toward her, and Elektra drew her breath in sharply. His expression had completely shut down, his eyes dark pieces of flint glaring accusingly at her. There was no recognition, no warmth, no anything in his face. In that moment, she wasn't the woman that he loved…she was just another obstacle standing in his way.
The silver-eyed Diva slowly released her grip, moving back a step. "Dave?" she whispered, the first tears beginning to sting her eyes. For a second, there was no response, then all of a sudden, the Animal's face cleared, like a cloud moving aside to reveal the sun. The light came back in his eyes. Elektra felt her body relax. He was seeing her, really seeing her.
Reaching out with both hands, Batista grabbed her shoulders hard, almost hard enough to hurt. "Stay here." he ordered.
Elektra frowned. "But—" she started to protest.
"Elektra, please," There was a pleading note in the Animal's voice, and when she looked up into his eyes, she saw—behind the anger—something very near desperation. "For once, would you just do what I say and stay here?" He brought his hands up to her face in a gesture of tenderness. "Please." he repeated. Then, dropping his hands back down his sides, he tore his gaze away from her face and stormed away down the hall, Flair and the Game in hot pursuit.
Elektra breathed in, the sound ragged and shaky in her ears. She was very near to tears, and below her, her legs were trembling, threatening to send her tumbling to the floor. Everything was moving too fast, everything was spiraling out of control. She couldn't think straight, didn't know what to do next. Her mind was racing. Why would JBL show up here tonight, for no reason? Batista hadn't challenged the WWE Champion publicly, hadn't shown up on SmackDown and called JBL out. And JBL was a coward. He didn't accept challenges; he ran from them until he had no other alternative. So why had he come to Raw to confront the Animal?
The silver-eyed Diva almost let out a cry of frustration. Who cared about why; right now, Batista was on his way to the parking garage to confront the WWE Champion, and if she didn't stop him, everything they had suffered so far would have been for nothing. The Animal had told her to stay…but that didn't mean she had to listen.
Dave Batista, as good as he is, is not in my league…
I'm not going anywhere…
If something happens tonight, don't say I didn't warn you…
Would you listen to me for once and stay here…
Don't say I didn't warn you…
Elektra shook her head violently. "Fuck this," she muttered to herself, and headed off down the hallway.
It didn't take her long to catch up with the three Superstars; she had just turned a corner when she saw Batista, Triple H and Flair near the far end of a corridor. Behind then, an "EXIT" sign glowed over a closed door. Elektra presumed that it opened up into the garage.
The Animal seemed to be issuing a similar directive to the one he had given her, albeit—since this was the Cerebral Assassin he was talking to—much less polite. "—I'm serious, Hunter, stay out of this." Batista glanced over his shoulder at the door as he spoke, his last words more to himself than to the other two men. "I'm gonna take care of this myself." He broke off and walked toward the door.
Elektra didn't wait another moment; she dashed after him. She had just passed the Game and the Nature Boy when Triple H's hand shot out, catching her in mid-step, snapping her back like a rubber band and almost jerking her off her feet. The gray-eyed Diva whirled around, glaring balefully at the World Heavyweight Champion.
"You heard him; he wants to take care of this himself," the Game replied, answering her unspoken question. Behind his mask of angry indignation, there was a smugness in his expression that made Elektra want to throw up. He seemed to be taking satisfaction in delivering this message to her. The Cerebral Assassin tilted his head to the side, peering at her with a kind of curiousity. "Didn't he tell you to stay put?"
Elektra didn't offer a response. Instead, she kicked out. The heel of her shoe connected with the side of the Champion's left kneecap. Triple H's almost-smirk vanished, replaced by a grimace of pain. His leg buckled and he dropped to one knee, letting go of her in the process. The silver-eyed Diva didn't even stop to show her satisfaction at seeing the Game in agony, but ran toward the exit door.
Triple H looked up sharply, wincing as he massaged his throbbed knee with one hand. His face was twisted in a snarl of hatred. "Bitch!" he growled.
But Elektra was beyond caring.
The security door was swinging closed; she pushed it back open with the palm of her hand, stepping out onto the landing. A short flight of steps led down to the garage area, the street entrance only ten or twenty feet away. Batista had already reached the floor and was striding across the short expanse of concrete. "JBL!" he roared. "Where are you, huh? Come on out!"
The first thing Elektra registered was that JBL's limo, parked in plain sight a few minutes ago, was now nowhere to be seen. The second was that it was dark, the only real light coming from the streetlamps outside. The third was that, with the exception of Batista's shouting, it was quiet.
Way too quiet.
The gray-eyed Diva took the stairs two at a time, sliding a little on the cement floor, but not losing her balance. She followed the Animal, her pace slowed, her gaze sweeping the space for any sign of the WWE Champion. If JBL was here, he must have the concealing abilities of a ninja, because she couldn't detect even a flicker of movement to indicate that someone else was there.
And yet…the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing straight up. Something was here, something was imminent, and her unconscious mind knew it, even if her conscious one didn't. Elektra quickened her pace, bringing her almost within arms length of the Animal.
The two of them ground to a halt outside a long enclosed storage area, its interior dark. Batista looked back and forth, his breathing hard. "Where are you?" he demanded, his voice softer but no less enraged. He turned around, noticing Elektra for the first time. His brow creased in confusion. "Baby, what—"
The headlights flew on, blinding both of them. Elektra swung her arm to shield her eyes, and with a sickening jolt of horror, heard the squeal of tires as the limo sped toward them.
She knew that what happened next had to have taken only fractions of seconds, but to her, in that moment, it seemed like forever. Without hesitating, Elektra closed the distance between her and Batista, and shoved him back as hard as she could. Normally, she never would have been able to budge him—there was a two-hundred-pound weight difference between them—but whether through his shock, her adrenaline, or some combination of the two, she somehow pushed him out of the path of the speeding vehicle. Almost in slow motion, she saw Batista fall backward onto a pile of empty boxes, a stunned expression on his face. He reached toward her, but Elektra was already looking back toward the limo bearing down on her, its headlights like the glowing eyes of a beast—
And then it was too late.
The car struck the silver-eyed Diva at mid-thigh, throwing her forward onto the hood of the limo. Her abdomen connected with the middle of the longhorn ornament, knocking the air from her lungs. She didn't have time to bring her arms up to protect her face, and her head bounced off the hood's surface, sending a lightning bolt of pain and wooziness through her brain. She felt a rush of heat surging up from the engine.
Just as quickly, though, the limo was slamming on its brakes. The sudden shift in momentum sent Elektra flying, off the hood and through the air. She saw the ground rushing up toward her in a dizzying blur, and then came the impact, her body colliding painfully with the unyielding concrete.
For just a heartbeat, all the world was still, and then everything rushed back in: the pain, the noise, the rush of air past her face as the limo sped around her limp form and out into the street.
Elektra blinked, trying to peer through the veil of dizziness covering her eyes. The whole world had turned sideways, and all the shapes were blurring together, like watercolors on a canvas. Dully, she registered the sound of running footsteps, and then something was crouching down in front of her. With an extraordinary effort, Elektra turned her head a little to the side, squinting up at the form above her.
All she saw was a figure outlined in orange and yellow light. She felt a hand gently touch her cheek and knew that it was Batista. Even though it hurt, she smiled. "You're…you're all right," she slurred. Her voice sounded strange to her ears; just a cracked whisper, hardly a voice at all.
"Elektra?" Batista's hand was still on her face, his fingers caressing her cheek. "Elektra, don't try and talk, okay? Just look at me, all right? Look at me." His other hand closed around hers. The Animal turned around, looking at people that she couldn't see. "What the fuck are you standing there for? Get a goddamn medic over here!"
For Elektra, everything was a dreamy haze of pain, and just beyond it, at the edges of her vision, an ever-growing darkness. With another burst of effort, she squeezed Batista's hand. "I'm…just glad…" She paused, trying to talk through a mouth as dry as sandpaper. "Just glad…that you're…all right." She fell silent, her energy exhausted. The blackness began to unfold, stretching out like a blanket, ready to enfold her in its embrace of oblivion. Elektra closed her eyes. She was so tired, and it would so easy just to fall asleep and dream of nothing…
"Elektra!" The Animal's hand clenched hers, almost crushing it. "No, baby, don't—stay with me! Elektra, stay with me!"
But darkness had already overtaken her.
