A/N: Hey, guys, I finally updated! I hope you like it. It's 11:30 am over here, and I'm just about ready to fall asleep. xP
Just a heads-up: National Novel Writing Month starts November 1st, so the changes that I'll be updating during November are slim. I have 50k words to write for a novel from November 1st to November 30th, so I want have much time to write for this fic on the side. However, I am working on trying to write chapters in advance to publish periodically throughout November, 'kay? Don't worry! I won't let you guys down!
Chocolate brown eyes.
Ross blinked, tried to gauge his surroundings. The eyes blinked in front of him, twinkled. It took Ross only a split second to remember he was at Erin's house. In her bed. Staring at her face.
"Good morning sleeping beauty," Erin whispered, breath velvety against Ross's skin.
"Morning." Ross noticed that Erin's eyes had darker flecks of brown, that her irises were ringed with a solid black outline. "What time is it?"
"It's almost noon."
"Noon?" Ross sat up in bed. "I haven't slept that long in years."
"Maybe you were just never at peace," Erin said, sitting upright beside Ross. "I hope that this means things will be better for you in the future."
"I'm not wearing my lucky ring," Ross muttered dryly. He glanced down, sighed inwardly when he saw that he still wore clothes.
No sex, he thought, remembering. You didn't have sex with her. That would complicate things.
In an instant, however, he remembered the kiss. Ross swallowed thickly, turned his head to glance at Erin. The younger woman smiled at him, features soft for once. The weariness and frustration that Ross had seen the night before had faded to thin, thin, thin, thin, thin lines on the woman's face. The bags beneath her eyes had visibly lightened and diminished; even her shoulders seemed relax.
"Are you gonna make breakfast?"
"What do you want?"
Erin pursed her lips. "I don't know. You pick. I've got a shitload of stuff in the pantry that needs to be used."
Ross nodded his head, glanced down at Erin's nightie. She smirked as she caught his gaze, rolled away from beside him. Pulling out one of her bureau drawers, she grabbed mid-thigh shorts and a racer-back tank top. Ross left the room, lumbered down the stairs and into the kitchen. He heard the toilet flush on the second floor as he sifted through the pantry, searching for something to eat. Pancakes were tempting again, but Ross figured he had spoiled the men enough for the month. Settling on omelets instead, the older man set about in the kitchen, quickly and quietly working on the stove and with the eggs.
Ross nearly dropped the pan as he turned around. Erin smirked at him from her position against the sink, close enough to Ross that she could have hurt him had she been an evildoer. The young woman, as silent as she had been entering the room, set up the table for breakfast and allowed Ross room to dish the omelets on the dishware. Coupled with orange juice, the meal was a nice change for both Ross and Erin, who made ends meet with frozen dinners and takeout in an attempt to keep from poising herself with her own cooking. The two mercs ate quietly, the old sounds being the clinking of dishware. It wasn't until Ross set his plate aside that Erin spoke.
"Alexander Montoya has three homes, two of which are in the U.S." Erin shifted in her seat, rested her elbows on the table. "One is in Arizona; the other is in California. Arizona's closer."
Ross shook his head. "We're not doing this."
"You're not, but I am." Erin's hand clenched into a fist, her wrist cracking with the movement. "The client wants it done quick and easy. But most of all, he wants it done soon. Right now, Montoya should be in his home in Arizona. He spends time with his family there during this time of year, since Christmas is coming up and everything. I'm going to hit him then. When the client wires us the first half of the money on Saturday, I'll be out by Sunday and back on Monday."
"I don't like it," Ross growled. "You'll get yourself killed. He's probably got a small army of bodyguards protecting his ass."
"He does, but you and your team wiped out a small army on Vilena."
"Yeah, and we nearly got our asses fried!"
"But you still made it out alive." Erin stacked her plot atop Ross's, set them aside on the table. Leaning forward, she grabbed Ross's hand in hers. "This is something that has to be done – with or without the seven mil from the client. The world will be a better place without Alexander Montoya."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you have to do this? Why will the world be better off without Montoya?" Ross passed a hand over his face, exhaled heavily. "What's your MO? If it isn't money, then what is it?"
"Personal reasons," Erin answered, nonchalant. "It doesn't matter. You don't need to know."
"I don't need to know, my ass! You're not going anywhere unless you tell me."
Erin shook her head, patted the back of Ross's hand, let her fingers caress his skin. "Listen to me. Alexander Montoya and I have a complicated past that started way before I joined The Ravenous. It started with my cousins; they were users and worked for Montoya as hit men. They would do anything for a hit, even if it meant whacking their aunt and uncle." The young woman's face hardened, her eyes flinty. "It's hard, you know, living all alone. You find that you miss your family the most during the times you hated them the most."
Ross's chest tightened. "Your cousins killed your parents?"
"Yeah…" Erin glanced away.
"You said they died from the grief of your brother's death."
"Yeah, well, it was their grief that really did kill them in the end." Erin's hand tightened on Ross's, her eyes still averted. "Some people, when they are grieving, surround themselves with family. That was my parents. They surrounded themselves with everybody they could get their hands on. Cousins, aunts, uncles, twice-removed family members – you name it. All my cousins had to do was poison their food or drink at a get-together and it was all over."
"But you were part of The Ravenous when your brother died."
"Yeah, I was. But, like I said, it started with my cousins. They were eight years older than me, so I was about fourteen or fifteen when I found out they were smoking coke and weed and anything else they could get their hands on."
"What about Alexander Montoya?"
"He tried to make me into a dealer," Erin replied, met Ross's blank gaze. "I knew what he was really after, and it sure as hell wasn't dealing coke. By having me dealing coke, though, he could get closer and closer until he was close enough to fuck me up the ass."
Ross shuddered inwardly, almost paled visibly as Erin went on.
"He almost forced me into a giving him a blowjob, but that's when my brother stepped in and threatened Montoya. That was the first mistake of my brother's life…but, um, Montoya stopped going after me. I turned eighteen, and Leroy found me and taught me the trade and everything. I joined The Ravenous when I was nineteen, and by that time, I had already begun working on a way to get Montoya back for what he'd done. Next thing I know, The Ravenous are sent after Enrique Carrillo. We got the job done, and then I realized that it had been Montoya all along and he was just setting things up. He got my brother killed, and then he had my cousins kill my parents. And it was all because I wouldn't become his personal sex slave."
The Expendable leaned back in his chair, the breath knocked out of him in one single blow by Erin's words. He met the younger woman's gaze and said, "I understand."
"Good." Erin slumped against the back of her chair, heaved a sigh of relief. "Now that we've got that settled, let's get down to business. I have my own contacts and resources and everything, but I'm going to need some of your resources to make sure I get Montoya exactly where I want him."
"Whatever you need."
The young woman's face split with a sadistic grin, eyes flashing mischievously. "Excellent. Now, when's Yang coming back?"
"Tomorrow."
"Even better. I need him to do the brunt of the preliminary research. Most of it is in a file upstairs, but things have changed since my team died." Erin cocked her head to the side, shrugged. "Anyway, I'm sure the boys are missing us. Tool probably told him about the fight yesterday, so they're probably thinking I'm not coming back. I do not want that group of men attacking my house to see if I'm coming back. I've got enough to deal with." A smirk tugged at Erin's lips despite her words. "Should we buy them lunch before we go?"
"No. They can feed themselves."
"And get clogged arteries with all the junk food they eat?" Erin's eyebrow rose, her voice lightening into a carefree chuckle. "The lot of you are getting pretty old, Ross. Better watch out."
"Says the one who's trying to take on a fortress."
"Ah, but you're letting me."
Erin got up from the table, cleared the wood of the plates. After washing the dishes, she tided up Ross's mess, headed into the living room to get her keys. Ross watched intently, frightened by the prospect that Erin would be on her own in Arizona – one woman against a hundred men trained to kill brutally. His stomach rolled over uneasily. The Expendable followed Erin out into the garage, stepped into the outside world. The bright sunlight nearly blinded him, and it took the older man a few moments to regain his vision.
"Where'd the Rolls-Royce go?" he asked, startled to find the driveway empty aside from his motorcycle.
"Oh, Memphis came to pick it up. I told him I only needed it one night." Erin shut the garage door behind her, gestured to the bike. "Are we going to go? Tool's probably dying to see me."
Ross nodded, started up the bike. Erin straddled the seat behind him, arms linking around the older man's waist. Settling in behind him comfortably, the woman smiled into the Expendable's shoulder blade and braced herself as he took off down the road, speeding towards Tool's shop.
"He brought you back!" Tool cried, nearly running to Erin's side as she swung herself off the motorcycle. The tattoo artist pulled her into a tight hug. "You're fucking staying, you got that? No way in hell you're leaving like that again."
Erin grimaced, chuckled. "Yeah, well, next weekend, I'll be in Arizona."
"Doing what?"
"Murdering Alexander Montoya," Ross answered, curt.
"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Tool cuffed Erin on the side of the head. "You're not going."
"I have to," Erin replied, massaging her scalp. "Fuck, Tool, cut your fucking nails! You could've drawn blood!"
The tattoo artist glanced at his nails, cringed as though seeing them for the first time. "Shit, you're right." He shook his head, turned back on Erin. "Stop distracting me! You're not stepping out of this state – no, out of this city – without one of us!"
"But I have to do this."
"No!"
Ross gripped Tool's shoulder, drew the man's attention. "She has to do this."
Tool's eyes widened. "You're shitting me. You agree with her? Tell me you're going with her, at least!"
"I'm not sure yet."
"Christmas!" Erin's yell resonated through the shop, startled Ross and Tool. "Get your ass in here!"
Lee materialized from the shadows, a scowl etched into his face. Although inwardly glad that Erin had returned, fierce anger still broiled in his chest, threatened to spew at any moment. Erin strode over to the Brit, brow knit tightly together. As soon as she drew to a stop in front of him, her fist connected with his jaw, sending the man reeling. Christmas stumbled away, hand cupping his jaw.
"Don't you ever talk to me like that again," Erin snarled, "else I'll carve you up so bad you'll wish you'd never been born."
The shop was dead silent. Christmas straightened out of his cowed stoop, fingers probing his jaw tentatively. He glared at Erin with such passionate hatred that even Ross and Tool felt the heat radiating from the man. Ross stepped forward, placed a hand on Erin's shoulder protectively. Lee pressed his lips into a thin line, forced himself quiet. Spots flashed in his left eye, marring his vision.
Hale cleared his throat hesitantly from the other side of the room. The four mercs turned their heads in the black man's direction, saw Toll Road and Gunner there with Hale. Christmas glanced away, hurried from the shop to nurse his injured jaw and ego. Toll Road, Gunner, and Hale shifted awkwardly in the corner; Toll Road and Gunner exchanged knowing glances, their eyes darting between Ross, Erin, and the diminishing figure of Christmas as the Brit disappeared down the street. Hale stepped forward, approached Erin cautiously.
"You okay?" he asked, not sure whether he should reach out and place his hand on the woman's shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm better now." Erin nodded her head. "Sorry I didn't bring lunch. Ross here said you guys could get your own fucking food."
Hale cracked a grin, glanced at Ross. "You lazy ass."
"Hey, watch it," Tool cautioned. "I might just tattoo 'lazy ass' on your ass for Barney."