Six Years After Capture
Rachel's Age: 14 Years Old
"Time for your shield!" I yell to her.
She turns her face to me but says nothing. I've never experienced a free-fall with a TK shield 'round me, so I don't know what it's supposed to feel like. But I do know our hair is still thrashin' all over our faces and necks. I'm guessing if TK stops bullets and missiles, then it should stop wind, too.
"Rachel!" I scream. "The shield!" She turns back to look at the ground comin' up fast on us. "Rachel!"
I tighten my grip on her hand and pull her to me, using my body as a shield for hers. But I know the force of the fall alone is enough to collapse her lungs. She curls into my chest, nuzzling, like we're snugglin' in bed or somethin'. I hug her tight with my good arm and try shouting into her ear. "Come on, Rachel! I need you with me, Red! Come on, please!"
Now the valley floor's only fifty feet away. I brace for the impact, prayin' to I don't fucking know who to somehow save this girl's life.
Everythin' comes to a sudden stop. But there's no force behind the fall. I peel my eyes open. Rachel's still curled into my chest in the fetal position, and her back is hoverin' two inches off the ground. I lower my foot to the dirt. Then I unfold the girl. Her eyes are still empty. I take her by the hand, leadin' her to the Jeep that's gonna drive us far away from here, wondering, What the fuck just happened? I'm really not sure I wanna know.
I killed a man. He fired a gun at Victor, I heard the impact on his skin, and I saw him drop the ground. I threw a TK bolt by instinct, plain and simple. If I'd have thought about it for two seconds, I'd have known that Victor was fine. This is the man who lives through a bullet to the brain at point-blank range, for God's sake. But I didn't think. I hit an innocent man with telekinesis, a military servant who was just doing his job, and now he's dead.
The Jeep's bouncing along miles of dunes and I watch its shadow stretch and shrink across the orange desert sand. This is where I met Victor Creed, six years ago. My, how times have changed.
I turn to watch him. He's wearing his black muscle shirt, which outlines all his best features. Looking down, I notice his cargo pants also outline some wonderful features. His long hair is dancing in the wind. He feels my stare and turns to give me one of those uncomfortable, sideways looks. What the hell's goin' on in yer head, girl? I hear him broadcast.
I am not a little girl anymore. I am certainly not his captive anymore. I am all grown up, I've lived through hell, and I'm done asking for what I want. Victor Creed has given me nothing but trouble from the day he walked into my life and if my decision gives him a little trouble, well he'll just have to learn to deal with it.
I throw my left leg over his lap and slam on the brake pedal. His brow furrows and for a moment, he stomps the accelerator a little harder, but the transmission screams in protest. He backs off the gas. The Jeep screeches to a halt. I shove him with my telekinesis so hard that it breaks the hinge of the car door and he goes tumbling backward into the dirt.
"What the—?" he yells.
I half-jump, half-fly out of the car, crossing the twenty feet between us in a second, straddle him, and grab a fistful of his shirt collar. A three-second beat passes between us. His eyes search mine and I try to sort through my thoughts, only to realize there's way too much going on there that neither of us wants to hash out. Just as I'm formulating where to begin, he breaks eye contact and hangs his head.
"Rachel, we've talked about this—" His arms go to my shoulders and he starts to push me away, but I restrain him with my mind. His eyes lift back to mine, and I can see he realizes exactly what I intend to do.
"Look," I whisper. "This is going to happen whether you like it or not."
"We're only a few miles from S.H.I.E.L.D's base. They could track us here in no time. Then what?"
"Then we kill them all."
His eyes flick to mine again. Something deliciously dark lurks there. But just as fast as it came, he shoves it back, and clears his throat to argue with me again. Before he can say another word, I backhand him across the face.
And then everything changes. In one moment, that darkness comes rushing back into his eyes, his jaw muscle tightens into a knot, and his crotch hardens against my shorts. I release my TK hold on him. It's like un-caging a beast.
He lifts me bodily, like some kind of doll, and throws me on my back against the sand. The force of the slam is more than I'm prepared for, and it knocks the wind out of me. His knees land on either side of my hips. He kisses me, powerfully, passionately, almost savagely, and the taste of my blood throws all thoughts from both our minds.
The desert night is cool. The sweet smell of Rachel is all around me, and it's down-right intoxicating. Her head's restin' on my chest and my brain's spinnin'.
What the fuck just happened? That's the second time those words have gone through my head in 'bout sixty minutes. Life's about to get damn interesting. I don't know if this is a good idea. No doubt she's amazin' in the sack, but this is a whole new level of complicated, ever for me, and the last thing I need is a bigger dose o' complicated!
And then my mind really wanders. I start combin' through old memories. I think on the years I spent wanderin' through the wilderness, my humanity completely lost, the years I was trapped by S.H.I.E.L.D., bouncin' back and forth between their human guinea pig and their living weapon, the years I wasted with the lame-ass Brotherhood, followin' Magneto 'round like his brainwashed fuckin' bodyguard, and all the many years I had to run from one country to the next, dodgin' military soldiers, national defense specialists, organized crime moguls, and my own personal enemies. Life's always interestin', I decide. Besides, I'm not gonna complain 'cause this beautiful fuckin' sex kitten wants to be my Frail.
"You weren't bad yourself," she murmurs, "but what's a 'frail'?"
"What?"
"You're always changing my name." I look at her for second, wonderin' what the hell she's talkin' 'bout.
"Your name for me," she goes on. "When you first brought me home, you wouldn't call me anything. After a while, you starting giving me nicknames—anything from 'Pup' to 'Red'. You just said I wanted to be your 'Frail'. What's a Frail?"
The question catches me off-guard. Several things pop into my head all at once, and I can feel her there, readin' every one of those thoughts in a second. The first image is of some whore, bleedin' all over the place, about to die to satisfy my blood lust. The last one is of Raven, naked and stradlin' me in bed, her hands on my chest, throwin' back her red hair with a laugh. I don't even know where to begin my answer. Then it occurs to me that, literally minutes after our first time, I'm already bein' asked uncomfortable questions. "Er-"
She giggles into my shoulder. Amazing. I'm waitin' for the start of a fight, and here she's laughin'. "Relax, Victor," she chuckles. "I'm not asking you to define the relationship or anything. It was just a name I hadn't heard before." She kisses one of my ribs.
My ears pick up choppers about two miles out. "Sounds like time to get goin'."