TOXIC
You're toxic
I'm slipping under
With a taste of poison paradise
I'm addicted to you
'Toxic', Britney Spears
Metropolis.
It could have been my city. Should still be my city, if it weren't for my father, out there lurking, waiting for me to show my face in just the right place so he can get rid of me once and for all. I saw it in his eyes when he pulled the trigger – thank god for the blanks. That was Lex's idea. He said that when it came to our father, we couldn't take any chances. I sure as hell learned what he meant. Although, he should have said when it comes to Luthors, you can't take any chances. It's in our blood – survival of the fittest and all of that shit. And by the end of all of this, I plan on being the last Luthor standing.
Unfortunately, I'd pictured my rise a little differently. I admit that Lex has been responsible for my safety the last few months. I always thought we would one day trust one another just enough to join together and take our father down; then I could deal with Lex. But now that he is gone, I'm left to take Lionel on by myself, and I'm not certain I'm ready for that yet. Especially when it comes to a lack of funds. According to Lex's attorneys, my brother left me a nice sum of money in his Will, but Lionel is, of course, contesting it.
The bastard.
I'm sure it's only for the fact that he's still dealing with the ongoing search for my brother that Lionel hasn't realized I'm in town. When he finally hears about my presence, I wonder if he'll send his goons after me or if I'll just suffer some unfortunate slip in front of a Mack truck?
This is bullshit. I'm a Luthor; I should, by rights, be allowed to share in the rewards that name provides. Instead, I'm forced to pay out money just to get into a stupid club when I should simply be recognized, with a standing invitation to every exclusive nightclub in the city. Even if I did use the Luthor name, no one would believe it. That's what you get for not being acknowledged by your own father. Maybe I should just shave my head and change my name to Lex.
Pushing through the throng of beautiful, scantily dressed people, I glance at my watch just as I reach the bar. My contact told me the poker game would be starting after midnight in the back. The money my brother gave me is just about gone and I'm due for a big win. Not to mention I still I owe Desmond on the loan from the high stakes game two months ago. His goons have already tracked me down once.
I order a Sapporo beer from the bartender, who looks like a throw-back to the seventies, before turning and surveying the crowd. It's good to know the people surrounding you, just as it's important to know where all of the nearest exits are. Especially when you're really talented at pissing people off, which is apparently an inherited genetic trait I obtained from my father's side of the family. I pick up my beer when the bartender slides it beside me, and take a swallow as I continue to watch the dancers. My gaze slides to a cage to my right, where some long-legged beauty has the undivided attention of at least a dozen admirers, both male and female. It almost looks like a cult, the way her devotees can't seem to look away from her, swaying in time to her unique rhythm, as if the music doesn't matter. Curiously enough, none of them seem brave enough to actually approach her, as if they're content to simply watch from afar. I'll admit, her legs are pretty fucking spectacular but I'm not really into women who tower over me like I'm fairly certain she would.
Can't help but admire her figure, though. Nice hips that she knows how to shake effectually, a tiny little waist that I could probably wrap my hands around, long dark hair. She hasn't turned around yet, so it's very possible she could have one of those horrid faces like in the cartoons. But still, the package from what I can see is damn hot.
My brow furrows slightly as I continue to stare. Besides being hot, there's also something unsettling familiar about her as well. I can't really say from where – I'm sure I wouldn't forget a body like that – but the legs, the hair, the general length of her registers in my memory like some indelible imprint. I continue to watch a few moments longer before I decide to get a closer look. I still have a half hour before the game, and I sure as hell don't want to spend it just hanging out at the bar like a sitting duck. Who knows? 'Legs' might be impressed with my family name and treat me to a quick blow job in the back alley.
Pushing my way through the throng of dancers, I finally reach the side of the cage, where I'm eye-level with a red stiletto. If I look straight up, I can see the rounded edge of a perfect ass cheek peering from beneath the too short light denim skirt. Fuck. No wonder she has a gathering of fans. I take a step back to get a better look at her when 'Legs' suddenly spins around, bending over and tossing her head back to the music. Our gazes lock and I feel the world tilt out of control.
"Mother of fuck!" I stammer, staring aghast at the half-smile that stretches over her face. "Hudson! Hudson Kent?"
The smile disappears instantly, and a look akin to pure hatred glimmers in her eyes. She turns her back to me and returns to her dance, ignoring me as if I'm not even there. Determined to get down to the mystery as to why my brother's hick ex-girlfriend is practically baring all in the hottest nightclub in Metropolis, I slap my beer down on the nearest table and scramble up the ladder into the cage.
"It is you!" I gasp as I'm suddenly hip to hip with her, staring up at the angry green eyes that are, as predicted, looking down at me. "Hudson, what are you doing here?"
"Stop calling me that," she growls. "That name is dead to me."
Huh. Okay. "S'cool," I reply, holding up my hands as she looks at me as if preparing to toss me off the platform. "I get it. I'm just… shocked as hell to see you here, is all. So, um, what should I call you?"
A slow smile, and then her hand is pressing against the front of my jeans, fingers splayed and probing. "Depends on what you're packing."
I blink. Maybe I'm confused. I'm sure as hell surprised. "Uh… well?"
She shrugs. "Call me… interested." And then she turns and jumps down from the cage and I'm left standing there with a hard-on from hell.
What the fuck!
Shaking myself out of the sudden bewilderment, I make my off the platform and follow her over to the bar where she's chatting it up with the bartender like they're old friends or something. Frankly, I couldn't be more confused at the moment if my mom were to walk in and tell me that her and my father were getting married and we're all going to live together in suburbia with a white picket fence and a dog named Spot. I stop beside Hudson, considering what to do next, when she turns and leans against the bar to face me.
"You look lost, Lucas."
"That's a good description for me at the moment," I reply with a nod as I stare at the dark makeup around her eyes that only seems to add to their exotic shape and color. Her hair is a little lighter now that I look at it, like she added highlights to it or something. The more I look at her, the more I realize it's kind of surprising I even recognized her.
She shakes her head and laughs. "No. I meant, you don't belong here. Aren't you supposed to be sequestered away in Gotham or something?"
"I got bored. Thought I'd give Metropolis a try." I grin. "Looks like I'm not the only one who needed a change in their surroundings."
Another shrug and then her eyes are traveling over me and I can't help but feel as if I'm being considered for purchase or something. I can't say anyone has ever looked at me exactly like that before. It's a little unnerving… and really fucking hot.
"Here you go, Kaela," the bartender says, handing her a shot glass. "Can I get something for your friend?"
Hudson's gaze meets mine again and she smiles. "Why not? Another shot."
"Kaela?" I ask as the bartender moves away to fill her request. "Is that what you're going by now?"
"It's my real name," she tells me, dipping a finger into her glass and sucking on the tip for a moment. "It's the real me."
"Hudson was a little too 'Bobby Sue' for you, huh?"
Another smile. "Something like that."
Picking up my glass as the bartender slides it to me, I sniff at the liquid; tequila. Hudson clinks her glass to mine before I can drink it.
"Here's to new beginnings," she salutes before tipping the glass back and emptying in one quick swallow. I notice she doesn't even flinch.
"New beginnings," I mutter in reply, tossing the liquid back into my throat. It burns all of the way down, but if Hudson or Kaela or whoever the hell she is tonight doesn't show it, then neither will I.
Glancing up, I catch her watching me again, a glimmer of something in her green eyes. I frown slightly. "What?"
"What brings you to Atlantis, Lucas?" She asks, reaching out for another shot of the Tequila. She dips her finger into it and sucks on it for a moment, smiling at me as she nibbles the tip lightly. "I would think this place was a little to… hmm… classy for you."
My gaze narrows. "Fuck you, Hudson."
"It's Kaela," she informs me angrily. "Get it right… or I won't take you up on your quaint little offer."
I choke on my next shot, wondering if she's serious or just screwing with me. Looking up, I find her watching me again, contemplating me as if I'm some interesting specimen pinned to a Petri dish. There's this weird vibe I keep getting from her, like she's not the girl I met back on the farm, and maybe there's something going on here I should stay the hell away from. Growing up the way I did, you start to get a sense of things like that. Unfortunately, I love challenges and I love the idea of taking control of everything my brother once had. I may not be able to rub it in Lex's face again, but I sure as hell can flaunt my spoils to Lionel. I wonder what he'd think if I showed up with Hudson Kent on my arm?
"Why do you keep looking at your watch?"
I blink, not realizing I'd been doing so. "No reason."
Hudson laughs. "Really? I hope you don't think I'm that stupid. You're walking around with five thousand dollars burning a hole through your jacket pocket, and you're as antsy as a coke dealer in a donut shop. Tell me another fairy tale."
"Five – " I stop myself and frown at her. "How did you know that?"
She shrugs. "Lucky guess, I guess."
Damn lucky. Does she know what I had for dinner, too?
Shifting uncomfortably, I glance around before ducking my head closer to her and answering, "There's a poker game schedule for midnight in the back. Real high stakes. I've got someone on the inside – "
I break off when she starts laughing. "What?" I demand.
"Do you have a death wish?" She asks, shaking her head, laughing as her eyes glitter at me through dark lashes. "It must be a defect in your genetic code."
"I happen to be damn good at what I do," I respond.
"Hmmm." She picks up my wrist to glance at my watch. "Well, it's five to midnight. Where is this game of yours? Maybe I'll play, too."
"I doubt they'll let you in," I tell her, frowning as she pushes away from the bar and starts toward the back. Tossing some money onto the counter, I turn to hurry after her. "Hey, Huds – Kaela, I'm serious. They're not going to let you in."
Hudson looks over her shoulder at me and flashes a quicksilver smile. "Oh. They'll let me in, Lucas. They'll let me in."
"How did you do that? Do you have someone on the inside?" I whisper fiercely as we make our way out the back door and into the alley separating Atlantis from the apartment building next door.
Hudson is counting the cash in her hand before she wads up the stack and begins shoving it into my pockets. "I'm special," she tells me with a shark-toothed smile and a wink before pushing me back against the wall. "And you almost got yourself killed in there. You aren't very bright, are you, Lucas?"
I make a face. It's true, I'd almost been caught in my cheating. But then Hudson had pulled attention away from me when she began cleaning me out of every cent I'd won, along with everyone else. It was amazing to watch, actually, because I couldn't see how she was doing it. She seemed to be able to read every card of every hand that every player had. She knew when she couldn't win and withdrew before losing too much; and she always knew when she would win, and at those times would bet higher and higher stakes. At first, I thought she was counting cards but as the dealer began adding more decks – obviously thinking along the same lines – Hudson continued to win. When a few of the players began questioning her methods, their anger growing more and more obvious, she'd laughed and flirted and blamed Beginner's Luck so charmingly, that they had little recourse but to accept her word.
"So what are we going to do with all of this cash, Lucas?" Hudson asks, mouth close to my ear, warm breath fanning across my skin. Her fingers slide into my front pocket.
"We?" I ask, wondering why in the hell I'm letting this farm girl get the better of me. Her leg slips between mine, thigh pushing upwards, rubbing against the crotch of my slacks. Fuck. Is she teasing or is this for real?
"I'm certainly not going to let my partner-in-crime wander this big city on his own. You need looking after."
"Partner?" I breathe as her tongue swipes over the shell of my ear. "What are you talking about?"
"You don't belong here, Lucas," she whispers, making quick work of the zipper on my pants, and then her hand is on me, fingers wrapping around my cock. She strokes me gently, slowly. "If your daddy knew… you'd be in trouble, wouldn't you?"
I glare at her as I suck in a deep breath, her touch distracting me. "I can take care of myself."
"Can you?" She smiles, grip tightening.
And then her mouth is on mine, tongue pushing easily past my lips to devour me. I can't keep up. Her taste is intoxicating, and her hand owns me, alternately tugging almost too hard, stroking, teasing, caressing in a mind-numbing manner that makes my knees shake. I hear myself whimper, wanting more, dying to feel her lips on my cock, to throw her down on the dirty asphalt and shove myself deep inside of her, fuck her until I'm the only Luthor she ever remembers.
The euphoric haze shatters as her teeth clamp down on my lower lip, biting hard, biting deep enough to draw blood. I cry out, the sound muffled against her mouth as she doesn't move, as she suckles the wound, drawing in my blood, licking at it. And then I'm coming in her hand, body shuddering from a mixture of surprise and release, senses overwhelmed by the surrealism of the night's events.
This isn't Hudson Kent. She must be someone else. She's –
"I'll take care of you, Lucas," she whispers, kissing my injured lip as she zips up my slacks. "Don't be afraid. I'll take care of everything."
I don't know who she is.
I open the door to the apartment to find a man in a suit standing there, frowning down at me. There's something familiar about him that I can't quite pinpoint. His looks are nondescript – nothing that would make him stand out, everything about him speaks of just some average guy you'd meet on the street. And yet, I can't shake the feeling that I've seen him or met him somewhere before.
"I'm sorry to bother you, sir," he begins, reaching into his pocket and flashing a badge at me. "Detective John Jones of the Metropolis PD."
This is the moment when I'm expecting him to ask me to follow him down to the morgue and identify the body of one Hudson Kent. Only, I don't really believe that anything like that would happen. Just as I'm certain this has nothing to do with a warrant for her arrest because I doubt she'll ever be caught. I can't say why I know this; it's just a feeling that I have. She's done too many thing, for too long, without getting caught for there to be any reason to believe her luck has run out.
Luck, or whatever it is.
So maybe this has to do with me. Maybe Lionel has finally caught up with me, after all.
"Is there a problem, Detective?" I ask, attempting to appear nonchalant, bored even, as I lean against the doorframe.
John Jones shakes his head, regarding me thoughtfully for a long moment before replying, "No problem, sir. I'm here on a missing person's case. Just going door-to-door through the neighborhood." He reaches into the inside of his jacket, withdrawing a 5X7 photograph and holding it out to me. "Have you seen this young woman?"
I take the picture, glancing down at the smiling face of Hudson. The Hudson I remember. Wide, laughing green eyes. That corn-fed grin. She's even wearing a flannel shirt. The background of the photograph looks familiar – I think it's from the gardens at the mansion. Did Lex take this picture? It's easy to imagine. I can see him collecting her in the same manner he did everything else. Maybe she was particularly enchanting that day, or maybe she'd just given him a great blowjob. Either way, Lex wanted to remember it, so he had someone on the staff bring him the camera and he snapped the photo, probably against her wishes.
God, I hate my brother. I hope the fish are feeding off of that bald head of his.
"Never seen her," I reply with a shrug, handing the photograph back to the detective. "Sorry."
"Are you certain?" He persists, shoving the picture back toward me. "We've had reports of sightings of a girl who looks just like this in the city – specifically in this area. She's from a town called Smallville. She's only seventeen and her parents are worried about her."
I wish I could ask about the circumstances revolving around her disappearance, but that would be too risky. "I'm sure. I doubt I'd forget someone who looked like that, if you know what I mean."
Strangely enough, the detective looks angered by my comment. I shrug it off and go to shut the door.
"If you do see her, could you contact me?" He pushes the door back open, handing me a business card. "Or have her contact me?"
It's a simple card, plain white except for the text: Detective John Jones, 913-555-9758. I'd think the Metropolis PD business cards would be a little flashier than this. Something isn't quite right.
"Sure. Whatever," I reply, closing the door this time.
Tossing the card onto the table, I glance out the window to see the detective still hovering outside the apartment. I wish I could place where I've seen him before.
I've never had it so good.
Life in the Luthor mansion wasn't quite this carefree. There was the worry of which of my family members was going to try to knock me off first, and how I was going to beat them at their own game. There were strategies to plan and moves to counteract and innuendos to heed or ignore. Here, in this penthouse that Hudson shouldn't be able to afford, I make a wish and it's granted. The most expensive boos and drugs are at my disposal, I'm wearing Armani and Hugo Boss – clothes that would make my brother weep with appreciation. And all that's expected of me is that I be here, waiting, when she is bored, and that I never ever, under any circumstances, ask questions.
But questions are all I have.
There are rumors going around the city; rumors about a being who bullets can't hurt, who moves faster than the eye can see, who can punch through a brick wall with their fist. They're just rumors, stories that might have been founded on truth but they've been passed along by so many, and embellished on each and every time, that there's very little left that isn't fantasy.
And yet, when Hudson comes home with wads of money stuffed in one of her purses or flashing diamonds the size of walnuts on her neck, when hands me a new leather coat or the keys to a shiny red Ferrari, I want to ask: How? Where does she get this stuff from? And how? The cops have never shown up on our doorstep, I've never seen her walk out the door with any trace of fear on her face. No one's ever stopped us on the street to point at her and say 'Hey, didn't I see you robbing Kay Jeweler's last night?' I asked her once how she paid for all of this, where did she get the money and she replied that if I ever asked again, I would be back on the street and maybe my father would find out where to look for me. Bitch.
I'm not afraid of my father. I can damn well take care of myself, too. I don't need Hudson's – or Kaela's – money or protection.
And then there's the scar. It stretches across her chest, roaming over a perfect pair of breasts, down to her belly like some kind of shield. It looks like an 8 inside an upside-down circle. I don't know how it got there; she won't speak of it. Sometimes she'll let me touch it, when she's feeling particularly solicitous, and I run my fingers over it, wondering what kind of pain she must have felt when it was inflicted on her. Did her parents know about it? Lex? I don't know because she won't tell me. A part of me wonders if this was the catalyst – if the moment she received this scar was when she ceased wanting to be Hudson Kent and became… Kaela. Sometimes, she wears it like a badge of honor. Others, one of shame.
The problem is, she's like a fucking drug. I get a taste of her, and all I want is more. She teases me and laughs at me and treats me like dirt eighty percent of the time but I swear I'd walk through the fires of Hell for her. It's difficult to explain but it's like I'm the one that she chose, out of everyone else, and yeah, maybe there are reasons behind that I'd rather not explore. But I'm here, and no one else is, and that's got to mean something, right?
Right.
I don't look too deeply into the fact that she won't allow me to mention Lex's name, that she flies into a rage if I do. She refuses to speak of him and yet… well, I've seen her stare so intently at the magazines and newspapers when they run stories on him; her silence when they talk about him on TV. And sometimes, when she grows silent and sullen and her mood does a complete 180 from the confident, aggressive little bitch I've come to know, there's this empty look in her eyes. Haunted, desolate.
Those are the moments when I believe Hudson is at her most dangerous because I think the world around her could explode in a ball of flame and it might be the only thing that would cheer her up. She would laugh and roast marshmallows or some fucked up shit, and somehow she'd survive it all, sitting there on her thrown of flame, flipping off the rest of our scorched corpses because we had the gall to leave her behind.
That's what I see, and that's what I love. Hudson is pissed off at the world because she's as alone as I am, and she hates it and she's railing against it.
And I'd rather be beside her than in front of her when the shit finally hits the fucking fan.
