Chapter Sixteen: Fuck You and Your Goddess
"Gather up your few possessions, it's time to go mobile," he murmured and watched her retreat to the bedroom area.
As Gwendolyn returned to the staged bedroom that was perfect for a pocket princess, back at Wayne Enterprises, Talia expedited the process of draining the financial reserves of the company.
In the immediate aftermath of Bruce Wayne's untimely death, Miranda Tate had been given fiduciary control of Wayne Enterprises.
Talia was so engrossed in moving the mountains of Wayne's money to several offshore accounts that she couldn't help but jump when Detective Blake knocked three times on her partially ajar, heavy office door.
Talia covered her irritation at seeing Blake with a nervous fluttering of her hands, looking down at the top of the desk, feigning a flustered feminine state.
"Oh, Detective Blake, you startled me," Talia purred in her Miranda voice.
"Miss Tate, I'm sorry for the intrusion, I just need a few minutes of your time."
"Please detective, come in," Talia said graciously as she rose from behind the sturdy desk. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked as she picked up a cut crystal decanter of scotch.
"No ma'am, thank you."
"Please have a seat," Talia said as she gestured to one of the chairs in front of her desk.
"I just wanted to fill you in on some pertinent details that we haven't released to the public yet," Blake said, just as eager and twitterpated around the stunning Miranda Tate, wanting to ingratiate himself to her.
As Blake prattled on to Talia about the employee parking only sticker on one of the retreating vans and the organization in progress to raid the mall, back at the sprawling, once bustling mall that used to be a traveling hotspot, Bane flanked Gwendolyn on the long walk towards the parking lot.
After they used the non-moving escalator as a set of metal stairs to descend to the mall's ground floor, Bane veered to the right, closing a large hand around Gwendolyn's upper arm, and tugging her in his direction.
Gwendolyn looked up to the clothing store's sign with bulbs that had burned out long ago as Bane led her through the cracked glass doors, the store's operating hours still etched upon it.
Bane plucked one of the store's complimentary shopping bags from where they still hung on a metal rack and passed it to Gwendolyn.
"Secure yourself some articles of clothing, quickly Miss Mourn," he wheezed.
Gwendolyn nodded as she accepted the mesh shopping bag and hastily filled it with a variety of plain cotton shirts, jeans, and a package of no-show socks in pastel shades.
Bane's attention was only on her as he watched her fill the bag until his gaze moved past her to a mannequin that was still standing, looking very much like Winged Victory without her plastic arms and head.
All he saw was the diaphanous nightgown that was cloaked over the headless, armless mannequin, her plastic tits high, her hard nipples poking against the fabric.
Gwendolyn's back was to Bane when he removed the gauzy gown from the plastic, incomplete woman's form.
Bane balled up the nearly sheer length of fabric and shoved it inside one of the thigh pockets of his pants before he called to her back.
"Miss Mourn, it's now time to leave."
Gwendolyn turned; a long-sleeved shirt emblazoned with the store's logo clutched to her chest.
"Where are we going?" she asked, rooted in place.
Bane adjusted his wool collar before trying but failing to seem less intimidating, fearsome, or imposing.
"Does the destination have a bearing on your cooperation Miss Mourn?"
Gwendolyn ignored his question, "will you hurt me if that woman orders it?"
Behind his mask, Bane pressed his lips together, still forming an answer before Gwendolyn continued, anxiety making her tone climb to the rafters where the bats lived.
"I would caution foolishness," Bane warned.
"Will you, will you kill me if she says to?" Gwendolyn managed, swallowing hard as Bane's eyes said everything he couldn't.
"I don't know," Bane finally admitted on a broken wheeze, he couldn't lie, couldn't make himself.
"You'd hurt me after what we," Gwendolyn started to ask but didn't know how to qualify their bombastic short time together.
Bane frowned, "after what? Miss Mourn?"
Gwendolyn felt a wave of color start at her neck and wash over her sharp features, leaving her cheeks touched with a flattering blush.
Bane felt like he'd been punched in the gut when he understood what Gwendolyn had started to ask.
He clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw popped. He rose to his full height and forced himself to add a nasty sneer to each of his mechanical exhalations. "Do you think there was meaning to our rutting Miss Mourn?" he scoffed, the nasty melody barbed.
Bane's words imbedded themselves in the walls of Maureen's heart and she felt a rush of acidic bile race up her throat.
She cleared her throat, willing herself not to vomit before squaring her shoulders.
"Fuck you and that cunt you worship," Gwendolyn spit as she stepped back into her hateful television role, condemning everyone that didn't believe what her father said was gospel.
"Miss Mourn," Bane started to caution in a dangerous tone as Gwendolyn pivoted on her heel and sprinted for the posh store's double doors.
Bane had thought that Gwendolyn was done running, he didn't know who she truly was.
But in that moment, he knew he wanted every fiber of her being.
"Miss Mourn," Bane shouted in her wake as she moved at a good clip, running being her only outlet. Her father was too fat to run after her, he'd have a heart attack before he'd be able to fuck her.
Gwendolyn always felt safe when she was running.
She pumped her arms as the dusty mermaid fountain loomed closer. The mermaid was topless, but her hair was artfully arranged over her glorious tits.
The mermaid that could've made men leap to their deaths, didn't blink as Gwendolyn ran by, Bane not too far behind.
Bane felt his heart swell with admiration of Gwendolyn's will, every step he gained on her; cemented his needs.
In an instant, Bane felt his heart stop beating, he was certain he was clinically dead as Gwendolyn's right shoulder exploded, the flesh torn from the bullet of a high-powered rifle.
All Bane heard was Gwendolyn's screams as he skidded to a halt, whipping around to see two of the young militants jogging towards him, whooping, and hollering.
"That was fucking fun, thought I'd help you out old man," the blonde-haired, blue-eyed militant laughed and clapped Bane on the back.
The Aryan's militant tagalong chuckled; he'd do anything he was told to even orbit the spotlight.
Bane made it seem like the easiest thing when he caught blondie by his throat, squeezing and shaking with such force that he separated the spinal vertebrates until they were floating around in a sea of spilled cellular matrix and torn arteries.
The tagalong's chuckle died in his throat seconds before Bane shot out his fingers and pierced the front of the kid's throat. The kid gurgled and clutched at Bane's massive forearm as Bane burrowed his fingers deeper into the front of the youth's throat, closing around the militant's spine, roughly twisting the column of bone.
Life severed.
Bane rushed to Gwendolyn's side, relief rushing over him when he heard her sounds of pain.
He pulled at her blood saturated blouse, wiping away her blood and other thicker bits before he could squint at the exit wound.
Bane found the bullet to have gone completely through and looked like it had missed any major structures or arteries.
Gwendolyn cried out when Bane ripped the rest of her blouse off and pressed it hard against the wound to stop the heavy flow of blood. He used his knee to hold pressure as he reached out to one of the dead militants and fumbled off the kid's belt.
Bane murmured to Gwendolyn in a soothing melody as he used the belt to keep pressure on the wound. He hated that he had to move her in such a state of injury but had no choice with the Gotham Police Department en route at any time.
Gwendolyn's eyes rolled back as Bane lifted her into his arms, crying as she wavered between the conscious and unconscious world.
Behind his mask, Bane gritted his teeth as he carried her with urgency through the rest of the mall, winding through a department store and taking the access stairs to the basement parking. Picking up his pace to a former furniture delivery van, yanking open the back doors and settling her on the trash littered floor.
Spasms began to affect Gwendolyn's body as the combination of blood loss, shock and trauma began to settle in her joints and center of her brain.
Bane rubbed his hands on the outside of her arms, briskly moving his large hands on her body, trying to imbue warmth with the deep chill that had come over her. He rooted around in the random boxes dotted on the van floor, growling when he found nothing but more trash.
He shrugged out of his heavy lined coat and arranged it over her shivering form, checking that his field compression bandage was keeping the bleeding at bay.
Bane grunted in satisfaction at the sight of the satin fibers of the roughly folded blouse bloated, drunk on her spilled blood but keeping more from leaving her body.
He forced himself to get behind the wheel and navigate the van from the mall, side streets and eventually merge onto the four-lane highway.
Bane tightened his hands around the steering wheel with enough pressure that his knuckles turned white when his eyes landed on a dark green sign announcing the upcoming exit in double-digit miles.
If he took the north exit, he'd bring them closer to the Tri-Towers and await further word from Talia.
If he opted to veer south, he didn't know where he'd be driving but there'd be no more bending the knee.