A/N: Yay, I updated! *dances* This twist, actually, wasn't in my original plans...it just sort of popped up in my writing, and I let it run away from me. Let's see how it goes, huh?
Enjoy! Reviews are appreciated! :)
It may have almost been February, but that didn't stop the weather from acting up and doing the most bizarre things. The air was stagnant, as lifeless as the corpses that were left in The Expendables wake, as dry as the Mojave Desert. Of the few Expendables in Tool's, only one wasn't sweating like a pig, and she happened to be relaxing in front of the only fan in the entire shop. A few beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, trickled down between her breasts, down her spine. The sheen of sweat on her body glinted in the late afternoon light, but that was all.
The other men had stripped off their shirts and collapsed into the nearest chairs, wondering how it could be so hot, so thick, so stifling. Ross, much calmer than Tool and Christmas combined, stared up at the ceiling, reveling in the silence the tattoo shop never experienced. Tool muttered in the corner, running his hand through his greasy hair again and again, as he poured over new designs for custom tattoos. Christmas, seated the closest to Erin, set his gaze upon the woman, admiring the way the light played off her skin. His limbs, heavier than anything he had ever attempted to lift, rooted him to the spot and kept him from moving away, confining him to his stretched position, adding to the irritability that slithered slowly beneath his skin, the irritability that was working its way up to his mouth where it would finally be voiced. He noted Erin's immobility that may have been mistaken for death. Aside from the fan tossing aside some of her hair, movement was indiscernible. If she breathed, she had a clever way of keeping any part of her body from moving for every inhalation and exhalation. Not even a pulse could be seen throbbing beneath the skin of her neck.
Christmas forced himself to look over at Ross, feeling his muscles protest as though he had endured a rigorous beating rather than just an exceptionally hot day. He hadn't the effort to toss something in Ross's direction to get the older man's attention; his arm hung limp across his lap, fingers slack.
"Ross," he hissed, his voice dead in the stagnant air. "Ross!"
The Expendable rolled his eyes in Lee's direction, the look in his pupils so intense that the unspoken phrase, "What the hell do you want?" hung in the air. Christmas managed to meet the gaze and nod in Erin's direction.
"Sleeping?" he mouthed.
Ross shrugged, pushed himself out of his chair. In the pregnant silence, his footsteps resounded louder than the biggest freight train roaring by residential houses. His fingers came to rest on Erin's shoulder.
"I'm awake," she grumbled, her eyes opening a crack. "What's up?"
"Nothing." Ross shot a glance at Christmas; Lee shrugged, let his head rest against the back of his chair.
"I can't do this anymore." Erin stood up and stretched, her toes curling within her shoes. Her body rippled as her arms reached for the sky, the abs beneath the elastic band of her sports bra contracting in ways impossible for any normal woman. "I've got an AC at home. Care to join me?"
The mention of air conditioning had Christmas on his feet in an instant. "So long as you have a bottle of cold beer, I'm in."
Erin smirked, turned her attention to Ross. "Come on, let's go. Tool can suffer here by himself. He's done it before."
Sending a glance at Tool over his shoulder, Ross nodded and followed Erin and Lee out of the garage, each straddling their respective bikes and rolling out into the street as silently as possible. Tool, so focused on his work, failed to hear them leave. He only heard the off-key humming in his throat and the beating of his heart.
Once the AC kicked in and all three of them had a cold beer bottle in their hand, the trio collapsed onto Erin's couch. Positioned beneath the AC grate, they enjoyed the waves of cool air that skimmed their skin and made the hair on their arms stand on end. Christmas downed his beer in less than ten minutes and set it aside, completely sated. While Erin and Ross nursed their beers, he messed with a blade. It spun and flickered in his palm, darting between his fingers, slicing through the air, carving symbols into nothingness. Erin watched with an amused expression on her face; Ross shook his head, turned away, focused his gaze on the far wall. The blade danced, pirouetted, leapt. A ballet could not come close to compare.
"We need to do something." Christmas snatched his blade out of the air, let it come to rest in his hand. "I'm tired of sitting around on my ass."
Ross fixed Lee with his doleful eyes. "No call, no job."
The Brit shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line to keep himself from saying something he would regret later. Erin, feet kicked up on the table, picked up the remote, turned on the TV. Although muted, the images onscreen nevertheless caught the trio's attention and drew them in.
Christmas turned to Erin. "What the hell are you doing on TV?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Erin's finger found the MUTE button.
"An anonymous source informed us just hours ago that alleged criminal Erin Frey Ludolf, also known as 'The Knife,' has been spotted after she dropped off the earth three years ago." The woman reporter tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and fixed the camera with a steely gaze, almost as if she knew Erin was on the other end watching. "Our source claims he saw Ludolf over a month ago and pressure brought him forward, but he has yet to tell us where he saw the alleged criminal. Accused of multiple murders, theft, extortion, arson, blackmail, and laundering money, Ludolf has quite the reputation and will undoubtedly stand a fierce trial when she is caught. Police are working on a lead at this time." The reporter had hardly blinked during her statement. "More updates are coming up soon."
Somehow, the remote ended up in Ross's hands; the TV fell silent. Christmas and Ross turned their stares to Erin.
Christmas was the first to speak.
"What the fuck was that?"
Erin tore her eyes away from the TV. Both Christmas and Ross uncharacteristically flinched as the smoldering look in her gaze bored into their skulls. She quivered with anger, but the paleness of her face betrayed her. Worry lines mingled with the lines of fury on her face, darkening her features and turning her eyes into black pits.
"We should have killed that bastard," she growled, on her feet and pacing. "And now the feds are getting wind of it. Shit."
Ross stood up. "Is it true?"
Erin paused mid-step, her back turned to the two Expendables. "Is what true?"
"Were all those things the reporter listed true?"
Everything fell apart. The walls she had constructed, the impenetrable layers in her personality, in her history, in her persona – they all crumbled away. Her confident shoulders sagged, her rigid frame of professionalism and secrecy collapsing beneath her. Her head, although unmoving, seemed to hang, and her askew hair, alluringly tousled before, was no more than the frizzy hair of a weary and frazzled woman. The weight of it all came crashing down on her shoulders, crushing her almost as much as the deaths of The Ravenous. She turned a quarter so that only half of the profile of her face could be seen behind the sag of her shoulder.
"Yes."
Christmas shoved himself to his feet, eyes darting between Erin and Ross. Ross met the Brit's gaze, saw the 'I-told-you-so' look hidden behind the astonishment and, surprisingly, disbelief. The older Expendable dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling an inexplicable pressure on his chest and shoulders, as though the weight of the world not only rested on Erin's shoulders, but on his as well. And though he was afraid to ask, the question came out anyway.
"How did they find out?"
Erin faced the two men, the scattered pieces of her façade already piecing themselves back together. Although the weariness remained, as did the worry that drained her cheeks of color, the boldness that The Expendables knew her so well for had returned – and stronger than ever. The glint in her eye – malicious, determined, smoldering. The knit of her eyebrows – strong, powerful, convictional. The clenched muscle in her jaw – furious, pained, frustrated. Christmas and Ross weren't looking at the up-and-coming Expendable; they were looking at the former Ravenous, the girl with the snarling wolves on her back, the girl who learned to be stronger and fiercer than all the rest.
"There's only one way," she said, her voice descending into a deep growl that rose from the depths of her darkest side. "My last employer."
Christmas and Ross, frozen to the spot by her ferocity, a ferocity that that had only glimpsed when that old contact of hers saw her and escaped so many weeks ago, could hardly work their minds around her words. They exchanged a glance between each other, struggled to comprehend as the words of the reporter echoed persistently in their ears. To Erin's surprise, Lee spoke first, his words the exact opposite of what she expected.
"Then we need to kill the fucker."
Even Ross quirked an eyebrow, turned to the Brit, startled by the younger man's blunt and passionate statement. Having only weeks before loathed Erin with a passion, Lee's sudden outburst contradicted all his other actions. His gaze darted from Ross to Erin, the steel in his eyes revealing his firm conviction.
"It's not that simple," Erin snarled, more to herself than to Christmas.
"Yeah? Enlighten me."
"I don't even know the fucker's name!" Erin kicked the wall, winced as pain exploded through her foot. "When my team was slaughtered, I came back to find our whole fucking place on fire. All the documents, all the shit we kept as blackmail – all fucking gone."
"And you have no fucking idea who this asshole is?"
"He's a fed!" Erin couldn't meet either of the Expendables' gazes. "He's a fucking fed, that's all I know."
"What kind of fed?" Christmas pressed, stepping around the coffee table. "FBI? DEA? Home-fucking-land Security?"
Their chests inches from each other, Lee and Erin glared into each other's eyes, one frustrated, the other defiant. Ross stepped forward, placed a hand on both mercs' shoulders. They glared at him instead, pissed that he had interrupted them. The coolness in his eyes, however, dampened the fires within them, calming and frightening them all at once.
"I think," Erin said through clenched teeth, "he's CIA."
Silence descended like the raven on a carcass. Christmas glanced away, mumbled to himself. Ross sighed, his hand reaching up to rub his tired eyes. Although in air conditioning, the heat seemed to have swept over them again; their foreheads glistened with sweat, set them on edge. The fringes of a pissing match were starting to become apparent to Ross.
"CIA?" he asked, voice quiet; Erin nodded. "Any idea how high up?"
"If I don't know his name, he's pretty high up there." Erin dropped her gaze, unable to keep looking at Ross.
"Would you recognize him if you saw him?"
"No."
"Shit." Christmas broke away from the two of them, paced back and forth in the adjoining hallway, muttered and cussed and ran his hands over his head, all the while a steady stream of, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck!" spilling out of his mouth.
"Hey, it's not my fucking fault I was kept out of the loop!" Erin snapped, brow furrowed.
"No, of course not. It's never your fucking fault!" the Brit yelled, stopping in the middle of his pacing; his finger jabbed violently at Erin. "It's never your fucking fault that any of this happens! And it's not your fucking fault I was bloody shot!"
"No, that was your fault for getting in the fucking way!"
"ENOUGH!"
The boom of his voice made Christmas and Erin fall silent, their bodies tense with irrational fear. Ross, never one to raise his voice, winced inwardly at having to do so then, clearly seeing the sudden skittishness springing up into the two mercs' faces. He passed a hand through his hair, a deep and weary sigh escaping his throat.
"Would you recognize his voice?" he asked, fixing Erin with an inescapable gaze.
Erin met the gaze, flinched only for a brief moment. "Yes."
The tension in Lee's shoulders relaxed, melted away with that single word. "Then we'll nail the bastard," he snarled, coming up behind Erin. "And we'll nail him hard."