- Chapter Fifty-Four -

Be My Bad Habit

By the time she had gotten to the end of her first bottle, enough time had passed for his cigarette to burn low.

Cloud of smoke hanging like a smoggy silver halo in the faint light in the dim room, things had settled outside of their prison. The insufferable wailing that had started earlier had ceased, and much of the blind bumbling had distanced itself, however there was still the sapphire patter on the rectangular slit in the wall.

Exhaling a thick dappled puff of ash into the confines of their four walls, the man combed his fingers through his peppered auburn locks. Thought an all-consuming monster that knew few equals, he tilted his head against the door frame that divided living quarters from personal maintenance. Dark too saturated to make out much, his eyes lingered over his young ward.

Miserable with a hair more than the usual teenage angst, the three dimensional stock photo stared into the depths of nothing as she nursed her security blanket. Catatonic for lack of a better word, if it weren't for the downward tipping of the bottle, he might have thought she was dead.

If this was how she reacted to learning that he had been a part of the team at that time, he was not looking forward to breaking the rest of the story.

Then out of nowhere she suddenly began to hum to herself, earning a thick red arch pointed in her general direction.

Switching between old Germanic and traditional Chinese, from what he could make of the broken lyrics, the songstress couldn't recall the entire lullaby in her current state. If it was even a complete song in the first place.

Or maybe it had just been too long. It wasn't as if Rafe were still around to help round out the blanks. So far as mother dearest was concerned, there wasn't a snowflake's chance in hell that Bai would be willing to waste her time reciting an old nursery rhyme to her adult daughter. Perhaps she would for her grandchild, but that would be a long time waiting.

Head against the window pane long enough for her hair to collect dew, when she pulled away it was with a string of what he took to be Mandarin. To be fair, it might have been some other dialect. The world-traveled and studious Sam thought he might have recognized one key word in the slurred speech, but he couldn't be positive. Accusatory and dark, he could tell that the storm cloud was aimed at him however, most probably having to do with what he had done.

Weary of how much she had been drinking up until this outburst, he snuffed out his cigarette and moved to do his job. Deep in his gut, moving away from the bathroom door after all this time felt like it was crossing from one boundary to another. From jade jungle to the secret city hidden within. In short, he had a foreboding about engaging with the little booze fiend, but it was his duty to pry the bottle away before a bad habit was formed.

Or worsened.

"Alright," a drinker at heart, the expressionist didn't miss the hypocrisy of his goal as he gestured for the booze, "I think it's time we cut you off."

Gently conveyed with patience to keep things as clean as he could, the young woman still saw the suggestion as an act of aggression. Opposed very deeply to losing the one thing that could possibly give her any kind of solace, the drunk heatedly set the bottle back down on the ledge. Fire and brimstone, there was enough force in the motion to tell that the clacking of glass was louder than the swish of alcohol.

Nathan had been just as sullen a drunk after one of his first major heartbreaks. Largely out at that time, Sam couldn't really remember the details of the time he was in the picture, but if memory served his little brother had been quite smitten with some local. It was always doomed from the start - one of the first times they had ever agreed on anything, even Sullivan had said as much - but the kid still fell. And boy did he fall hard... right into the middle of almost being a patsy for another smalltime crook.

Ultimately everything ended up aces, the cards falling in a way that gave his little brother real happiness. Gave him Elena and Cassie. Dells, on the other hand... Sam still wasn't sure how that hand was going to play itself out.

Off-balance more than usual, the heiress swayed dangerously from side-to-side as she ventured over to the nightstand. For a moment he had no clue what she thought she was going to accomplish, but the kind answer would have been for her to crawl into bed and sleep this off. Obviously she couldn't sleep everything off, but a little shuteye might just give Sleeping Beauty the room she needed.

No, he had no idea what she was planning, until the bottle of scotch from last night went flying across the room and shattered against the wall next to the door.

"Well now, that's just a waste." Lamenting the loss of a cherry vintage more than anything else, he shook his head at the wreckage.

With only so much left within arm's reach to follow the attack up, the projectiles failed to hit with much force. Plastic sealed latex bouncing harmlessly off his chest and torso, the glorified babysitter spared a glance at where the wrappers gathered at his feet. Agitated even further by this, she waved the final weapon in her arsenal in the air frenetically, shouting hysterically all the while.

Brandishing the last condom as if it were a grenade, Daniella hissed out as Sam attempted to wrestle the wrapper out of her hand. Momentarily flashing back, he had seen what a well-placed bomb was capable of. Fortunately this time it was perfectly harmless, but the thought of an angry hobgoblin with any type of weapon was rather unpleasant.

Fingers wrapping deftly around her smaller hand, calloused prints glided effortlessly across frozen porcelain. Frantically fighting back the whole time, he was left no other choice but to envelope her trembling frame in order to get purchase. Grounding his foot into the polished wood floor beneath the bed as best he could, Sam used his height and weight to his advantage. To her credit, being almost three sheets to the wind lent a kind of savageness to the quote-unquote defense.

Body squirming like a worm on a hook as the fighting spirit took a hold, the atrophying Barbie took things to the next level and tried to ram her shoulder into the perceived enemy.

Element of surprise earning minimal knock back, instinct reacted before the man could, shoving her back in kind. Never the most steady of people from what he had seen, it came as no great shock that this caused the girl to lose what balance she already didn't have.

Neither willing to let go of the would-be projectile, the pair tripped through the primordial darkness to crash-land on the springy mattress. Struggling with the wrapper even upon impact, neither paid much mind to the heavy thud their combined weight made, or the squeaking of the confrontation that filled the air.

Not quite at the point where she mistook Sam for her real foes, Daniella was actually pretty scrappy, resuming the uninterrupted war with persisting vigor. Pain and anger great motivators as it turned out, she showed little problem using both hands to tug, scrabble, and tear in order to feel like she was in control of just one single thing.

Breaking out from underneath damp denim, her thigh brushed up against the lower loop on jeans that served no immediately understandable purpose, knee wrapping around the back of his leg. Determination at full force, the same girl that had jumped from a second-story window threw herself into the grappling game.

Eye contact might have given her the edge she needed, however Dells refused to go to that place, lest the maneuver backfire. Banking on her current course, she doubled-down on erratic movement and the unpredictability of limb.

Pretzels and knots would have nothing on her! Cue the epic theme music blurring in her head to make this out into some historic battle for the ages. Half-remembering yoga, despite twisting all around to capitalize on every possible advantage, the method of the octopus failed Daniella. It failed her miserably, leaving her no closer to victory.

For all the effort he saw the young woman put in, it was almost a pity that Sam had to overcome her sloppy street tactics.

So soon... Win not without drawback, in spite of staying in his wet things like a stubborn dumb-ass when there were drier options available, the man could feel the back of his neck burning a searing-hot pepper red. Not crimson or a sensual carmine, a very lusty scarlet - the kind that they made into lipstick, the kind that was designed for making out.

Just barely discernible in his shadow, the silhouette of her pout was a double-edged sword, one half reminding him why he shouldn't be thinking that way. The other... Oh, the other was like light to a moth, drawing him in.

Almost sweating from the delicious friction of their lively encounter, it was difficult to not notice certain things.

Statistically, there was the nagging fact that there was some small amount of alcohol consumption, then a hasty battle with protection that culminated with a fated tumble into the sack. Mind wired for seeing the world his way, the mental gymnastics required to fill out the blanks weren't overly strenuous. In fact, all the evidence he needed to support his case was to state that all they had to do was try to climb every which way over the other to reach their current position. Which wasn't a lie, necessarily.

Less a subject taught at some point in school and more something you just intuitively came into during life, the most damning part was how his body had nearly acted of its own accord, rising softly to meet her in the middle.

Driven by his own desire, the topping hips ground themselves against the bottom like an anxious sleeper grinds their jaw thin, every second longer than the last. Orange flames dancing higher than the blackened embers she smoldered over, the yellow licks of passion only intensified when the spry temptress had snaked around her waiting prey. Vermilion toasting logs that could only turn blue, he knew then that while he might not have been kissing her, he was definitely touching her lips.

Intertwined at the waist and wrapped up the way of lovers, during the scuffle it would have been easier to excuse anything she might have felt off as merely the heat of the moment. Now that they had slowed to a stop, the adventurer could think of no good reason why they should remain that way, legs hopelessly tangled one loop shy of a hitching tie.

Suffering alight in his eyes, Sam hesitated, painfully aware that she would catch on sooner rather than later if he didn't stop. Although she wasn't quite as warm as the nuns had promised hell to be, how could he bring himself to stop when it felt like Dells was custom built, just for him?

Stealing one moment more like the thief he was, Sam was all too aware of the bellowing ache Daniella only scratched by accident.

It just feels good because of the temperature, no matter how many times he put that mantra on repeat, it was hardly enough. After getting so worked up from their newfound proximity, he couldn't not see Dells from last night, her back to wood and sand and all the stars in the sky. Captured at her most vulnerable, he couldn't not hear her crying out for him, begging for more than just a taste. Chaste no longer, he had been the reason why everything had broken apart to reforge itself anew. She was a woman, because of him.

If he could, Sam would like to go back to that moment.

Lost someplace between his own self interest and what the other person in the room was going through, laying atop the mini heater made it apparent just how cold they had gotten.

"We should get you outta those wet clothes." Motivation neither purely altruistic nor entirely perverse, he anticipated the blow-back; what the career criminal didn't fully account for was the swift knee-jerk. Nodding slowly as he counted to three, Sam lectured the heiress, "That wasn't nice."

For her part, the girl didn't take too kindly to the negative outcome of their battle for safety, nor did she much appreciate the sudden suggestion that they... that they... Reliant upon her anger, the heiress began to beat on his arm. Fists feeble at only every other punch, it was all too clear what she was trying to say.

How could you hurt me like you did?!

I trusted you!

Horizontal interchangeable with vertical for the drunk, it was in her eyes too, glittering in the darkness like a cobra on the hunt. Dammit Sam, I trusted you with everything I had...

I hate you.

While the words were there, there seemed to be something missing in the velocity of the accompanying strike. There was no knowing if it had been some kind of mistake, or if he was simply starting to acclimate to the force she was exerting, but it sounded like there was something there, holding her back. Or maybe he just hoped...

Hoped that...

Hoped what? Shaking his head, Sam sighed and nearly leaned his forehead against hers. He couldn't explain why, but it just sounded good, peaceful, like something he should just do.

"Dells," tone calm and head drooping but not quite touching, he could only take so much more.

Reading each blow as they thundered down (or rather, up), the sky mirrored her pure fury. Blackest ebony at the surface, neither showed signs of subsiding, nor would they know containment. Wearing down the sturdy foundation, the barrage kept up until such a time as the winds shifted and the rain hit the window. Slowly the drops came, fat and round against the glass, but they would not cease.

"Stop." Less upset at the abuse and more apathetic about it at this stage, his tone was a warning to the wounded specter. You don't want us to go down that road.

"No." Declaring her intention with a rather telling warble, she brought her hand up once more. "Not until you know."

He wasn't an idiot, yet it was apparently something that had to be said between them. Serious as the watery grave in which Rafe was rotting, Drake tossed his empty prize down just out of Rambo's reach and held her down. "Know what, dear?"

Succumbing to the confinement but not the man that held the chains, she collapsed back against the mattress. "That we can't do this anymore," to illustrate what she meant by 'this', the young woman bucked her hips up into his overactive groin, rubbing against him to their individual detriments, "I have to hate you now. We can't like each other like that anymore..."

"Why," Sam's eyes demanded to be told, the hard line of his mouth unwilling to be satiated with less, "because of mommy and daddy?" Raised a certain way no doubt, it was hardly a newsflash that Bai hated everyone that wasn't Rafe, and the last time he checked, the crazy bastard was dead. Largely by his own hand at that, but the heiress hadn't quite heard the full story just yet. He should probably fix that, but she was hardly in a state to retain the important details.

Capitan Morgan (or maybe it was Jack Daniels) responsible, Dells was just drunk enough to miss the beat of the conversation. "Because we can't."

Not a no, there was no part of her that he couldn't read as an invitation.

Powerless and completely in charge simultaneously, as he hovered above the young woman he could feel the magnetic pull return. Once again squaring off for the title of master, all there was was the invisible hook in his navel, yanking him left and right every time she breathed. They must stay connected, it was imperative, a matter of life-or-death. To be without for even an instant would be tantamount to death...

Alright, so maybe that was a little on the dramatic side, even for him. However it was almost too much to part now... Seeing the right parts of both Rafe and Bai in her was bad enough, but feeling just how warm she was beneath the wet layers of their clothes...

Fragile, drunk - drunk enough that she almost certainly wouldn't remember any part of this - and the very definition of daddy issues, Dells was exactly his kind of girl.

Clawing to the surface whether anyone liked it or not, there was no hiding how he felt in that moment. Hair spilling across the hotel sheets, blue lips parted just enough, it was like an amalgamation of a pin-up and a rescuee from the Titanic. Was that a sin? Pretty sure it was, it was by far the least egregious on the list.

Blood pounding in the hazy noir setting they found themselves in, the girl attempted in earnest to resume her assault, beating wildly against his chest. Stirring more than an outcry for independence, all the good boy points Sam had accumulated these passed couple of years were gradually ticking away. Rapidly flying away. All but vanishing in the blink of the proverbial eye.

"I believe I told you to stop." All but growling, it was for her own good, really.

Riled up and sporting rosy cheeks through the gloom, just watching the strain of her chest heaving beneath him was... Tantalizing. Er, bad. Very bad. Questioning why he should hesitate - oh, yeah, that whole thing about her daddy - a part of Sam was utterly captivated by the sight, absolutely enthralled by the ragged noise of her hard breathing in the soaked silence.

"Dells..."

Successful in his endeavor to disarm the young woman and little else, the grizzled brunette had to remind himself of the position he was in. In with the heiress, not the fact that they were just two lost pennies that kept finding themselves in the same pocket. He royally fucked her over, and she was just too raw to do that to at this stage.

Daniella was... fragile. Whereas she had usually made him think of Nathan by fluke, this time he actively found himself trying to compare the two so that he would be less tempted to cross any boundaries he probably shouldn't.

"About those clothes..."

Quivering despite being sandwiched between the southern gates, Daniella would still be hitting him if she could. He had to understand, and he had to suffer. Emotional in the purest and most seething of ways possible, the rawness in her eyes only made it that much harder to hold back.

Except, the more she struggled beneath him, the harder it was getting to not fall back to the most selfish of impulses. He was only trying to say that she would catch a cold if she didn't change soon, but his body was saying something else entirely. How the hell was she so immune to the string tying them intrinsically together?!

Secretly, she wasn't.

Wishing that she could be wholly numb to not have to bear the jealous weight of her father's shadow, Daniella would have given anything to be able to just collapse into the sturdy hollow of Sam's heart. To just cry and feel his hand across her back, pulling her deeper than deep. At least, that was what had been going through the mind of a mostly sober Daniella. Now that she was pissing into the wind, the hardest place for her to be was actually right where she was.

"Why can't you just let meh hate you?!" Sobbing into a shirt that wasn't quite dry yet, the heiress furiously shook her head, screaming at the top of her lungs that everything might be easier if she could only make him feel a fraction of what was crashing around her.

Not as good a daughter as she pretended to be, Daniella wanted to hate him, she really did.

Pressed against the man the way that a woman in lust should be, Dells felt herself going blind between the hazy tilting of the world and the water building up behind her eyelids. Liquid amber replacing proper, clean plasma, her hand balled into a fist at the doorstep of his heart. Knocking once against the thin wet fabric and the flesh beneath, she lingered, lost and alone and desperately needing a friend.

I need you, Sam.

Control slipping (if it existed at all), the young woman needed him as a friend, as a protector, as a drug, as just a moment of relief. Without knowing the true extent, Daniella needed him in every way he was willing to give himself. The more she could have of him the better, however like any addict on the low, she was prepared to take whatever she could get.

You're the one that hurts the most, more than Angel and Ashley, more than Mama's lies, but I need you, Sam.

Magic words a curse for the well-behaved, he thanked his lucky stars he didn't count himself among their ranks. Gingerly bringing one hand down the expanse of her arm, the thief traveled slow enough to elicit a breathy huff. "There are other ways to hate someone."

Terrified that this was some sort of ruse, she squinted so that her hopes couldn't go any higher than her eyelids. "Like wha?" Having some inkling of where this could go, fire was feeding fire in her belly.

Just a whisper, the answer sent a shiver shooting down her spine all the way to the core.

Sam...

Virtually ignored, there was a tiny holdover of sense or sobriety - call it what you would - that tried in vain to reach her last remaining braincell. That, what he suggested, that sounded more like a reward than a punishment. Then again, with almost no inhibitors to her inhibitions, the simmer roiling in her gut was even harder to ignore.

Practically nose-to-nose, he was already so close, and there was that certain kind of gleam in his eyes... Frustration bubbling over, Daniella knew even in her current state that if they weren't already on the bed, her knees might have turned into jelly. Or jam.

Jam was good. Unless it was apple. Apple jam was gross.

"I..." Having downed almost a whole bottle of the hard stuff (one educated guess thinking it might have been tequila), rubbing up and down in a manner that was suspiciously close to a wet dry hump, she was... susceptible to the idea.

Fueled by booze, bad thoughts that didn't know how to sort themselves, and a whole host of fluctuating emotions that couldn't be trusted, Daniella didn't fight it as her body drew closer to the source of her torment. As the one constant in a whirlpool of bullshit, he had been the one to see her through everything. Maybe if she didn't think of it in terms of him being who he was, he could hold her down through this storm.

"Fine," hiccuping loudly, the heiress gave one final thought to separating man from the nearly flawless image she had built up of the thief that stole too much, "just 'member that this is a hate fuck, not a like fuck."

He chuckled, thumb brushing against the inside of her wrist as he agreed, "I know, baby girl, I hear ya loud and clear."

"Serious, there won't be a second time." Head bouncing lightly from side-to-side to a banger of a song that wasn't playing, it was unclear if she was shaking her head or nodding.

Playing at being earnest, the conman did what he did best, telling the girl exactly what she wanted to hear. It wasn't as if it were a lie, per say. "I said I got the message."

Author's Note:

So many Author's Notes! I was hoping I wouldn't need to put one in all these chapters I've been putting up, but eh, it is what it is. This time I feel strongly compelled to talk about Sam. Maybe I'm just out of the groove, still shaking the rust out, but I feel like I'm only scratching the surface. Granted I usually carry the weight of 'am I getting X character right?', but this time I'm trying to juggle it with several years of off-screen development. Did he develop from where he left him in Lost Legacy? I think so, even if only a little bit. But truthfully we don't know, so that's a lot to juggle for a writer of my skill. Or maybe all writers? No clue, and I won't be so presumptuous.

Also, the plot. Believe it or not, for most of these chapters I envision (up to a point) where things will lead. Like Sam and Dells ending up back in their hotel room due to the rain. Originally my plan was to have Sam plan out a kind of scavenger hunt with little clues or stories that would have led up to Rafe's death. Between all the work that would have required and taking what, a year or more, it just kind of evolved out of my hands. I don't mind these changes happening organically, but come on, how many damn times is it going to rain in this story? Well, barring that idea of a future re-write, I can't/won't change what has happened (intentionally, but seriously, with almost 60 chapters, there's probably going to be a little discrepancy somewhere), so all there is is to go forward. To try to do better!

Sorry for the tangent. Maybe I'm venting because I'm tried, or maybe its just cathartic, but here we are.

More importantly, another round of thanks to dragon-queen98 for the second review!

Also, this chapter took longer than I would have liked, going through twelve too many drafts. Hopefully it was worth it!

Also also, never have I been in a drunken hate-fuck type situation, so that's all just what I think might happen. Except there would probably be less thought. And less talking. Because spoilers, that's where things are building.