Author's Note:
Soo, there's a few surprises in this chapter… read and review, enjoy and be shocked, because this took me forever to get too. It sucks when you have what you think is a brilliant friggin idea, but then you have to work your way up to it and it takes FOREVER? UGH. Lol.
Like I said, writing for Rebecca is SOO hard. It should be easier since I'm a girl too, and girls connect easily, but Billy and I have a bond, lol. We see eye to eye. I understand him.
Hope you like the end.
Trapped
"The layout of this whole entire place is ridiculous," Rebecca sighed in exasperation. "Where are we even at? We need a map or something."
Richard turned towards her tiredly. How had they managed to get out here? She couldn't tell one door from another.
She rounded a corner of what she assumed was the back patio or something, when she almost vomited at the sight before them.
It was an immediate reaction: Rebecca didn't have time to think about it as she sank to her knees.
Forest Speyer sat in front of them, collapsed in a chair, covered in rust-colored dried blood, pock-marks covering his face and arms, his clothes filled with holes and his expression one of a tortured death.
He had been pecked to death. A crowing noise, akin to that of victory, echoed above them in her barely-aware consciousness.
She looked up at the crows and heard a scream. Dimly, she realized it was her own.
At her shout, the crows attacked, and she stood, backing away frantically, batting at them, trying to get away.
She tripped.
"Rebecca!" Richard yelled in concern. He raised his gun and shot into the air, scaring the birds away from them.
She took a shaking breath, as a cold realization stole across her body, leaving numbness in its wake. "Richard…" she would've cried about this a day ago, but now she couldn't bring herself to waste the energy. "We're probably the only ones left." She breathed, looking into his eyes.
He matched her gaze with his strong brown eyes, but didn't answer. He couldn't refute the evidence.
Kenneth, with his slow smile and his deep voice, his steady manners that he brought to everything, was probably dead. Forest was dead. He'd never crack a joke or fight with Chris or have an explosion of temper. Edward was dead. His calmness and his ability to think under pressure would never help them again. Kevin was probably dead. He'd never be a pilot again. He wasn't even a member of Bravo, and he was probably dead because of them. Enrico was probably dead, and she had promised to meet him here, her strong, kind leader.
Alpha team would probably send reinforcements: Bravo team should've returned by now. Wesker was a smart leader, Jill cool and level-headed. Barry had enough weapons to detonate the place, and Joseph and Brad could be counted on to get them safely out of here.
And Chris…
Chris was a hero, in Rebecca's opinion. If anybody could get them out safely, it was Chris. They just had to wait. Alpha team would manage to save them.
If they couldn't, then perhaps nothing could stop this outbreak.
"Jill!" Chris Redfield shouted worriedly. "Jill, where are you? Wesker?"
He sighed. They had probably been curious, tried to look around: and seen the same thing he had.
When he had opened the door and heard the rhythmic smacking noise, he had been excited. Perhaps it was a member of Bravo team!
It was.
He saw Kenneth's outfit before he had fully understood what was happening before his eyes.
Then, the creature kneeling over his friend had turned and stood.
The face was rotted and marked, with holes in the flesh and the eyes eaten at and yellow. Its clothes were rags, and the slow deliberate turning of his head as he smelled Chris, the scent of sweat and the lingering aroma of blood on his jacket…
Chris fucking ran blindly, not knowing what or how or where.
He called Jill's name again, feeling hopeless. Barry disappeared. Joseph was dead. Wesker and Jill…
He didn't know.
He picked up the gun on the ground. It was unmistakably Jill's. His own gun had gone missing.
He checked the gun and sighed in relief. Fifteen bullets: a full magazine.
He had to find everyone.
Chris started to search.
He avoided the hallway he had previously gone through, wandering forever. He was nearly out of bullets when he opened another door, and aimed his gun, hoping to make the last bullet count when the figure turned.
"Who are you!" the small figure demanded.
"Chris Redfield, Alpha Team."
"Alpha Team?" Rebecca Chambers asked, coming forward to stand in the light. She had blood coating her face and her eyes looked haunted, with heavy blue bags underneath them. "Thank goodness!"
Chris resisted the urge to gather his friend into a hug. This wasn't the time. This was about survival.
He heard a moan and instinctively aimed his gun.
"Richard!" he breathed, looking at the Bravo team member. "What happened?"
"Giant… snake," he wheezed.
Rebecca looked at Chris imploringly. "Please… we need serum! There should be a room nearby… if we can get him serum, we can take him back to the room and I'll nurse him. Please Chris!" Rebecca begged her friend.
He nodded and left.
Rebecca knew she could count on him.
Richard hissed out a sigh of pain as the venom continued to pump through his veins. She squeezed his hand comfortingly. The enormous snake had gone for her: and Richard had shoved her out of the way, protecting her.
She bit her lip angrily, drawing blood. When could she protect people, instead of getting protected? She needed to be stronger. This wasn't a time to be weak.
The speed and agility of the creature had caught them unwary and close to defenseless against it. She felt a knot in her stomach and a headache coming on as the flickering lights in the hall made her eyes ache, but she had to be strong.
If Richard died for her…
She wouldn't be able to handle the sheer guilt of it. She had been an idiot, and her selfless friend was paying for it.
The dim lights cast eerie shadows on the walls, but Rebecca was beyond fear at this point. She felt only guilt. Her friends had died facing terror and pain, unable to say their goodbyes. It had been completely unexpected, a mission that was beyond the norm, beyond the natural. What a terrible way to die.
Even if she died now, it wouldn't be the same as Edward's death, as Forest's. Because she had an inkling of the truth, because she had already survived once.
She could do it twice.
Billy Coen woke up with a goddamn headache.
For a few glorious moments, he felt the comfort of well-worn cotton sheets, of a warm blanket, of the fresh scent of clean air.
But then he fucking realized that he shouldn't be comfortable.
Billy shot up out of the bed he'd been lying in and searched for his gun. In the past few hours, the weapon had become his greatest ally.
"So, you're finally awake," a sultry voice drawled from the corner of the room.
The corner of the nice, neat room.
The walls were painted a sunny yellow, the windows were opened, shielded by lacy curtains, the night air sweet and fresh. The room was dark, but he could see the clean white sheets of the king-sized bed he'd just been sleeping in.
"After I knocked you out and brought you here, I gave you a very necessary shower, and clean clothes."
Billy looked down at his black boxers. "Not much clothing," he retorted, crossing his arms across his chest. "Who are you again?"
The woman stood, her frame startlingly similar to Rebecca's. "Ada Wong. I work for the same organization as you."
"I don't work for any Organization," Billy answered, realizing he was a fugitive. He had no affiliations.
The shadows playing across her face gave her a haunted look. "You do now. You will work for us or be sent to the Marines to serve your sentence. It was your mother's wish that you continue her line of work, and I intend to see her wishes through."
Billy was so thrown off by the reference to his mother that he was almost rendered speechless.
Almost.
"You know my mother?" he demanded of the woman in red.
Red…
The flash-back to his sightings in Africa cued. "You were in Africa, weren't you?"
The young woman nodded. "I've been an agent for many years," she replied clearly. "And it had been my duty to watch you since the death of your grandparents." Her voice was toneless, her face expressionless. Billy kept himself as stoic as possible.
As possible as it was to be, since he was being informed that he'd been stalked for the past eight years of his goddamn life. Jesus H, he had never known much about his mother's career, but this was bullshit.
"In Africa, I was dealing with you, as well as another mission. I met you in Arklay because I need to scope out the areas around Raccoon City."
Billy continued to glare at her. She suddenly met his gaze and her eyes were molten.
"Well, Mr. Coen… you're going to be staying with me quite a long time. We're going to get very… well… aquainted."
He stopped her with an icy gaze. "You're going to explain every fucking little piece of my life to me before you try to acquaint yourself with me," he told her concisely. "Tell me everything you know."
She spoke briefly, giving a summary rather than a story. He didn't know if he preferred her curt attitude or if he'd wanted all the details. But either way, it was bad enough to leave him bloodless.
"Your mother met a man who worked for the Umbrella, and had you," she began, illustrating more about his paternity in one sentence than his mother ever had. "He was killed for knowing too much without the proper attitude. Your mother founded the organization you now work for, to combat Umbrella."
Billy gave no reaction to her words. Christ. Had Umbrella really had that much impact on his life? Was he, like Rebecca, being trained and groomed like a lab rat?
She raised her eyebrows at his blank expression and continued mercilessly: "She wanted revenge obviously, and went out scouting members. One was me, an illegal Asian immigrant. When I was a kid, my parents were experimented on by an Asian branch of Umbrella, and I was shoved into a generic orphanage. I escaped to America," she told him, as if she was telling him that it was warm outside, a fact with no emotional ties. "And eventually met your mother, who trained me."
Billy had to ask a question now. "My mother recruited a child?"
Ada looked at him, her eyes hard and brittle at the edges. "I knew the risks more than anyone," she told him icily. "When your grandparents died, your mother decided my main mission would be keeping an eye on you. Not interfering as much as watching."
"Why?" he demanded, unable to understand his mother's logic.
"Because Anna Richmond's parents worked for Umbrella, and knowing that your family was in the vehicle, sent a car after you, with the intent to sacrifice their daughter if it meant your mother was eliminated," she recited. He had a cold feeling that she'd said those words before.
But then it really fucking hit him.
The reason why Anna had never seen her parents, why she'd been so wealthy, so smart, was because of her parents. They had willingly killed their kid for the chance at hurting his mother.
And it had fucking backfired.
He'd lost the love of his goddamn life to forces beyond their comprehension, their awareness. He'd lost his family because some idiot had decided to play God.
"Then my mother was hit again," Billy breathed.
"The plan was apparently to take you both out, since you were a possible threat. Although I don't follow the logic. You wouldn't have had a reason to become a threat, until they targeted you. Their idiocy is our gain," she finished. "I've decided to carry out my mission in deference to your mother."
He glared at her. "How the hell do you plan on doing that?"
She stepped up to him and ran her forefinger down his chest coyly. "I'll break you in," she whispered, and Billy's tortured libido gave in.
He was trapped.
Billy gripped her and pressed his lips to her violently, half punishing her, half ravishing her.
But Ada Wong wasn't a woman to be conquered. She kissed him back with equal force, deepening the kiss, reveling in the bruising caresses as he familiarized himself with her body.
Eagerly, she matched him, her passion inflaming his own. It felt surreal to be doing something as normal as sex.
He wasn't talking to his dead girlfriend, he wasn't fighting zombies with a teenaged genius, he wasn't locked in an asylum, he wasn't in another goddamn country, on another fuckin' continent, and best of all, he wasn't dreaming.
The curves and contours of this woman's body were real and vibrant, the curve of her hips and pert bottom warm and muscled beneath his hands, her body welcoming, flesh and blood.
He ran his hands down her body and relished the feel of live, giving woman against him.
But it wasn't enough.
It was never enough.
He shoved her against the wall, not caring if it hurt her, lost in lust. He lifted her, shoving her groin against him until she was trapped between two hard places, writhing against him happily, not at all uncomfortable in her position.
She began to shove her hips forward and back, and he caught the rhythm, mashing himself against her welcoming body.
Beneath the red dress she wore was nothing, no barrier covering her core, revealing it to the world.
She pulled at his boxers desperately, the monster of desire overpowering them both. Shoving his chest against her, anchoring her to the wall, he pushed down the boxers she had put on him mere hours ago, in his unconscious.
With her dress riding against her hips, he rubbed himself against her eagerly, but refusing to enter her yet. He wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt him, and this was the only way he could think to do it, by slowly torturing her.
She groaned and moaned and fought and writhed, and Billy loved every second of the hot, sensuous torture.
He let go of her, letting her wetness slide down her leg as she was released from his grasp. The second she shakily stood, her feet on the ground, he pushed her onto the bed, and she tore off her dress, sitting in only a bra of red silk
He released the snap with practiced skill and began to focus on her small breasts, devoting as much attention to them as he could, loving the curve of her waist and the smoothness of the skin on the inside of her arm, the backs of her knees as he kissed her, tasted her sweat.
Even in his anger, Billy noticed how sculptured her body was, small and curved with muscles in the right places and softness in even righter places. The light hair that fuzzed across her body made the soft pleasure of her skin even more wonderful.
Her nipples were large and dark, a light purple color in hue and the outer ring slightly darker. He tasted them until they were hard with desire and ribbed with goosebumps, telltale signs of her lust.
She soaked against him, ready for release, but not begging. Ada Wong did not beg. She took matters into her own hands.
Literally.
When Billy felt himself being pulled into her hot little hands, he almost gave up then and there. But this was not just the releasing of stress and lust and satiation. This was about winning.
Billy was not one to lose.
But he was also never one to deny himself either.
Her skilled fingers played with him, and while she was preoccupied, he kissed her ear, the delicate shell of it, blushed pink and pretty. He ran fingers through her hair, down her body, until she was just as close as she was.
Then he shoved a single finger up her wet slit, fast and hard, until she was deliriously close to finishing.
Then he took it out and looked her in the eye.
"Beg," he commanded her coldly.
She looked at him with hazy, lustful eyes. But like him, she was proud, stubborn, and stronger than passion.
"No," she answered, looking right back at him, matching him.
He got off her, his flag waving an obvious sign of his desire, but his face composed and his movements controlled.
He gave her a pointed look.
She shrugged. "If you won't, I will," she answered cunningly, and right in front of him, began to pleasure herself, ignoring him completely.
Her moans spiraled as she came closer and closer to her own release, by her own hand.
But Billy didn't give up easily.
He laid on top of her and grabbed her wrists, forcing them away from her pleasure, elicting a defeated, distressed gasp from her. She'd thought she outsmarted him.
She bucked against him, her body searching her purchase, for something to grip, to finish. She was seconds away, a heartbeat away, so close to release, sweet release…
"Beg," he growled.
The stalemate continued for several moments as she remained silent, except for a few desperate whimpers.
"Fuck me," she invited him.
It wasn't begging.
But small though it was, it was a victory.
Billy turned her around so her groin met his and he plumbed her, both of them finding their pleasure within heartbeats of each other, the scent of sex permeating the air and the fumes of an unhealthy relationship growing with every second.