After…I don't know how long, here is chapter 3. I have the entire story planned out so it shouldn't take too long to finish. I hope this doesn't suck or ruin the characters I established in the first two…it's been awhile. Comments will be greatly appreciated. Suggestions would help though too, but because of this the crossover is on pause…if you care.
Chapter 3: Wantonness for Power
"W-who are you?" Helena asked, stepping back defensively, an icy shiver running up her spine as she stared into the Russian's cold eyes. He took a few steps towards her, the shadow of his massive frame casting over her. Helena asked him who he was again, her voice slightly quivering, revealing the terror she hid in her bosom. He took another step, his boots echoing throughout the room. The silent tension grew immensely and Helena broke it, jabbing forward. The strong mercenary sidestepped, smiling after her initial, desperate attack. The French, Pi Qua Quan practitioner then spun around swinging her arm in toward the man's stomach.
Bayman was taken aback by her sudden attack, but wasn't unprepared. Upon her second attack, he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her while taking his other, holding it beneath her chin. One more simple movement, a simple pull and she'd be dead with a broken neck, lying in a pool of blood pouring from her mouth. Bayman just stood there, applying pressure to weaken her, letting her lose a little breath, but by no means did he have plans to kill her. As he held her, her blonde ponytail brushed against his face, and for a split second the calming scent of sea salt and expensive, feminine perfumes entered his nostrils.
As she moaned quietly in pain, unable to do anything, the man replied, with a subtle cockiness, "This is the thanks I get for saving your life?" With that, the man pushed her away, allowing her to catch her breath.
Helena coughed, relieving her throat of pain, staring angrily at the Russian. He then began to speak, "You should be grateful, Ms. Douglas." She immediately wondered how he knew her name. "All your life, Helena, you've been in danger, especially," he paused, sighing, "since I killed your father."
Bayman waited for her response. If she was like most individuals, she'd relentlessly attack him. He'd probably have to sedate her; luckily, he stored a capped syringe in his back pocket. She slowly stood up, staring despondently towards the ground though in silence. "Because of you," she started, in a plain voice, "my life's been hell." Despite this rather seething statement, she did nothing else. Helena had no grudge against Bayman; he wasn't the one who killed her mother. "I was never close to Fame," she said, "He was a pig. He practically fathered an orchestra all around the world. I," she began to tear up, "was only close to my mother, before that bitch, Christie, murdered her."
Bayman could sense her anger as she clenched her fists angrily. Bayman knew all about Christie as well, the platinum-haired serpent, known for being as a cobra in high grass. "The more important thing to know is that she missed her real target," Bayman replied.
"Do you know who hired her?" Helena asked approaching him.
He simply pulled out his knife, the one he used to cut her arm up the night before, and looked at its clean, glistening blade. He then threw it at an amazing speed, its piercing tip entering the photo on the dart board and then said, "Victor Donovan."
Helena could easily sense his dislike, but was confused, "Donovan, but he's—"
"I know; he's the one who had you 'kidnapped'. He's also the one who hired me to kill your father and who hired Christie to kill you."
"W-why me though?" Helena asked nervously. "Who is he anyway?"
"He's the head scientist of DOATEC. A brilliant genius to some, but to me," he paused, walking over to the dart board and removing the knife, "he's a murderer. He wants complete control of DOATEC's financial resources to complete his ingenious projects. Your father was in control, having authority over him at all times, and Donovan desires ultimate power. Killing Fame should have been enough, but your father was obsessed with keeping his bloodline within the company. Why do you think he sired so many bastards? You were the purest of them though, the first, which is why you are supposed to adopt the company." Helena was shocked by all this, not knowing what to say as Bayman continued to speak.
"B-but I know nothing about running a—"
"That wasn't important to your father." He then sighed, summarizing the truth, "Simply, if you die, Donovan gets the company and the power to do whatever he wants."
"How do you know all this?" she asked, confused.
"I worked for Donovan, but—" he paused, hearing their screams, "it doesn't matter, I have my reasons."
All of this was entering Helena's head so fast that after a few minutes of silence she broke into tears on the floor. Anger—against her father, against Donovan, and against Christie—raged within her heart. Bayman approached her slowly and helped her to her feet, soon feeling her arms wrap around him.
Bayman was shocked that she would embrace her father's murderer in the search of comfort, but Helena only embraced him because he was the first person to tell her the truth. Bayman held her back, feeling her tears drip down and soak through his gray sweater. Unable to listen to her sobbing anymore, he pulled the syringe from his back pocket and quietly stuck it into her shoulder, hearing her wince and then feeling her fall into unconsciousness. He picked her up, cradling her again like an infant, and replaced her into the bed from which she awoke. He stared at her angelic body, actually contemplating the sickening thought of taking advantage of her, but it quickly left his mind as he shut the door, letting her get some more sleep, for it was still early in the morning.
Donovan sat calmly in his cold laboratory behind his metal desk, the steel reflecting the images of various tubes and machines as bright neon blue lit up the room. Soon, the doors across the room opened as the white-haired assassin, dressed in a dark, pin-stripped suit, entered.
"Ah, Christie," Donovan replied to his lapdog as he adjusted his glass, "I see you're right on time for your payment; however," he began, seeing the assassin stop in her tracks, his voice becoming annoyed, "my men never found her body in those waters. They searched for hours."
Trying to defend herself, Christie replied, "Maybe a shark—"
"Sharks don't inhabit those waters."
"I saw her fall there myself. She shouldn't have survived, I even poisoned her," she said, fiddling her earrings, thinking of the possibilities.
"Regardless," he continued, gaining his composure, "this is the second time you failed to bring me her body; thus, this is the second time you won't be paid."
"You want me to scuba dive in those waters?" she asked cockily.
"No," he said smiling, throwing a large taupe envelope towards her. "In there is some information on an ex-assassin of mine. I suspect he's somehow linked to this inconvenience."
Christie glared as he hissed his final words, grabbing the folder and placing it in her black, leather briefcase, which should have been filled with cash. As Donovan watched the elusive woman leave, he sat back in his comfortable leather chair, whispering, "You won't stop me now, Bayman, not when I'm this close."
