He was stunned.
Baffled.
Furious and exhilarated.
As much so as only that damn woman could get him.
So, that was what it was; her and her damn redemption, the same fucking circus all over again.
Not that it came as a surprise. But it wasn't any less frustrating than the first time around; when she'd gone as far as to end her own life for the cause. He'd never understood this — the whole concept of punishing oneself for one's deeds — what was done was done — she turned her life around, fine, but why then suffer throughout it in the name of what had been in the past — it wasn't like anything she did after could cancel her body count, bring those lives back. This — gods, it was the one thing about her he'd always hated, with the same passion he loved everything else. The main thing they'd never seen eye to eye on; the reason why she'd always pushed him away. Because what — she was afraid he'd make her realize how pointless it was, the path she'd taken — and how much more life had to offer once she'd break free from the shackles of that brain-washing conscience she so blindly followed?
Oh yeah, that story he knew by heart. Her rejecting him because of guilt and fear? There it was, damn Greece all over again.
Maybe this time around, it shouldn't move him that much anymore.
Well, it did, and for some reason, now way more than ever; to the point where his chest welled up with hatred so burning that — he didn't know what he'd do to her now — he just knew he'd make her suffer and he'd revel in it, drink in her pain.
Back in Greece — yeah, he got that, he deserved her mistrust, contempt, whatever else; he had been a clueless idiot with her, now that he saw it from perspective — but now — when he was ready to risk everything for her, when all he did was love her and protect her—
After a while of fuming and pacing around, he stopped by the kitchen island, the envelope's contents scattered all over the stainless steel countertop, one sheet on top of it all.
Her damn face.
He refilled his glass, spilling a little on the paper. "Nice mugshot, Xena… or, should I say Lisa?" He reached for a cigarette and lit it up. "Thought you were so smart wiping yourself out, didn't you?" Well, that explained why none of this came up when he'd done a background check on her.
His jaw tightening, he used all of his willpower to stop himself from turning the heap of paper sheets to ashes.
Not yet. Not before he made a digital copy.
And sent it to her.
Or, found her and handed it to her. In person.
Oh, yes — he wanted to see her face when she opened the envelope. Little miss holier-than-thou, looking down on him like he was trash just because he did some money laundering and dealt arms — she — a drug trafficker who skinned people alive — she really had the nerve.
He kicked back on the black Chesterfield sofa and toyed with the TV remote, images flashing on the screen, of which he heard and saw nothing, his mind producing a compilation of entirely different scenes, the contents of the envelope coming to life in his head, so vivid he squeezed his eyes shut with a low growl. Her, riding a cruiser without a helmet, hair wild in the wind; the way her eyes must've sparkled when she slit all those throats — it charmed him, somehow, that she preferred knifes to guns — until the images morphed into one another, till his pulse raced so madly that all he wanted to do was to fuck the life out of her.
He would grab her throat and — watch her choke, her face flushed, lips parting, struggling for those several last breaths as he emptied himself inside her — and he growled and cursed, the impact of his release making it hard to catch his own breath for a moment.
And a lying snitch on top of that; not that it was a complete surprise but — why the hell would she say anything at all? Back at the hotel, he knew she'd recorded him for evidence. They both knew that. It did piss him off, but he didn't give much of a shit, really. But she didn't need to say she would't use it, lie to his face like that.
He sneered as another thought crossed his mind — he was curious — what would her bosses say if they learned what their star employee used to do for a living before she showed up at their doorstep?
Because she sure as hell failed to disclose it in her resume.
His phone rang; somewhere in the room, he didn't care. Had to be Alexis.
He cursed when the knock on the door followed.
"I thought I made it damn clear I don't wanna be dist—" he trailed off when he swung the door open and his eyes fell on the two pairs of high heels and very long legs, topped off with cleavages to drown in.
"Your order is ready, sir…" One of the blondes narrowed her eyes at him.
Actually, this was exactly what he needed. It should be.
Lazily, he walked over to grab his phone. There was a text. From Alexis. "After getting a glimpse of how she spent her weekend, I thought you deserved the same."
Exhaling as the knot tightened in his chest, he closed his eyes, trying to calm down, trying to shake off the scenes his mind kept producing, the very thought of another hands — pairs of hands touching her — his fists clenched, sending a jolt up to his elbows.
Well, he wasn't going to waste his time dwelling on that; especially not with the luscious offering standing at his door.
#
Now that he was back in the state, it was easy to track her down; even with his limited powers, he picked up on her frequency immediately.
He took another glance at the yellow envelope he was holding, and waved a hand, making the portal display before him.
And found himself staring agape, at what caught him completely off guard; her walking out of the shower, drops of water trickling down the flushed skin of her chest, down her stomach, down lower—
And his phone rang in his hand, the very same moment; he answered unconsciously.
Alexis' voice articulated a stream of words into his ear, barely reaching him.
"Are you there?" the last sentence got through.
He exhaled, his throat dry. "The line's breaking," he lied smoothly, his eyes glued to the vision in front of him; her, towel-clad and wet-haired, reaching for the toothbrush.
The phone chimed in his hand; a text from Alexis. When he saw it was an audio file he already knew what it was; it didn't surprise him that after hitting play he heard his own voice.
"…get rid of the body… take your cut and give the rest to Bouncy…"
Gritting his teeth, he walked to the glass wall overlooking the very few skyscrapers the city had to offer, the towers dotted with dozens little lights, orange against the black sky; he imagined it crumble and burn. She was there, not far away.
Maybe, he could move on.
If there was no heartbeat to track down anymore.
The intrusive, creaky sound of Alexis' voice made the vision fade away. "I was thinking… there might be a way we could both have a nice little revenge on her. What do you say?"
He looked at the phone in his hand and brought it back to his ear. "I'm listening."