“Your money,” the bookie hissed and threw the wad at him.
It hit his chest before falling into his hands. He unrolled it and let each bill flip through his fingers. It wasn’t that he cared about the money, he just didn’t like people screwing him over anymore. Once the agreed three-thousand dollars was counted out he nodded to the old man.
Glass crunched under his boots as he cut through the empty bar. There was only a handful of people left and most of them were passed out against something. No one gave him crap as he made his way out, which was unusual. Usually somebody tried for the load of money he carried or wanted revenge for the beating their brothers got in the cage.
He was grateful for it, though, and let his tense body relax. It had been three days since he’d last slept because he had to get some distance between them before he could stop for the fights. There was nothing he wanted more than to crash with the rest of them but now that the fights were over he had to keep moving. Every minute he was there was ten minutes they were closer to catching him.
The cold four a.m. air hit him hard when he opened the squeaking bar door, forcing him to cough. He zipped his leather jacket up, its warmth instantly spreading to his body. The night was silent, even to his enhanced hearing, but that could have been because he was so exhausted.
He swore at himself for parking his truck so far away at the back of the building. The adamantium in his legs were making them even harder to drag across the asphalt.
Rounding the corner of the building he stopped. Something wasn’t right. He took three tentative steps forward, sniffing the air as he went. Again he didn’t smell or hear anything. But the hairs on his neck were at a sharp point and the beast inside him was becoming more and more agitated. With a loud ‘shikt’ six claws were released from between his knuckles, though the ringing metallic noise was still the only thing he could hear.
Then a scent from behind him hit his nose hard. Honey and cinnamon under a thick coat of booze. Quickly he turned around, claws raised at his sides.
“Woah, sugah!” The girl took a step back, her hands up in the air. He narrowed his eyes studying her. He couldn’t make much out in the dark, aside from the ghostly white strands in her hair reflecting in the moonlight.
“You followin’ me?” He barked at her, making up for her retreating step with one of his own.
“Well, damn. Of course ahm followin’ ya! Why tha hell else would ah be standin’ out here?” Her hands went to her hips in defiance, but she did take another step back away from him.
He sniffed the air around her again, but smelled no gun powder. They always smelled like gun powder. Oddly enough the smell that his nose had become so accustomed to was no present on her. Fear.
“Listen, kid. I ain’t interested in a ‘good time’. But thanks, there’s still a few guys in there if you go on in now.” His claws returned to their place inside his forearms and he turned away from her to make his way to his truck.
She was about to say something when a shot rang out somewhere in the distance. He stumbled to his left, clenching his shoulder and she considered letting him take a few more bullets for his hooker comment before helping him.
His loud roar when a second shot hit him in the side surprised her. It validated Lt. Anderson’s assertion to her that he was an animal. Animal or no, she was impressed that even though he was staggering he still wasn’t to his knees.
They found him. They fucking found him. It was either them or some asshole after his money, but he was never that lucky. Four different sets of headlights moving from the road answered the question.
The claws sprang out just and the back of his jacket was gripped and he was pulled into the shadows. The girl’s face was not what he expected to see.
She was trying, in vain, to lift his six hundred pound body to its feet. “Damn, sugah, ya eatin’ a lot more than wheaties for breakfast,” she groaned.
He jerked out of her grasp, pushing her away from him at the same time. “Are you fucking crazy?! Get the hell out of here!”
Eyeing the rips his claws had caused in her jacket she squared up in his face. “Hey asshole! Ah came for YOU!”
Suddenly she was pressed against the cold brick wall of the building, his hands clamped tightly around her upper-arms. “Who are you?!” He growled and increased the pressure on her arms for emphases.
She rolled her eyes but still couldn’t help but wince, “Ah’ll be more than happy ta tell ya. But what daya say we get tha FUCK OUT OF HERE first?!”
Shots rang out in more abundance behind him and he could feel his heart straining against its confines. Desperate he slammed her into the wall again. “Talk!”
She tried to push against him but his pin on her was effective; his thighs kept his legs still. There was sweat beginning to form on his forehead and she knew it wasn’t because he was hot. “Listen, sugah. There’s only a few ways this can go down. Eitha they catch ya again an’ ah get the hell outta here. Or ya kill me or ah kill ya, or they both kill us. Well, ah guess they could both catch us… Okay, now that ah think ‘bout it there’s several possible outcome…”
“Shut up!” he yelled, the engines were ringing in his ears. They were close enough now that the smell of gun powder flooded his system.
She watched his pupils dilate and shut her eyes against the pain he was inflicting on her arms. There was probably going to be bruises on her fucking bones at this rate. “Mah preferred scenario is we both get the fuck outta here, but ya gonna have ta trust me!”
He was about to tell her where he could stick her trust but the sounds of car doors opening and shutting reminded him that he had bigger problems then little girls.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Okay, now I'm just screwing with ya'll. I'll try to stop with the cliffhangers. :P