Disclaimer: (see chapter 1, 2, 3…….13) yada yada
First of all I would just like to say I am sooooo sorry this took 12 days to get done. Even I suffer from writers block and stupid ideas not worthy of being put to paper. But at last, we finally have a winner (or so I hope). Anyway, enough groveling on my end. Here you go, the long awaited chapter 14. As always, thank you all for the divine reviews. And special thanks to Ckrisz for being my wonderful editor. I truly could not have done this without you!
Chapter 14:
Long Swords and Sea Rats
Spike stretched his long legs over the yellow couch. He watched the wisps of smoke from his cigarette curl up slowly to the ceiling, only to be sliced away by the metal fan blades whooshing overhead. His brow furrowed with a scowl as his thoughts wandered to the previous night.
He had left Faye in the park, drowning in the torrential rain. Too consumed by his own anger, he had run off, not bothering to spare her a second glance. His blood had been boiling and all he could think of was releasing the animalistic fury inside him before it ripped him apart. So he had ran to the nearest bar looking for a fight. Luckily, he had no trouble finding one.
There had been three of them. All young. All drunk. All needing to prove they had the biggest dick in the place. He couldn't even remember how the fight had started, but by the time it ended, he had been the only one left conscious. He had spent much of the night jumping from one sleazy bar to the next looking for someone to pound since he couldn't have Vicious. By the time the sun came up he was exhausted. But at least his blood had cooled enough for him to think straight.
Faye hovered just above his vision like a ghost. She was always there—when he slept, when he woke, when he ate. Always just beyond him. Always a distraction, albeit a welcome one. Where was she now? Did she miss him like he missed her?
I must be crazy. I haven't seen her since last night and I'm acting like she's been gone for days, Spike thought with a slight grin.
He rolled over and snubbed the butt in the ashtray on the metal table next to him. He had returned to the Swordfish to find about a thousand messages from Jet, telling Spike where to find the Bebop. The only reason he'd returned was in hope that Faye had done the same. The disappointment was bitter in his throat. She was supposed to be waiting for him to come back, not the other way around.
"Where the hell are you, woman?" he muttered.
A sharp pain emanated from the back of her skull, shooting throbbing darts through her head and down her spine. A hoarse groan escaped her lips as she opened her eyes. She was sprawled out on a brown leather couch that felt like warm butter against her cheek. Gooseflesh prickled her naked arms, and cold steel encircled her wrists. Reflexively, she freed herself from the handcuffs with a hairpin she always had stuck above her ear for such emergencies. Slowly she pushed herself up into a sitting position, trying to ignore the spinning room that was making her stomach lurch.
Faye rested her elbows on her thighs and buried her face in her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut and took slow deep breaths to keep her stomach from purging itself all over the white plush carpet. She reached around and gingerly touched her wounded head. Blood matted her hair around a crusted bandage. She winced as her fingers hit a particularly tender spot; new moisture seeped through the dressing and onto her fingertips. She wiped her bloody hand on the couch, not caring whether or not anyone saw her do it.
I need a cigarette.
It was her first coherent thought since regaining consciousness. Her second was Spike. Where was he right now? Was he thinking about her? Not that I care, she lied to herself with a scowl. Her body was screaming for a nicotine fix. She patted the pockets of her leather pants. Empty.
"Damn it!" she cursed. They were in her trenchcoat, wherever that was.
She grumbled as she pushed herself off the couch, wobbling a little in her boots. She reached for the nearest piece of furniture, a leather hobnailed chair that matched the sofa, and steadied herself on it.
How the hell are you going to kill him if you can't even stand properly? Faye scolded herself, disgusted with her own weakness.
She scanned the room for her missing coat. She was obviously in some sort of office. In front of her was a large oak desk with a computer and various other office supplies on it. Not a stray paper could be seen. A small filing cabinet, a phone, and a large window covered with heavily tinted glass were all that filled that side of the room. To her left was a door. Behind her, other than the couch, was a floor lamp, bar, and coffee table. A small tree leaning against the oak paneled walls added a touch of life to the otherwise Spartan office. It wasn't exactly the type of place she had expected to be held prisoner. Vicious usually had a penchant for the gothic darkness of dungeons and cathedrals.
"Who decorated this place, his mother?" she mused as she spotted her coat peeking around the other end of the couch on the floor. It was hard to imagine someone as heartless and cruel as Vicious having a mother.
The dizziness had subsided enough for her to walk straight. She padded softly to the couch and snatched up her coat eagerly. She rifled through her pockets quickly. Everything but her smokes, lighter, and wallet was gone, but at that moment she didn't care. Life was suddenly better as the sweet smoke filled her lungs. She threw the coat on quickly and ran to the door. She turned the handle. Locked.
"Damn computerized locks!" she grumbled, kicking the door with her heavy boot.
Faye walked over to the window and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Tharsis sprawled in front of her, a giant metropolis. She looked down to the bustling street below in the dying evening sun. I must have been out for a while, she thought. It had been night when she had been captured, and here it was sunset again. At least 14 hours had passed, probably more. The vendors and businessmen scurried along the sidewalks passing toy vehicles like ants. She had to be at least 20 stories up.
Her reflection in the glass caught her attention. She had a black eye, a couple scrapes, but she didn't really feel them. The only pain that had her interest at the moment was her throbbing headache.
And I just got rid of the last bruises, she fumed as she prodded her ugly swollen face. Why did men always go for a woman's face when they hit her? Probably because a gut punch wouldn't leave so many visible marks, she answered her own question.
Faye swung around at the click of the door lock. It glided open smoothly, without even the hint of a creak. Fear surged through her like fire in dry leaves. Stop it, Faye! She coached herself, trying to quell the terror threatening to take over. She wasn't helpless this time. She could fight back. That knowledge alone kept her outwardly composed while she struggled with her emotions.
"Well, well, well, here we are again," she said indifferently as she dragged on her cigarette. "Miss me?"
"Hardly, Miss Valentine," Vicious said, walking around the desk toward her. He stopped, his nose mere inches away from hers. "I see you got rid of your restraints."
Hot green eyes stared defiantly into silver ones that were colder than Callisto in the middle of winter. A cloud of smoke escaped Faye's lips and hovered between them for the space of a heartbeat.
"Even bigger cowards than you know handcuffs aren't enough to hold me," she sneered, watching anger flicker across his face so quickly that if she'd blinked she would have missed it entirely.
Faded ruby lips curved into a smile that was more a baring of teeth than anything else. Vicious' fist crashed into her face with a resounding smack, knocking her against the window with a dull thud. The pink tip of her tongue darted to the bloody corner of her mouth. He stood over her, his hand raised threateningly, daring her to smirk at him again.
"I should have let my men beat you to death after you slaughtered so many of their brothers. You're lucky you're more useful to me alive than dead at the moment," he said casually, running a white finger over her jaw.
His fingers on her skin made it crawl like a thousand writhing insects. She tried to suppress a shudder, but failed.
"Don't do me any more favors," she replied in a voice much braver than she felt. She sidestepped under his arm, unwilling to endure one more second of his cold flesh poisoning hers with its touch.
"Next time you won't be so lucky," he promised as he roughly grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him.
"If death means I won't ever have to look at your pompous ass again, it will be well worth it," she spat, green eyes flaring under black lashes. "No wonder Julia left you; I can't imagine listening to your whining every single day."
His fingers dug into her arm while his other hand wrapped around her slender throat.
How does she know about that? He wondered even though he knew the only answer. Spike.
"Don't ever talk about Julia to me, unless you actually want to die," he hissed, raising her off the floor.
"I thought we had already established that I would rather be dead than look at you!" she retorted in a choked whisper, all that she could manage with his fingers constricting her throat like a python.
He dropped her to the floor, but blocked her body and any chance of escape with his own.
"You will get your wish soon enough," he stated callously.
"Well, since I'm going to die anyway, at least explain to me why you and Spike hate each other so damn much," she requested dryly.
"That is none of your concern," he warned.
"Ah, I see. It wasn't just your rotten attitude. Spike has bigger and better equipment, that's why she left you. Not that I can blame her," Faye pushed him, knowing she was treading very dangerous ground.
He growled and slammed her against the window, reopening her head wound.
"Small penis, bad temper—not much to offer a girl…" she taunted, sucking the last bit of her cigarette.
"I told you…never…talk…about…her!" he roared.
His hand squeezed her chin and wrenched it upwards, forcing her closer to him. Vicious' mouth hovered just above hers, cruel lips slightly parted. Faye realized she was holding her breath and exhaled raggedly. He sucked the smoke out of her mouth, not quite touching her lips, and blew it into her face. She whimpered in pain as his fingernails drew blood, the sticky liquid dripping slightly.
His eyes narrowed as he swooped down, forcing her lips open with his own. He raped her tongue with his, sliding it around hers like snake in her mouth, vile and evil. His body crushed hers against the glass as his fingers dug into her shoulders like talons. Faye struggled against him as he tried to force her into submission. Screams were choked off as he defiled her lips with his.
This is not happening! Not again! She was on the verge of panic. His tongue was gagging her, slithering further down her throat. This had to stop. Now! Blood spurted down her gullet as her jaws clamped down hard, teeth gouging holes into his squirming flesh. A surprised cry of pain escaped him as he tried to drag his tongue out from between her teeth.
Faye pushed him backwards, his body slamming into the desk chair. His katana sang out of the sheath, but she kicked him in the gut before he had a chance to stand up completely and knocked him to the floor. It was a lucky hit, nothing more. Had he not been off balance and short of breath, she would already be sliced wide open.
The door burst open and several armed men ran in, guns drawn. Cold metal brushed her neck. Vicious stared at her, his eyes burning with contempt. Blood dribbled down his chin in rivulets, staining his white shirt.
"Did you really think I'd let you fuck me again?" she asked, spitting his blood onto the white carpet at his feet. "Especially with that dick you stole from a dead sea rat?"
Vicious stiffened, his fingers curling into a tight fist. If I didn't need her alive…
He settled for backhanding her, leaving the red blush of a future bruise on her cheek.
"That mouth of yours is going to get you killed," he promised
He scowled and dragged her to the door, katana still drawn. She knew he would probably kill her, but at the moment she just didn't care. She raised her head, cocking her eyebrows at his thugs, a slow grin twitching on her lips.
"Didn't you guys ever wonder why your boss carries such a long sword?" she leered, casting a meaningful glance at Vicious' crotch.
Oh, I'm gonna pay for that remark, she thought, bracing herself for his next blow. She opened her eyes, surprised when it didn't come. Her eyes widened at the look on his face; her death was written in the depths of his eyes, while the rest of him remained smooth and emotionless.
"Take her to a holding cell. It seems Miss Valentine doesn't want to partake of my generous hospitality after all," he said in his usual icy flat voice.
He had regained some semblance of composure. She had called him a coward twice, had embarrassed him in front of his men. For that she would die. Soon.
"JET-JET! SPIKE-PERSON!" Ed screamed at the top of her lungs.
"What is it, Ed? You all right?" Jet asked as he rushed around the corner in response to her fearful cry.
"Ed is fine, but Faye-Faye is not!" She moaned sadly as she pointed at the Tomato's screen.
Jet crouched down to read the message. It was addressed to Spike.
"What's going on?" Spike asked, leaning over Jet's shoulder to look at whatever it was that had everyone so upset. He paled visibly as he read the message under a still-frame of a battered Faye.
Spike. Come alone to the specified coordinates 10:00 tonight. If you don't come, she dies. If you bring friends, she dies. It's time for us to end this…
That's it for now. I really really really want to know what you all think! Thanks!