Rating: R Fandom: X-Men: The Movie Characters: Storm and ensemble movie cast, but introducing… Gambit Archive: Ask me, I don't bite. Unless you don't ask…
Author's Note: I had to try my hand at putting Remy into movieverse. The way I'd like to see it done. Because it doesn't look like Singer is going to give it a try. Darn. 11/18/01
Disclaimer: 20th Century Fox has the movie rights, Marvel the rest. I'm not making any money here, just burning my own time and creativity.
Remy LeBeau sat at a table near the rear of the half-empty hotel lounge, cigarette burning in one elegant hand as he casually watched the door. Business was slow on Sunday nights. An opened bottle of bourbon stood on the marble table top in front of him, a short glass with the dregs of a single drink and ice melting in it beside it. He drew subtle attention.
Long auburn hair loose around his face, sunglasses obscuring his eyes, his lean acrobat's build covered in dark silk and leather. An exotic creature that deigned to mingle with mortals. He could sense the speculation flow and ebb around him even through his shields. Actor? Musician? Artist? Anyone they knew? But it was New York. They'd leave him alone, secure in their sophistication. He only had to keep a wary eye out for wayward tourists.
The door of the lounge opened and a short, scruffy-looking man in a baggy tweed jacket came in. Remy lifted his cigarette, dragged deep on it, watching. The man looked nervously around the room, gaze finally lighting on Remy. Eyes widening almost comically before he ducked his head and scurried over.
Remy crossed his booted feet in front of him, tilted his chin up as the man plopped into the chair across from him. Blew a casual stream of smoke into the air. The man leaned over the table urgently.
"Awful public place for a meeting, LeBeau," the man said hoarsely, his voice anxious.
Remy shrugged with casual ease. "I like public right now, Bernard," he said calmly.
"Where's the stuff?" Bernard asked, face pale. He was sweating. Granted, it was warm outside, but the lounge was heavily air conditioned.
"No stuff," Remy said lightly. Bernard's eyes widened in panic.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm canceling the deal. It was a set-up," Remy said, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses as a touch of icy anger entered his voice. "I don't rob children."
"Children?" Bernard parroted, face paling further at Remy's tone. "What do you mean? It was a lab…"
"No, it was a school, Bernard," Remy said, leaning sharply forward in his chair. The motion made Bernard flinch back. "And as you know, I don't take kindly to being set up. I keep half the fee for my… inconvenience. They get nothing. And the word is already out that they're tainted."
"Tainted?" Bernard gasped. "You didn't! These guys, they're big, connected. They want that info bad, LeBeau."
"Then they'll have to find another way to get it," Remy snapped. And he'd already considered that. But Xavier and Summers had been warned. They'd be ready. He pitied any fool who took them on now, with Logan and his goddess to stop them. He buried his twinges of concern. There was business to conclude here first.
Bernard propped his elbows on the cold marble table, dropped his head into his hands. Trembling fingers tugged at thinning brown hair.
"You don't understand," he said hoarsely. "They've already been by. After me. Even though the drop is today. These guys mean business."
"You need to screen your customers better, Bernard," Remy said, his voice cold. "And that's the last deal I'll take from you."
"What?" Bernard looked up in panic, fear of possible pain temporarily overridden by fear of losing a lucrative operative. Remy leaned further forward, lowered his shades and glared at the other man over the top of them. Contact lenses in place, of course. Bernard still shivered.
"One set-up I excused, Bernard," he said, voice low, hard. "But two? As a military man once said, that's enemy action."
"I thought that was the third time."
"Not in my book." He crushed his cigarette out viciously in the ashtray. Bernard swallowed hard, sweating, anxious.
"LeBeau, please, you can't do this to me," he begged. "I've got other jobs lined up…" Remy shook his head tightly. Reached into his leather coat and pulled out his wallet. Dropped some bills on the table and rose easily to his feet. Stared down at the shivering man without pity as he put his wallet away.
"The bourbon's yours, Bernard," he said, then turned and walked out.
Remy found himself turning his motorcycle north. Leaving Manhattan Island. But even when he finally acknowledged where he was going, he didn't change direction.
He had to see her again. His storm goddess.
Enjoying the warm wind of his speed blowing by, the deep purr of the engine between his legs, the highway stretching in front of him; it was amazing how light he felt after formally ditching the job. Freedom from guilt. So he was going back to Westchester. To see her again.
Bernard would just have to face the disgruntled customer with the news. Perhaps that would teach him a lesson about being more discerning. But he'd been absolutely serious. He wouldn't take any more jobs from Bernard. Some people just couldn't recognize the limits he set. Too bad.
The miles flew by, eased by the savoring of anticipation. An art he had perfected. Soon he was winding through the dark, semi-rural wooded lanes, watching for the distinctive walls of Xavier's estate. He parked his bike in the same place he had before, hidden behind brush near the wall. Scaled the high stone wall with ease and dropped down onto the grass beyond. Paused a long moment to listen. Heard nothing but the normal sounds of the night.
He straightened up and walked toward the mansion. It wasn't that late, just after eleven. He noted the lights still on in a large portion of the ground-level rooms. Observed through the windows how the occupants – most of them teenagers – were gathered on the main level, watching television. Saw Summers sitting beside Dr. Grey, his arm around her shoulders, her feet curled up cozily on the couch beside her. He raised a brow at the sight, a smile on his lips, and looked around the room only long enough to make certain the one he sought wasn't there.
Then he walked slowly around the building. Paused in the garden, momentarily daunted by the task of finding her somewhere inside the substantial dwelling without alerting everyone. But only momentarily. He loved a challenge.
He looked up, caught a glimpse of something white blowing near the roof. And smiled.
Ororo Monroe lay in bed, her eyes closed. Weary after a fashion, but she had been unable to fall sleep. It was really too soon for her to go to bed, but her restlessness had left her no other choice. A thin sheet covered her in the warmth of the evening, her body bare beneath to better cool herself. The tall windows stood open, sheer curtains billowing in the gentle breeze.
She heard a quiet scraping sound outside. Her eyes flew open and she sat up, sheet clutched to her chest.
A shadow leaned in the nearest window, obscuring the stars.
"Evenin', chère."
"Gambit," she said, and heard a soft laugh in reply.
"So formal," he said in that same throaty accent. "An' me not even workin'. Want I should call you Storm den, chère?"
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, heart pounding as she wrapped herself more closely in the sheet. What had Jean said about his red-on-black eyes? That he could probably see in the dark?
"Couldn't stay away," he said. "I thought of ma belle femme an' had to see her again."
She flushed and slid to the edge of the bed, hoping he couldn't see her clearly in the dark. Determined to fight back the thrill, the pleasure his words had brought, to think calmly in his presence. She found her robe and slipped it on, belting it tightly as she rose to her feet. He was still in the window, leaning against the narrow railing that lined the tiny, mostly decorative, balcony outside the French doors.
"So, what should I call you?" she asked, hand moving to the bedside light. Her concerns were apparently confirmed when he quickly murmured, "No lights, please, chère."
"Alright," she agreed, moving slowly across the room. Her eyes soon adjusted to the starlight and the spillover from lit windows below. She could see him, handsome face profiled against the stars, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her approach.
She stopped a few feet away. He had removed his contact lenses and his eyes shown faintly red in the dim light.
"My poppa, he called me Remy when he was in a good mood, chère," he said, amusement rippling through his tone, a small smile curving his elegant lips. "Other t'ings when he wasn't." His accent was thick now, his voice slow, drawling. As if he had all the time in the world.
"Remy," she said, the name leaving her like a breath. "What are you doing in my bedroom?"
"Dis your room?" he said with a slightly wider smile, a wicked gleam to his eye. "Pardon me, so rude."
She laughed, the sound low and amused, unable to help herself. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her shoulder against the other side of the window. Matching his casual ease. Watching him.
"How did you get up here?" she asked. His lips quirked and he turned his head to the side, watching her from the corners of those demon's eyes.
"Trade secret, chère," he said. "But it felt like I had wings."
She laughed again, delighted. And was briefly alarmed that his teasing banter pleased her so. Who was he? Just a thief in the night. A man who'd agreed to steal from them. Then, when caught, just as readily agreed not to. A contradiction. An unknown. And already a threat to her heart.
"Ah, so serious, chère," he said softly. Obviously well able to see her expressions. He moved then, slowly uncoiling his lean limbs. Easing toward her like a great cat. Giving her plenty of time to object, to move away. She stood still, barely daring to breathe, letting her arms fall to her sides. He stopped with a scant hands breadth between them. She could feel the warmth of his breath, smell a strangely enticing blend of cigarettes and bourbon and cinnamon there. So tall. She looked up into his gleaming red eyes. Trembled.
"You came to see me?" she asked, scarcely believing that soft, breathy sound was her voice.
"Oui, t' see my storm goddess 'gain," he said, gaze searching her face, looking into her eyes. His hand rose, threading through the long hair hanging by her face, stroking it gently back behind her ear. She trembled again as his hand brushed her skin, her cheek. So soft, so gentle.
"Why?" The question torn from her as she stared into his intent face, so close to hers.
"Why does de sun rise? 'Cause it has to, chère," he said, leaning closer, gaze moving slowly from her eyes to her mouth. Her own eyes fluttered closed, lips parting in anticipation. His warm breath washed over her.
Then she heard the pounding of feet on the stairs leading to her attic, the voices raised in friendly debate. Her eyes flew open. He had moved away with startling speed, was poised at the railing outside her window, looking back over his shoulder at her.
His eerie gaze seared her with heat, with regret, with unguarded need. She gasped in astonishment, half-raising a hand toward him. Wanting to understand, to ask… Then there came a pounding on the attic door at the bottom of the stairwell behind her, girlish voices laughingly calling her name.
He gave her a roguish smile, then disappeared silently into the night.
She stood there a moment longer, frozen, hand still raised. Torn, aching. Then lowered it and turned to walk slowly down the steps to open the door to Kitty and Jubilee's eager faces. Forcing a welcoming smile to her face.
Alone again.
He crouched, balanced, on the long slope of the roof outside her window, listening to the two young girls chatter to her. Heard her low, quiet replies. Just absorbed, for a moment, the sound of her voice.
Oh, how he'd wanted to kiss her. And he almost had. But the first time he tasted her wouldn't be rushed. No, he planned to take his time.
But the waiting would be hard.
He was briefly tempted to lower his shields and touch her essence, to confirm what his eyes, his ears, his heart had already told him. That she wanted him as well. That she felt the same pull, the same connection he did. But he dared not with Professor Xavier and Dr. Grey around. There were too many secrets held in his mind to risk it.
He frowned into the night. The strength of her draw was alarming. He wanted to know her. To learn what pleased her. To savor her. But he'd never felt such an instant bond before and it unsettled him.
Time. He needed time. He remembered the uncertainty and the confusion he had seen in her eyes underneath the sharp desire. She needed time too.
With a last lingering look at her open window, he made his way silently down the roof, down the side of the mansion to the ground. Then calmly strolled off into the warm summer night.
He would go for now. But he would be back.
To see his stormy woman again.
Bernard shivered as he stared across the back seat of the limousine into the cold black eyes of the man before him. Dark haired, thin, austere, the man was somehow ageless. Not young, despite the darkness of his hair, the eerie smoothness of his features. Not with eyes like that. Dressed in an elegant suit, a discreetly striped tie dark against the starched whiteness of his shirt.
Bernard's gaze shot to the man beside him - another frightening individual. A tall, hulking, blond brute with wickedly sharp teeth. Bernard's shoulder still ached from the wrenching the big man had given it when he was hauled inside the car before it drove away.
"I told you, sir," Bernard sniveled. "He got there, got in and then left. Claimed it was a set-up. That it actually was a school and not a lab at all."
"So. The infamous Gambit has discovered ethics," the man said, his voice low and strangely emotionless. With the faintest of English accents. "Of a sort. Or perhaps…" And he trailed away, lips pursing thoughtfully.
"He cancelled the contract, not me," Bernard said, desperate, glancing from the preoccupied dark-haired man to the blond brute beside him. Who lifted a lip in a silent snarl, dark eyes flat like those of a snake. Pitiless. Deadly. Bernard huddled by the door, even though he knew it was locked. Had heard the solid thunk as the locks engaged. He wasn't leaving until they were done with him. He shivered again.
"Gambit has pull, Dr. Essex," Bernard found himself adding desperately. "And he was ticked. I tried to talk him out of it, but he put the word out on the street to all the indies that your contract is tainted. Now nobody will touch it."
"Tainted?" Dr. Essex said, dark brow rising fractionally.
The blond giant grunted. "Spook job."
"Indeed," Dr. Essex said, his expression chilling slightly. "As if I would still waste my time with bumbling government agencies."
"There might be some foreign talent I can get in. Some of them aren't so picky," Bernard said desperately. "Especially from the Middle East."
"I require data from the site, Mr. Bernard, not that it be blown up. Well, Mr. Creed," Essex said, dark gaze moving to the blond giant. "Gambit will just have to be encouraged to complete his mission. He is, unfortunately, rather uniquely qualified for the task."
Then he glanced at Bernard, his lip lifting slightly.
"And dispose of this, will you, Mr. Creed? The whining annoys me."
The blond man's hand lashed out, locked around Bernard's throat. Heavy, claw-like nails digging in as Bernard grabbed futilely at the hand, gagging. The limo had stopped at some point and the big man opened the door behind him and dragged the struggling man outside.
At a waterfront warehouse, location unclear in the darkness, somewhere on the river. Bernard's eyes bugged. The hand tightened around his throat mercilessly. He gasped and kicked, uselessly, choking.
The big man just smiled and lifted him into the air, staring into his eyes as he gave a last flex of his hand and Bernard's neck snapped like a dry twig.
Then he gave a snort of disgust, bent down and wrapped a length of chain that lay on the dock nearby around the body several times before throwing everything into the river.
Bernard's body barely made a splash as it sank out of sight in the dark water.
The big man slid back inside the limousine. Which then drove smoothly away into the night.
Early the next morning, before breakfast, Scott was discussing lesson plans with the Professor when Ororo knocked on the Professor's open office door. Kids streamed past in the hallway, chattering on their way to the dining hall. Running, shoving. Laughing.
"Can I interrupt?" she asked quietly, a serious look on her face.
"Certainly, Ororo," the Professor said with a smile. She stepped inside, waving Scott back to his seat as she closed the door behind her. Scott obligingly sank back in the chair, a puzzled look on his face.
"No, this is for both of you," she said with a sigh. She walked across the room slowly, her long jacket swirling around her as she moved. Then she stopped in front of the Professor's desk and folded her arms over her chest.
"I had a visitor last night," she said with a sigh, glancing from the Professor to Scott. "Remy LeBeau."
"Back so soon," Scott said quietly, not acting particularly surprised. "How did he get in?"
She smiled slightly and flushed, a darkly amused look in her eye. "He climbed up to my window."
Both of Scott's eyebrows shot above his glasses. The mansion was three stories tall. Ororo's room in the attic was nearly four stories above the ground. "Indeed," the professor said, concealing a smile. "A most determined young man."
The office door slammed open abruptly and Logan stormed inside, face clouded with rage.
"That damn thief was back!" he snapped. "I smelled fresh tracks across the grounds this morning."
"Ahem, yes, Logan, so Ororo was just telling us," the professor said, leaning back in his chair. Scott stood up, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ororo as Logan glared at her.
"Came back to sniff around you, did he?" Logan said, a dark look on his face. Ororo met his glare calmly enough, but her back was stiff with outrage.
"The point is, Logan," Scott said, dragging Logan's attention away from Ororo. "That LeBeau has mental shields that keep Jean and the Professor from detecting him unless they are very, very close. And he has extraordinary breaking and entering skills. So if he wants to drop in, there's not much we can do about it right now."
"He does not seem hostile. Indeed he seemed quite genuinely dismayed to learn this was actually a school and that he had been duped into believing it otherwise. I do not believe he means us any harm," the Professor said in his quiet, yet intense way. Everyone turned to face him, granting him the courtesy of their full attention. "And if his… interest in Ororo brings him around again, then perhaps we can convince him to join us, as you did, Logan."
"He's a professional thief," Logan spat, folding his arms over his chest. A disdainful curl to his lip.
"And a very good one, apparently. But perhaps we could put his skills to use for us, instead of against us," the Professor said calmly.
Logan all but goggled at Xavier.
"You mean have him steal information for you?"
"There are still organizations in the world, both public and private, legal and illegal, Logan, that experiment on mutants. If the need were urgent, I would have little hesitation in employing Mr. LeBeau's skills in that regard," the Professor said. "Particularly if it avoided the use of the X-Men in an open confrontation." Scott stiffened, his face paling slightly. Ororo shifted uneasily. Logan glared.
"So we just sit around and wait for this Gambit pain-in-the-ass to drop in again?" Logan said. "And welcome him with open arms when he finally does?"
The Professor glanced at Ororo, who flushed slightly under his gently knowing look.
"I do not believe we will have long to wait."
Remy LeBeau had slept short after arriving back at his Manhattan apartment, then gone out while the day was still relatively new. Sunglasses firmly in place against the bright morning sunlight, he took a chance and didn't put his concealing contacts back in. What was life without a little risk?
Stopping for coffee and a roll at a corner stand, then a quick visit to the local grocery for food. He hadn't planned to stay in town after the last job, and the change in plans had left him short of fresh food.
Restless after last night's abortive encounter, he found himself wondering with more than idle curiosity if his lovely goddess would enjoy the view from his patio. Not a spectactular view, but a view indeed. The small penthouse suite he owned had always seemed more than adequate to him as a stateside base of operations, but to her, used to the mansion in Westchester? He sighed slightly, a wry smile crossing his lips.
Already, he was worried if she would approve of the place he lived and he hadn't even kissed her yet? He shrugged internally, laughing at himself to keep from crying. The great Gambit brought down by a woman he barely knew? If his brother and father and friends could only see him now… he shrugged the painful thought away. Best not to think of home and other things that were no longer his.
The first crush of early morning traffic had faded to the normal daily level. He strolled down the street, watching his surroundings with casual efficiency and a thief's cautious training, a single bag of groceries held in one arm as he contemplated his attraction to Ororo Monroe. So very beautiful, but he'd known many beautiful women. Was the draw in the challenge of overcoming the cool self-possession in her gaze? The touch of tragic solitude? The perception of bewilderment over his attentions? Or was it the sense of finding a life suspended, like an insect in amber, so alone and just waiting for someone to recognize her need and release her?
As he was alone. As he had been for far too long. But he liked it that way, didn't he?
His full attention jerked back to his surroundings as a car slowed beside him on the semi-residential street. Dark tinted windows. Outwardly he betrayed no heightened awareness of it, but inside he prepared himself for a fight. He casually slipped his free hand into his coat pocket. Finding his deck of playing cards with ease. The car ran suddenly forward into an alley entrance in front of him, the doors all opening to spill three rough looking men out onto the sidewalk in front of him.
He stopped, watching them with a deliberately amused smile on his lips.
"Hey, buddy, got someone who wants a word with you," one of the men said, an aluminum baseball bat held at his side. As if chance encounters might lead to a casual game on the street. The other two men were bigger, but appeared unarmed. Jackets could conceal much, he knew.
Remy's hidden gaze flicked over the three men before him, the nearby street, the presence of bystanders. Not too many, nor were they dangerously close. He smiled wider and pulled his hand out of his pocket, leaving the cards behind. No sense attracting too much attention.
"Only t'ree?" he said, deliberately exaggerating his accent. Let them think him a hick. "T'ink dat's an insult, me."
"Really, punk?" the spokesman said, glaring back. "Just get in the car and there won't be any trouble." The other two advanced slowly.
Remy sighed and turned away, keeping a wary eye on them behind his sunglasses as he set his bag of groceries down with deliberate nonchalance on the back of a nearby parked car. Then he turned back to face the advancing men, both hands spread wide in an apparently conciliatory fashion.
"Jus' a minute, hommes," he said, sobering slightly, readying himself. "Don't want no trouble here."
"Too late," one of the men muttered as they continued toward him.
Remy just smiled, watching closely, lowering his shields slightly. Enough to read them. The closest man lunged for him and he spun away almost before the attack came, leg sweeping out to fell the late-responding companion with a foot across the jaw. Steel toed boot. Remy smiled dangerously as the man crumpled, his buddy's face blank with astonishment. Blocking the man's pain as it rolled over him. Focusing grimly through it as he had long ago learned to.
Outside anger surged. The first bruiser drew back to punch him but Remy flipped expertly away toward the surprised spokesman, both feet striking the man's chest and sending him reeling into the car behind him. The man fell to the concrete hard after his head slammed back into the car, cracking the window glass with the force of impact. Baseball bat ringing noisily on the ground beside him.
The last man standing, the first to attack, had turned to follow him, responding slowly to the shocking speed of Remy's response. The man launched himself at him with a yell, arms wide as if attempting to tackle him. Remy twisted easily out of the way, dodging the clumsy response with fluid skill. Then kicked the man in the rear as he passed and sent him careening head-first into the side of the car he'd climbed out of. The man crumpled to the ground too.
Remy scooped up the fallen baseball bat and leaned inside the open front passenger door of the car. Pressing the cold barrel of the bat against the driver's startled throat. He reached into the man's coat, slapped the man's hand away and pulled out the gun holstered there.
"Tell your boss dat Gambit don't like dis approach, homme," he said quietly. Face grim as he tucked the gun in his own coat pocket. "He wants an appointment, he make one t'rough channels, oui?"
"Y-yeah. Sure, man," the driver stammered, eyes rolling wildly. And Remy could feel the man's fear, his shock. Three men down and out within seconds. Not what they'd been expecting at all.
Remy spun the bat neatly away under his arm and slipped out of the car. Glanced around at the three bodies on the ground. One already groaning his way back to consciousness. The other two still out cold. He walked unhurriedly over to his bag of groceries. Picked it up. Scanned the area and gave a disdainful sniff.
"Dey jus' don't make hired muscle like dey used to," he said loudly, shaking his head with mock sadness. Then he adjusted his sunglasses before he walked away across the street, heading for the opposite alley. His shields open just enough to warn him of further attacks, but there were no hostile emotions he could detect save the driver's lingering fear and the astonished shock of the few passers by who had witnessed the lightning-fast battle. And most of them were just confused. Had they really seen what they thought they saw?
It had happened too quickly for anyone to have called the police yet, and he planned to be long gone before any bystanders regained presence of mind to do so. And so would the goons. The driver had already climbed out of the car to drag his buddies inside.
He discarded the gun in the first dumpster he passed. Removing the chambered bullet and clip before charging the gun up. The muffled explosion inside the dumpster echoed loudly in the alley. The baseball bat simply went into the next dumpster he passed. After being wiped clean of prints, of course. He touched the loose bullet in his pocket thoughtfully.
Then Remy took the long way home.
An elegantly dressed woman stood with her arms crossed over her chest, a scornful look on her beautiful face. Behind her the floor-to-ceiling windows of a luxuriously appointed office framed the skyline of New York City silhouetted by the afternoon sun. The view both incredible and completely ignored by the two occupants of the room.
"You only sent three ordinary men to take him?" she said, her long blonde hair rippling as she turned to pin the man watching her from the nearby couch with a disdainful look. "You are a fool, Essex."
The man said nothing. His dark eyes calm, remote as he watched her. But she still shifted under that gaze. Perhaps regretting the sharpness of her words. The silence lengthened uncomfortably.
"It is best not to show one's hand completely, Madame Candra," Essex finally said. "I required a certain confirmation that I have since received." She turned to face him, a manicured hand falling to touch the top of the desk beside her. Drawing a measure of reassurance from it. Her desk. Her office. Her place of power. But still uneasy under Essex's stare.
"He is aware of your interest now. He will be wary. It will be impossible to persuade him to work for you again," she said, trying to regain a sense of control. Not normally so clumsy in her dealings with Essex, but the subject had her distracted. Remy LeBeau. Her glistening red lips pursed in a frown as memories flooded her. "He is remarkably stubborn."
As she well knew. Remy LeBeau had been under her control, once. Master Thief and heir to his father's throne, so to speak. But she had underestimated him, thought him nothing more than a pretty face. It had cost her control of a very lucrative organization. The elusive and legendary Thieves' Guild.
"Perhaps," Essex replied as those dark, knowing eyes watched her. She shivered inside, hiding it with old skill. Did Essex somehow know how LeBeau had humiliated her? How could he? "And perhaps his new scruples may be used to persuade him otherwise."
Her icy blue gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"
Essex smiled. It was a thin expression, sharp and ominous. It almost sent a shiver down her spine. And she was not easily alarmed. Not the woman who had fought her way to the top of one of the most feared syndicates in the world: the Assassin's Guild.
"We simply find an appropriate lever and apply it," the doctor said, his pale face emotionless.
"He is a loner, Essex," she said sharply. "Anyone he does care about is well hidden from us. There is nothing and no one available to use as a lever against him."
"If you think that, Madame Candra, then you haven't been paying close enough attention," Essex said, a dark amusement creeping into his tone, if not his expression, as he rose to his feet. "Gambit will do as I require, and then I will turn him over to you. All according to our agreement."
She watched the tall man before her, and a sharp, anticipatory smile of her own touched her lips. To have Remy LeBeau at her mercy again…
"Very well, Dr. Essex," she said with a nod. "My Guild is at your disposal."
- - to be continued - -
