Chapter 7: Betrayal

He looked up as his Assassin came in the door, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. He permitted himself an inward chuckle of satisfaction at the downcast eyes, but didn't allow any trace of his amusement to cross his face as he silently showed her down the steps to the Assignment Room and sat down at the table. "Kneel," he commanded her, and she did, obediently.

He studied her for a while, noting her downcast eyes and properly submissive posture. In the four days she'd been gone, she had healed a bit; he knew that was because of the visitors she'd had going into and out of her apartment. Apparently the mark cared enough about her that he would help her, but the Master had seen him standing in one of Cat's windows with a beautiful green-eyed woman. He wondered when his little cat would realize that the mark she'd defied her Master for was the property of another woman. Apparently she'd just found out, and she wasn't happy with the idea. She had come back to him, as he knew she would. That was good; he'd use her wounded feelings and hurt pride to bring this contract to a close.

Cat knelt at his feet, eyes lowered. She knew he was still mad at her, but maybe if she promised she would bring the mark down she could get back into his good graces. Her knees began to hurt, and her feet were tingling from the lack of circulation when he finally spoke. 'What brings you here, Bloodcat?"

She kept her eyes lowered. "I am sorry, Master, and I beg of you to accept my apology. He is not what I thought. I thought he was good, and undeserving of his fate, but you were right. I was wrong. I thank you for correcting me, and I want to return to your service."

He waited a long time, keeping her hanging, as he laughed inwardly in triumph. So the little cat finally realized the error of her ways! He kept his face carefully impassive as he cupped her chin and pulled her face up to look at him. Even then she flicked her eyes up at his and then lowered them immediately, as if ashamed. "Apology accepted," he said silkily. "However, I am not quite convinced of your sincerity. "

"How may I prove it, Master?" she said.

He leaned back, thankful that her eyes were lowered so she couldn't see the triumphant smile spread across his face. He couldn't suppress it. "You must bring the mark here," he said to her. "Bring him here, and kill him here in front of me.

"I'll do it," she said immediately. She started to rise.

"Oh, not now," he said smoothly, arresting her movement. "You are not yet healed sufficiently. Relax here for a while, my dear, and heal. Then you can go and get him."

Cat dipped the scrub brush into the soapy water and attacked another spot on the floor. She scrubbed determinedly, remembering his admonition that he wanted to see the floor cleaned completely by the time he came down that night when the shop closed. It wasn't an easy job; the floor hadn't been cleaned in what seemed like years.

It was penance, he said, for being disobedient. She wore a humiliatingly skimpy maid's uniform, was on her hands and knees scrubbing his floor, and would soon be required to cook his dinner, as she had every night for the last week. She would wait kneeling at his feet until he finished, and he would set the plate with its leftovers on the floor. She would sit there and eat it, then do the dishes. When he was ready to go to bed, she was required to help him undress, undress herself, and sleep in his bed. She bore it all, determined to prove she was trustworthy again.

She thought about Remy. What was he doing now? Was he with that pretty woman? Cat scrubbed harder, angry. He had led her on, playing with her feelings, making her think he loved her. She felt a blush tinge her cheeks. The duet on the piano…oh, it seemed like a lifetime ago. She really had meant the song she sang.

Oddly enough, now that she thought of it, so had he. He had been sincere when he had sung that song to her. And come to think of it, he never really had said he loved her. Had she just imagined that he loved her because she wanted so badly to believe it? He had been kind, flirtatious, charming, but he'd never told her it was anything but momentary. She sat back on her heels, stunned. Maybe it had all been in her head. Maybe she'd imagined it because she wanted to believe it.

But he did care about her, she was certain of that. He was so careful and gentle when he'd worked the salve into her sore back, and he'd been so distressed at her pain. The Master said he loved her, but he seemed to enjoy her discomfort, and besides handing her a tube of ointment he hadn't tried to help her heal. Instead he was humiliating her, subordinating her every chance he got.

She bitterly regretted having walked out on Remy that day; she hadn't given him a chance to explain. She prided herself on being fair; her sense of right and wrong had helped her take out and mete out appropriate justice to her marks. Where had her common sense gone that day?

Well, it was too late. The Master had said they would plan tonight for what she would do to bring Remy here. She still felt a pang when she thought of his dying, but she tamped it down ruthlessly and told herself that once he was gone, her life could go back to the way it was, and she'd be able to bring back a tiny measure of her freedom again.

Remy slammed out of the bar, cursing under his breath. He'd been looking for Cat all over the city for a week now, showing everyone he saw a picture of her he'd found in her apartment. She hadn't been back there; he'd had to pick her lock every time he came in.

He started his bike wearily, heading downtown to her apartment complex. He kept riding by there, hoping that he'd see the light on in her window, hoping to see her home so he could explain. He approached the building with a bit of hope that was quickly quenched as he saw the window dark. She wasn't home, then.

Where could she be? He lit a cigarette as he thought. She wasn't home, she wasn't anywhere he could find her. He sighed. Maybe if he checked at the shop where she had her bike repaired, maybe they'd seen her.

He tossed his cigarette butt away into a puddle, watched it fizzle out. He watched the reflection mirrored in the water, a reflection of a window suddenly lightening. He looked up, idly, to see which window it was. He jumped as if he'd been shot. Cat's window!

He took the stairs running, and knocked on her door. She answered, and looked coldly at him as she saw him. "What?" she snapped.

He took a deep breath. "P'tite, I know you're angry," he said. "Please, let me explain." She looked for a moment like she was going to slam the door, then stepped back. He took that as an invitation and walked in.

She went into her kitchen, picked up her dishtowel and continued to dry her dishes as she said, "Talk." He stuttered for a moment, but as she pinned angry blue eyes on him, he found his voice.

"I never meant to hurt you, p'tite," he said quietly, pleadingly. "Rogue an' I, we go way back. We been toget'er off an' on, for a long time. Dat de way t'ings always been. A few weeks ago we get in an argument, and I get mad. I walk out on her. Den I meet you soon after, an you remind me of her, an' I guess I pick t'ings up wit' you because my feeling get hurt 'cause Rogue not talking to me. We patch t'ings up, an' we back toget'er again. I'm sorry if I make you t'ink somet'ing be goin' on dat ain't, p'tite."

"Oh, Remy," she said, dropping into a chair, anger gone. She had been thinking things over, and now what she suspected was true. She had just imagined it.

There was a gentle tinkle of glass, and they both looked up. There were two glowering, hulking brutes standing in her apartment from the fire escape. Remy had barely enough time to note their presence when they jumped him. Caught by surprise, he couldn't fight as they draped a restraining collar over his head, keeping him from using his powers. Then the second man grabbed the heavy crystal vase off the table and smashed it over his head, and he slid into blackness.

He awoke in the back of a car, a blindfold wrapped around his throbbing head, covering his eyes, and his wrists tied behind him with heavy rope. He could hear voices, Cat's and that of one of the other two men, he supposed. He listened, giving them no indication he was awake.

"The Master sent us to be sure you carried out his instructions," one voice said. "You backed out of this mark once; he wanted to make sure you don't back out again. Remember, this mark is worth forty thousand to him, and sixty thousand to you."

Remy blinked under the heavy linen. Belladonna had paid a hundred thousand dollars for him? He was dead, then. Without being able to use his powers he couldn't escape. Oh, what he wouldn't give to have Jean's telepathic powers! He could call the others, and they would find him. He clenched his teeth. He might not have telepathic powers, but he could fight his way out, if he was patient, and waited for a chance.

When the car stopped it took all his willpower to remain quiet and still. He nearly yelped as his head knocked against the edge of the floor of the vehicle, but bit his lip and stayed silent. He heard the tinkle of a shop bell, the kind that shopkeepers hung on their doors to tell them someone was entering and leaving, then the air around him suddenly smelled cool and a bit musty. He tried to identify the scent, which was a little familiar, but couldn't place it. He wished he had Logan's senses; the man would have been able to tell him everything about the shop and how many people were here. All he could smell was dust.

He felt himself descending, slung over one man's shoulder, and smelled male sweat from an unwashed body. His nose wrinkled in distaste. Then a sudden lurch as they reached a level surface, and he was pulled roughly off the man's shoulders and dropped roughly to the floor. The tablecloth was yanked from his head, and the blindfold was yanked off. He forced his face to remain immobile.

The Master looked up as his Assassins came through the door. Scar came first, hauling a limp man after him, and Stalker followed, gripping Cat's arm firmly. He tsked in annoyance. "My dear, I thought you had learned your lesson," he said. Cat stayed silent.

He pulled his foot back and kicked Remy as hard as he could. Gambit couldn't stay quiet after that; he grunted and curled over as best he could with his hands bound behind him. The man laughed cruelly, the sound sending shivers up and down his spine, and grabbed Remy's hair, yanking him up to meet his gaze, then backhanded him as hard as he could.

Remy knew instinctively that this was the man who had tortured Cat. He had a cruel smile, silver hair, and a face that was all harsh planes and angles. The ice in his eyes made Gambit grit his teeth. "Kick a man when he down, homme?" he said, smiling unpleasantly. "Not very honorable."

The man grinned, but it was a mirthless smile, and it didn't touch his eyes. "There is no such thing as honor anymore," he said, eyes glittering. "Only money. And you are worth a great deal of it. I would have had you killed quickly if you had not subverted my Assassin again, but you did and now you will pay for what you did. Or rather, you will watch her pay for her weakness in giving in to you."

The man holding Cat's arm shoved her forward, and she stumbled to her knees beside Gambit. He felt her hand caress the bruise on his cheek for a moment, then trail lower, to his jaw and his neck, where she paused for a second, then kissed him passionately, her arms wrapping around his neck. He stared in disbelief into her blue eyes as she winked. He was trying to decipher what she'd done that for when another man came forward, pulled her away from him, and ripped off the light dress she wore. She cringed at the Master's feet, wearing only her underclothes, as the one who had manhandled her went to a tall cabinet across the room and opened it. Gambit's eyes widened in horror as he saw the man pull from it a long, vicious-looking black bullwhip. He handed it to the one Gambit now knew was the Master.

He commanded sharply, "Pick her up. Secure her to that post there." Gambit struggled in his bonds as he saw them drag Cat to a thick pole that was part of the building supports, and wrap a long rope around her wrists twice. Then they wrapped the other end around the post above her head and left her struggling there.

The Master dropped the whip for a moment, yanking a long knife out of his belt as he went to her helpless body. For a moment Gambit thought he was going to cut her throat, but he instead grabbed a handful of her long chestnut hair and cut it off. The knife tangled in the strands and yanked unmercifully, and she sobbed in pain.

When it was all hacked off, he stepped back, sheathing the knife and picking the whip up. Gambit realized what he was going to do, and looked alarmed at Cat's bare back. The welts from her previous beating hadn't fully healed yet; the whip would reopen the wounds. "Non!" he called, struggling furiously in his bonds, getting up to his knees and trying to lunge for the Master desperately. "No, don'!"

The collar around his neck lurched almost imperceptibly as he struggled, and he stilled as he felt it. He twisted his neck around again, and this time felt a definite give in the collar. He set about struggling in earnest as he figured it out. She had unlocked his collar as she kissed him.

It fell with a clank to the floor, distracting the Master from his sport momentarily, and he looked around momentarily. He blinked in surprise, caught off guard for a scant moment, and that moment was enough. Gambit channeled his kinetic energy through his hands, and the rope around his wrists disappeared with a small, controlled explosion. He reached for the pack of cards he always kept in his back pocket, and charged one up, flinging it at the post above Cat's head. The post disintegrated, along with the rope, and she was free. He circled to her side warily as the other assassins closed in. He counted. Twelve of them. There was no way they would survive twelve trained assassins.

Cat knew that too, and the wheels of her mind began to turn, trying to find them a way out. She suddenly remembered the door she had seen when she was cleaning; it was probably another escape tunnel.

He flung cards here and there, not doing any damage but keeping the Assassins at bay, circling them warily. Cat pressed her back to his, watching the others. Stalker became impatient, and charged her, yelling, sword stretched out in front of him, intending to impale them both on its blade.

She stepped forward, one hand going to grab the blade, the other going for his fist wrapped around the hilt of the sword. She barely felt the steel bite deeply into her palm, so fiercely was she concentrating on wrenching the sword out of his fist. She sank her nails deep into his hand, where the tendons held his thumb onto his hand, and when he howled and dropped the sword, she wrested it from his grasp. Now she had a weapon. "Keep your back to me, Remy!" she instructed.

"No problem, chere," he said. "Do you have a plan? 'Cause Remy running out of cards."

She began to move toward the forgotten exit, the sword in her hand making shining arcs in the air before her. Scar, one of the others, got a wickedly deep slash on his arm and fell back, howling, the arm nearly severed. The man who had carried Remy so roughly rushed forward in what he thought was an unguarded moment, and got his legs sliced off for his trouble. His screams seemed to incite the others to fury, and Gambit charged another card and threw it into the face of another attacker. His hands came up to his ruined face, to his eyes, and he fell back, screaming as blood coated his hands. Gambit didn't spare a glance. It was either him and Cat, or the Assassins. And he was determined, if they were going to win the battle, he'd take out as many as he could before they were killed.

Over the screams of the wounded and Cat's panted breaths he heard the deeper voice of the Master inciting his Assassins to greater effort. He was screaming in fury, spit flying out of his mouth, and a small part of Gambit's mind suddenly realized why he tortured Cat. He was jealous. He wanted her for himself. He filed that bit of knowledge away and concentrated on the battle in front of him.

She reached the door, and in one swing of the blade she severed another Assassin's arm and sliced away the thin piece of wood that blocked the door. She grunted to Remy as she severed a head cleanly from a black-clad shoulder, "Get in."

He hesitated. "P'tite…"

"Go!" she snapped. He went into the gaping black hole a short distance, and stumbled over a step. He put a foot on the step, found another one. He turned, in time to see Cat swing the sword against the rotting wood of the doorframe where the hinges were, and the door fell closed with a crash. She sprinted up the steps, pushing him up the steps in front of him. "It's not going to be long before they're after us," she gasped, winded. "Go!"

His head suddenly smacked into a hard wooden surface overhead, and he brought his hands up, kinetically charging the door. "Look out, p'tite!" he said, and crouched over her as the door exploded. They erupted into bright sunlight, and he blinked the spots from his eyes as he climbed over a jumble of concrete blocks and building debris. As she scrambled clear he placed his hands on the wooden beams around the opening, and charged them. He didn't stop there, though. Concentrating, he poured all his energy into charging the surrounding pavement, and Cat watched in awe as the red glow climbed the wall of the bookshop. He waited until he heard the yells of their pursuers in the dark stairway below then pulled his hands away and released the charge. He wrapped his arms around Cat and pulled her down behind the debris pile, covering her nearly nude body with his as the sections of wall and pavement blew. Stone and chunks of brick, glass, and wood rained around them, and Gambit felt the woman tremble under him fearfully. They didn't move again until the debris stopped flying.

He got up, helping her to her feet, and looked her over critically. He had been wearing his uniform, so the body armor he wore had protected him from the worst of the debris, and she, sheltered under him, had escaped any serious injury. She did have a lot of dust and glass shards in her raggedly cut hair, and her legs bled in several places where glass had cut her, but she was otherwise okay.

She looked at him, looked at the remnants of the building, and said "Wow!"