AN: Sorry for the delay, but like I said, the midterms are a killer... This is sort of a worthless chapter, but I figured it was semi-necessary in the long run. The next one will be better, promise.
Things definitely hadn't gone to plan that weekend. Not quite to Jack's, and definitely not to his. To say that he was disgusted with himself was an understatement. He'd broken his own golden rule of survival. Dominic Conte had gotten emotionally involved. And for the time being, there was nothing he could do but lie on his couch, watch the vid screen, and sulk.
It wasn't a permanent problem. More of a hiccup that happened only on the rarest of occasions. He'd let the darker part of him gain too much control, and from there things had snowballed. All there was left to do was pick up the pieces and move forward with plan B. He was flexible, could go with the flow... That more than anything was what made him the best in a league of talented professionals.
He'd only been recognized as the best for about a year and a half. But already he'd far and away eclipsed the rein of any hot shot who'd come before him. In fact, before him, the longest any man had held the title had been a grand total of six months. It was a tough business, and the turn over was a real killer...
But...high mortality rate aside, it paid good...better than any other occupation available to him, legal or otherwise...
Before he'd even received the assignment he'd decided that his next job would be his last. Because of his age, bailing out counted as early retirement. But in reality, he was the most experienced of veterans after surviving in the business for eighteen missions. His handler had once told him that considering he started out as a scrawny, half-starved fifteen year old just escaped from Slammer Nine, it was an absolute miracle that he was still alive.
The only reason anyone had given him a shot in the first place had been because of the hushed whispers in the underground of the things he'd done in the past. When he'd stumbled out of the small jumper that had carried him during the three week journey from Slam to the outskirts of civilization, where lawlessness was the only law there was, no one had believed that he was the Dom Conte.
Nevertheless, his reputation had definitely preceded him. Almost everyone he met had at least heard of the inhuman living legend that he was quickly becoming. Some even claimed to have met the rogue...
They knew all about the things he'd done in Juvy, the things he'd done as a pirate, and even what he'd done while escaping Nine. In particular, the rumors about Nine had grown so quickly, and in such proportion, that he wasn't sure how he'd ever live up to them. As it was, he had to kill a few people just to convince the higher-ups that he really was definitely the guy they were all talking about, and he meant business. At the time, doing dirty work hadn't been an easy task, especially considering that during his trip from prison he'd been all but starved due to the ship's lack of reserves...
Well, near lack of reserves...
There was food to be found almost anywhere humans were, if you're the sort who's 'flexible' enough to use it...
No one really understood that since he wasn't a classic human, eating the members of the flight crew he'd killed just before takeoff hadn't technically made him a cannibal. He'd been a stupid kid who hadn't planned well and when he'd found himself in a pickle that only held one gruesome escape, he'd welcomed it with open arms.
It had made him a monster in the eyes of those who heard the stories, and he had yet to meet a man who thought otherwise. Not that he cared. After all, why should he dissuade the story tellers from frightening children with his name? There were probably several million kids out there in the sectors he'd terrorized that ate their vegetables daily and went to bed when they were told because they were afraid that if they didn't, Conte would get them.
Not many seventeen year olds in the galaxy who could say they'd made that sort of motivational impact among the youth of the universe... But of course, all fame came with a price. Dom had been forced to change his name so many times to throw off people hunting for him, he could hardly keep all of his aliases straight anymore.
It had been a long time since he'd chanced the use of his favorite first and last name. Good thing that the last job was so far out of the way of the mainstream, otherwise he probably wouldn't have been able to use it, would've made the proverbial criminal hall of fame under a less preferred title. But soon, not as soon as he'd like, but soon enough...he would get what he'd come for.
But it should've been sooner.
Blowing it with Shella was a setback. It happened. Not to him, typically, but it did happen. And when it did, he tended to get...anxious... Like any power-hungry control freak, it would take him hours, if not days to get over the fact that he'd let her slip through his fingers.
The setup had been perfect. Jack had asked him to brainwash the bitch and hadn't given a damn how he did it as long as the whore was out of her way. However, his own purposes had required taking things one step further. He was supposed to break her, totally, completely. Make her his bitch. All he'd had to do was stick with it...but like an idiot, he'd left. Just got the fuck up and left.
He'd prowled the town most of the following night, still stuck in a dark mood, feeling the need to rip and tear the world apart and then put it back together so it would be in order to his liking.
Of course, it was never that easy. Nothing ever was... Nothing worth doing, anyway... All he could do was wait. Usually, that was something he was good at, excelled at even; but he'd been actually acting his age lately, and perhaps because of the lack of action, he was getting jumpy...
Then again, maybe the added agitation was due to the fact that the climate control on his spaceship was busted, and since he was too damn lazy to fix it, it was broiling hot in his digs. He nearly smirked at that thought. Damn if he wasn't getting lazy doing just about everything. Time was, he would've traded off that hunk of rust for a new one months before to reduce the chance that he'd fall into a routine, slack off on keeping one step ahead of all the fuckers gunning for his hide.
Too many fucking enemies for a boy your age, Conte. You need to find yourself a safer hobby...
Or maybe just a pretty girl to settle down with on some planet like this on the outer ring. You know, start yourself a nice life like Riddick's got. Little lady, regular job, maybe a handful of rug rats too, after a few years...
The beast growled nastily from its cage at those thoughts, laughing at him cryptically. Yeah, good luck with that, Domy boy. You just see how long you'd last in that kind of a life. YOU and a classy girl? Yeah, that'll be the day. Even if you fooled her long enough to get serious, she'd start asking questions eventually. Where you sneak off to in the middle of the night, for starters. Where DO you sneak off to, Domy? Off running in the woods with all the other animals, howling at the moon?
"Shut up," he growled, arching his body in agitation off the too-warm couch before allowing himself to sink back down into a more comfortable position.
You've got to be kidding me. You actually think she'd want you if she knew? I told you not to get attached...
"I'm not attached. Can't get attached if I don't have a fucking heart, can I? Guys like me aren't swayed that easily. No matter what, I'll get my business finished," he swore firmly.
Well, you WEREN'T so easily swayed. You are getting older, you know. Your body's still changing. Maybe as an adult you won't be as tough as you used to be, won't be as smart. Maybe those hormones are turning you into butter as we speak...
Dom sighed, allowing his eyes to slide shut before reaching up to wipe the sweat from his face with one rough hand. "And maybe they're the reason you're driving me crazier than ever..."
When he forced his eyes open again, to face the heat and the light of the room outside of his mind, he found that right hand of his still absently resting on his brow, half forgotten in his turmoil.
He studied it, tilting it over in the light so he could see the back as well. It was as normal as any. Not huge, like some guys his size; it was compact, square, strong. Bone and joints covered with an intricate weave of muscle and ligaments kept healthy by a steady flow from the heart he'd fought so hard to keep beating all these years. And finally, the entire miracle of design was covered by the flesh of a man far older than his years...
It was a simple thing, a beautiful thing, really... Just looking at it with the naked eye, no one would ever know its greatest talent. They'd never guess the horrible, twisted things he could do with it that came to him more naturally than breathing. Being such an exceptional instrument, it really was too bad he'd stained it so many times. He did wonder now and then just how much blood he had on that hand and its twin. He couldn't even remember the number of lives he owed to God, because he'd long since forced himself to stop keeping track. Depressing really, thinking about how much suffering he would need to receive just to repay a fraction of the debt mounting on the shoulders of his soul. If he even had a soul...
"Maybe I should cut it off," he opined, thinking out loud as he continued his intent study.
The beast growled, sounding displeased. Why would you do that? Do you really want to make yourself weaker than you already are? And don't try to change the subject...you know what we're really talking about, Conte...
Dom merely chuckled, his eyes still focused on his flexing fingers as he turned his hand into a fist long practiced in the art of destruction. "No one would fuck with me if I cut it off myself. No one messes with a guy that crazy. It would be a...challenge... I think I could do it. And maybe the blood would go with it... Maybe I'd get to start over."
Maybe you're a loony-toon sitting around talking to yourself. Just think about how much happier you'd be if you'd stop fighting, knock off this 'control' bullshit. You were never in control and you never will be. Everyone sees through you in the end.
She will too.
Again he shifted, bringing one arm up to rest behind his head as he took up staring at the ceiling. "Jack's not like most girls."
Bull. There ain't nothing romantic about the sick shit you did. You ain't no Richard B. Riddick, Domy. You're cold. You like it. It's in your blood. How long until she would start asking questions? When you'd start disappearing for days, weeks at a time? When she'd catch you staring at other women? When she'd catch you lying? White picket fence and a handful of rug rats, my ass. What DO you smoke when I'm not around, Conte?
He nearly snorted with laughter, raising an arm briefly before letting his palm come to rest on his toned, bare stomach, just above his beltline. "You're just pissed cause it's too damn hot for you to make any progress trying to mind fuck me tonight. Why don't you do us both a favor and go chase a ball of string around your cage or something and shut up for a while? I got stuff to do," he mused, letting his fingers trail teasingly across the glistening, sensitive skin well below his belly button.
Yeah? Like what?
Dom smirked wickedly, watching as his hand slid slowly under his loosened belt and down the front of his pants. A contented look took him over as he forced himself to relax and enjoy the restrictive fit of his cargos before they got too uncomfortable.
Back when he was in slam he'd seen all sorts of shrinks that told him such behavior wasn't healthy. It was a fallback, a ridiculous method of self-comfort left over from his pre-teen days in Juvy when it'd been his only comfort. They'd told him that it was seen often in boys like him who'd been thrown off the truck at a young age, and from there had proceeded to slip through the cracks. Just like everything else, he used it as a tool, as a crutch to keep himself together. And just like everything else, sex in any form was an experience that in spite of all appearances, he could never truly bring himself to share with another person.
In other words, it was just another sign that he was a complete sociopath, and nothing would ever make him better. Sometimes he wondered if that should worry him. But then again, he'd always figured that he'd have plenty of time to worry when he was dead.
