He came to in hell. Which didn’t necessarily mean he was dead. He refused to open his eyes, blackness was better than dank green-grey. Hard, cold metal stretched down from his back to his heels. The surface was clammy and damp against him in the places the he sweat, skin against metal not allowing any evaporation. But it wasn’t hot enough. He should be drowning in his own sweat, from what he heard of hell, burning hot never ending sweat. The other place. That’s where cold sweat dripped down your spine.
So he hadn’t died in the crash. Fuck, why was dying so damn difficult? He could try the claws again. Ramming them through his chest had never worked before, but maybe eighth time was a charm.
He could have cried when his arms remained immobile. The cold metal wasn’t just under him but wrapped around, pining his wrists, his chest, his legs, his whole damn escape. He thrashed his body as hard as he could against he binds. They dug deep into his skin but not nearly deep enough.
“Ah, Wolverine.” He stilled at the voice. The beast inside continued to howl and fight but Logan knew better. That was what the bastard wanted. Instead he spit at the coke-bottle rimmed tired face.
“Hm. Attractive.” Stryker grimaced as he wiped his glasses off. “I must say, Wolverine, it is good to have my pet back. In his cage, where he properly belongs. And after all these years. Those ‘Lost Puppy’ posters just don’t work as well as they use to anymore, do they?”
He remained silent, refusing to bite on Stryker’s animal taunting. Years ago he came to a conclusion that one of them might have been an animal, but it sure as hell wasn’t fucking him. He just happened to have claws.
“But, as much as this pains me,” Stryker came closer. Logan fought back the gag reaction when he laid his rubber gloved hand on his stomach. “I have a proposition for you, Wolverine. A deal. You do this for me and I’ll let you go. You can go waste your eternity away it whatever dive hole bar you wish. I won’t even visit for Christmas. So how about it, my pet?”
“Let me guess,” Logan fought the words through the sandpaper in his throat. “You want me to kill the president? Prime Minister of England?” A weak grin crept onto his face. “The king of Fiji?”
“What?” Stryker huffed. “No, you buffoon. I merely want some information from you.”
He tried to adjust under the bonding, but the movement only cause the most disgusting sound of his bare skin screeching on the metal. “What information? I don’t know shit.” He finally answered.
“Well, while I’ll agree you posses very little usefulness when it comes to anything other than maiming and murders. I do believe you know this.”
“What?” Logan barked again, quickly getting frustrated with the cat and mouse game the bastard was always so found of playing. Dangling his freedom right in front of him, then pulling it back.
The old man leaned forward, “The girl, Wolverine. I want to know where the girl is.”
Him and the beast equally roared, pushing in the hard bonds a good inch into his flesh. “Leave her out of this, you bastard,” he hissed, his top lip curling up. “You fucking got me already, she has nothing you want anymore.”
Stryker laughed and took a step back. “She *is* what I want. A pleasant faced vixen who can kill with a touch? She is immeasureably more useful than you are, my dear pet. Less, hm... messy shall we say? Now, tell me where she is and I will let you scurry off back to the woods you crawled out of. Think for once in your life, Wolverine. This offer will not last if we find her ourselves.”
“You don’t know shit,” he snarled, “You’ll never find her.”
“Don’t know shit? Oh, we’ve been apart too long, you’ve forgotten your master. You left quite a bit of her blood behind in some lovely motel. I can just *imagine* how that happened.” Stryker smirked down at him.
Her blood. His heart, his whole body stilled. ‘An’ ya jus’ let me bleed all ova mahself all night...’ her voice floated through his mind. He screwed up. He fucked them both over right from the beginning.
“Private, the folder please,” Stryker stretched out his hand towards one of the men standing in the door way. Clearly enjoying the paleness on Logan’s face he opened the light folder slowly. “Let’s see.... Ann Marie D’Ancanto born January 11, 1984 to a Earl and Priscilla D’Ancanto from Magnolia, Mississippi, how precious.” He winked at Logan then looked back down to the folder. “Wanted in two states for the murder of six people; good, she’s a natural. Well, well, well, two of which were her own parents. Oh, Wolverine, I like this girl already. You have better tastes than I thought.”
Claws jerked out of his arms on their own, scratching six deep groves into the metal under him with a high pitched wail. “You stay the fuck away from her, you god damn--!”
“Oh shut up, save your pointless threats,” Stryker said over him and threw the folder back towards the door. “I’m giving you a chance here, you filthy mongrel. Don’t be stupid. Tell me where she is and I will let you walk out of here with you tail firmly intact between your legs.”
Oddly enough the Wolverine and him were in unison with the decision. “You can kiss my ass, bub.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Nice and short. :)