The elevator doors hissed open, and Xavier stepped out, his focus razor-sharp. The bar was a graveyard of empty glasses and overturned chairs, the usual hum of vice replaced by the hollow quiet of the early morning. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on a solitary figure hunched on a leather sofa. Lisa. She was nursing a drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light.
His long strides ate up the distance. "What took you so long?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper, laced with a petulant wrongness, as if she'd been waiting for a comforting embrace rather than a partner in crime.
Xavier's frown was immediate, a deep crease forming between his brows. He remained standing, a pillar of controlled energy. "What's wrong? Did you see Blue?"
Something flickered in Lisa's eyes—a spark of triumph he knew all too well. A cold knot tightened in his stomach.
"What did you do, Lisa?" His voice was low, dangerous. He finally sat, but his posture was coiled, ready to spring.
Lisa rose without a word and gestured for him to follow. She led him down a corridor, stopping before a closed door. "Before you judge me, I just needed some payback," she stated, her chin lifted in defiance.
Impatience hardened Xavier's jaw. He pushed past her, his hand gripping the cool metal handle. He threw the door open.
And froze.
Blue was curled on the bed, her knees pulled tight against her chest, a human question mark of vulnerability. The air in the room felt different. She looked… diminished. Girly.
"Hey… there you are," he said, his voice softening despite the unease coiling within him. But something was profoundly wrong. The way she looked at him was all wrong. The fire that usually danced in her eyes—the fierce, untamed spark that matched his own—was gone. Doused. In its place was something light. Innocent. Terrified.
"So, it was you?" Blue's voice was small, a fragile thing that didn't belong to the woman he knew. She uncurled slowly, rising to her feet. "What do you want with me?"
Confusion warred with a chilling premonition in Xavier's mind. Her mind seemed… unmoored. Adrift.
"What are you talking about?" He took a step closer, his hand reaching out instinctively.
She flinched as if his touch would burn. "Don't touch me!" The yell was sharp, piercing the quiet. Her eyes welled up, spilling over with silent, helpless tears. "Please… please take me home?"
Xavier's head whipped around, his gaze a blade. "What did you do?" The question was a snarl, directed at Lisa.
Lisa, her face a mask of nervous justification, pulled him back into the hallway and shut the door, sealing off the sight of Blue's fragile form.
FLASHBACK
The world was a blur of pounding bass and flashing lights. Blue navigated the crowd, heading for the restroom. A hand, swift and brutal, clamped over her mouth from behind, yanking her into the shadows of a service corridor. Instinct, honed by a life lived on the edge, took over. She went limp for a fraction of a second, then exploded into action.
Her elbow pistoned back, connecting with a satisfying crunch against her attacker's ribs. A strangled scream was muffled by the thumping music. In a fluid motion, she grabbed the hand over her mouth, spun, and her fingers found the soft flesh of a throat. It was a man—one of Xavier's bodyguards. She squeezed, a silent promise of death in her grip.
"What do you want?" Her voice was ice, her grip tightening. The man, a head taller, knew that one wrong move, one twitch, and she could rip his larynx out. But Lisa's money was good. He had a job to do.
"I…" he gasped, his free hand snaking up, a glint of metal in the dim light. A hypo. He plunged it into her neck.
Blue didn't flinch. Didn't cry out. She just smirked, a terrifyingly beautiful sight. As his knees buckled, she twisted, and with a sickening crack, his neck snapped in her bare hands. He crumpled to the floor like a discarded puppet.
Before she could take a step, a shadow detached itself from the wall. Lisa. A baseball bat arced through the air, connecting with the side of Blue's head with a sickening thud. Blue stumbled, her vision swimming, but she didn't go down. She shook her head, trying to focus, her legs like lead. Another blow. And another. Still, her eyes, though glazed, remained open, fixed on Lisa with a chilling awareness. Panic flickered in Lisa's eyes. She dropped the bat, grabbed Blue by the collar, and dragged her limp but conscious body into the nearest room, slamming the door shut.
END FLASHBACK
Back in the present, rage detonated behind Xavier's eyes. It was a controlled, lethal fury that made his voice a terrifyingly quiet snarl.
"Are you stupid?" The word was a whip crack. "How many times have I told you—" He stopped, shoving a hand through his hair, a gesture of pure, frustrated violence. He drew a breath, the sound ragged in the silent corridor.
"Leave this casino," he said, his voice dropping to an arctic calm that was far more frightening than his shout. "And never come back. If I ever see your face again, I won't be responsible for what happens."
Lisa stared, bewildered. She couldn't comprehend the intensity, the raw emotion contorting his features. For a woman like Blue? "It's just a drug!" she protested, her voice rising. "It was supposed to keep her unconscious, but she wouldn't go down! I was just trying to give her a taste of her own medicine! To humble her!"
Xavier stepped closer, his face inches from hers. "When Blue recovers," he said, each word a shard of glass, "pray to whatever god you believe in that you have two lives. Because she's going to kill you. And I won't lift a finger to stop her."
Terror finally dawned on Lisa's face. She stumbled back, then turned and fled, her footsteps echoing into nothing. Xavier watched her go, then turned back to the door.
He opened it slowly.
There she was. Bathed in the pale, sickly light of a single lamp. Her aura was… gentle. Helpless. This couldn't be the same woman who, just hours ago, had shot The Boss and coolly dispatched his men. This was a ghost wearing her face. Something far deeper and more sinister was at play.
"Please take me home." The soft, tearful voice drifted from the corner where she'd retreated, knees to her chest. "I'm sorry if I ever did anything to you. I need to see my sister. Please."
They were supposed to be on the precipice of their first kill together. A partnership forged in blood. And now this. Lisa had poisoned that future.
He moved towards her slowly, a predator approaching a wounded bird. She looked so small, so fragile, huddled in the corner. A stranger in the skin of the woman he… cared for.
"It's okay," he murmured, lowering himself to a squat beside her. His voice was a low, steady reassurance. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay?" He glanced at his watch. 2:07 a.m.
She shrank further from him, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. He continued to speak, his words a soft, meaningless litany of comfort. This was the first time he'd ever seen Blue vulnerable. Truly vulnerable. Lisa said it was a drug. That meant it had a cure. A solution. He could fix this.
He extended his hand, palm up, an offering of safety.
Blue stared at it for a long, heart-wrenching moment. Then, slowly, tentatively, she placed her small, trembling hand in his. The contact was electric in its tenderness. She didn't just take his hand; she fell into him, her body collapsing against his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. He held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, pressing a kiss to her hair. He tightened his embrace, a fierce, protective gesture, like a father shielding a child from a nightmare. He held her until her ragged sobs softened into the steady, deep breaths of sleep.
He lifted her easily. She was weightless in his arms. He carried her to the elevator and up to his private suite. Her long, dark hair cascaded down like a silken river, her head resting peacefully against his chest. In the dim light, even in the oblivion of sleep, he had never seen anything as hauntingly beautiful.
He laid her gently on his bed, pulling the silk sheets over her. Then, he reached for his phone.
"Yes, Doctor Lambert. I need you. Now."
7:00 A.M. – THE ELDER MANSION
Alexander moved through the quiet mansion with practiced ease, his movements a silent ritual. He prepared Veronica's tea just the way she liked it, the kettle humming a soft counterpoint to the morning stillness. She'd been buried in work until late last night; he hadn't seen her at all.
From the kitchen, a murmur of voices drifted from the direction of the grand entrance. Frowning, he left the tea to steep and padded softly towards the sound. It was barely dawn. Who would be calling at this hour?
He reached the corner of the hallway and stopped. He could see Kuku Veronica, her small frame blocking the doorway. She was talking to a man. All Alexander could make out was a shock of pure white hair before Kuku shifted, positioning herself squarely in the opening, a shawl clutched tightly around her.
Was his grandmother… mingling? The thought was so absurd, so out of character for the fiercely independent woman, he almost smiled. Almost.
"You need to leave before everyone sees you," he heard her say, her voice tight, urgent.
The man with the white hair turned and vanished into the grey morning light just as Alexander stepped into view.
"Kuku?" he called out, concern sharpening his voice.
She spun around. For a fleeting second—so fast he almost missed it—he saw the glisten of tears she was blinking back. But she was a master of composure. In an instant, her face was smooth, a slight grimace her only concession.
"Blasted fly," she muttered, rubbing furiously at her eye. "Got right in there."
Alexander wasn't fooled. "Who were you talking to?" He guided her gently to a nearby settee, his eyes scanning the now-empty doorway.
"Oh, just a technician I called about the light in my sitting room," she said, still dabbing at her eye with a handkerchief. "He came far too early, so I sent him packing."
"I could have fixed your light, Kuku," Alexander said softly.
Kuku Veronica let out a short, brittle laugh. "Sure you could have." The sarcasm was heavy, a shield.
She rose to leave, and as she did, a small business card fluttered from her pocket, landing unnoticed on the polished floor. Alexander bent to pick it up, his gaze catching the elegant, embossed lettering.
"Kuku…" he started, his voice trailing off as he read the name, his eyes widening in shock.
She turned. "What is it?"
In a flash, he tucked the card behind his back, his expression a mask of forced nonchalance. "Nothing," he said, the smile on his lips not reaching his confused eyes.
He waited until she had disappeared up the grand staircase before pulling the card out again.
Theodore Elder