Chapter 53:
Clark watched the last of the orphans get packed away in a squad car and felt a knot ease in his chest that had been there for weeks. They'd be okay. They were all okay. It was a small miracle, but it was a miracle nonetheless. He'd keep an eye out on them, from a distance. They'd shown incredible promise. Maybe when they grew up, he could find a use for them in the future...
He suddenly realized that there wouldn't be a future. He blinked in surprise at himself. He was close, so close to being done with all this revenge business. He had the girl, he had more money than he could ever need in his life, and he had plenty of plans in the works that pointed back to Lex Luthor as being the Boss. And as soon as he wrapped up that, it would be all over. That was the plan from the beginning.
He tried not to think too hard about how surprising that realization was.
"Hey, thanks again for all your help. Those kids almost had us. If not for you—"
He brushed aside Henderson's compliments. "No need to thank me. Just doing what I do."
"Well, we appreciate you doing it."
He smiled and nodded politely, and turned to greet Lois in hopes that she'd explain away Clark Kent's absence—
He froze. Lois was nowhere to be found.
"Excuse me, uh, Inspector? I thought I saw Miss Lane and Mr. Kent down here when I came through, do you know where they—"
Bill snorted. "My advice would be don't ask. It seems to me they probably snuck off to, uh, have a little delight in the afternoon. If you catch my drift."
Clark had to bite his initial response back. This was all wrong. "Really? That doesn't seem like Lois Lane to bail on an interview. And wasn't she seeing—"
"Lex Luthor? Yeah. Like I said, don't ask."
The world felt like it was spinning too fast around him, and Clark wanted to puke. This wasn't right— there was something wrong and nobody could see it. Henderson ducked into his car and took off without a second glance back at the hero— he didn't think anything of it.
Fire filled his veins. He was gone for all of ten minutes, and Lois Lane got herself kidnapped. Because of course she did. He didn't know why he ever left her alone. All he wanted to do was go help out these kids, to make sure everything was okay…
This smacked of Nigel St. John.
Clark gritted his teeth. Fine. He'd just signed his own death warrant. He took off through the skies in search of her.
*****LnC*****
Nigel opened the trunk of his car to an unconscious Lois Lane and pursed his lips. She'd likely wake soon. He'd had to stop a few blocks away to smother her with some chloroform to knock her out— she was making quite the racket banging around back there and screaming for help— before continuing on their journey. He wasn't sure how much time they had until Clark did the math, but it wasn't enough.
He was grateful for the cover of darkness as he hoisted her limp form over his shoulder and slammed the lid of the trunk hard.
Casually, he strolled into the building and carried her down to the lift. He pushed the down arrow and waited a long moment for it to arrive. He tapped his foot impatiently. If Kent caught up with him now of all times, he'd hate himself for the rest of his life, however long that was.
The doors finally slid open in front of him and he breathed a sigh of relief as he got on with a surreptitious glance about the room. He shifted her weight over his shoulder with a wince and pushed the button for the third basement level.
She didn't start to stir against him until they were getting off the elevator. He hurried his clip as she groaned to life and suddenly stiffened in his arms. She pushed off him as best as possible and pummelled his shoulders with a barrage of fists. "No! Let go of me! Put me down!"
"You really think that'll work," he drawled sarcastically.
She pulled against his grip and shouted for help. For a moment, he froze, fear at the name gripping his heart, and he dropped her onto the cold hard concrete in a flash.
Lois gasped at the sudden drop. Just as quickly, Nigel pulled her to her feet and clamped a hand over her mouth and locked on her jaw firmly. She tried to shake him off but couldn't move now with the death grip he had on her. Nigel smirked predatorily, finally having the upper hand. "Nice try," he hissed hotly into her ear. Lois squirmed. "But I don't think your knight in shining spandex will save you this time."
She fought and wriggled and mumbled into his hand, but Nigel ignored her as best he could as he tied her to a lone chair tightly. He regrettably had to let go of her mouth to finish tying her up— a good solid minute spent with Lois emptying her lungs into the cavernous space— until he finally brandished his gun again. He grinned. That shut her up. He shook his head with a chuckle.
"You know, I ask myself, all the time really: how is it that two of the most influential, wealthy, powerful men in the world are both so fixated on you? And until recently, I hadn't come up with an answer. You're not the most beautiful woman in the world, you don't run in their circles, you're by no means as wealthy or prominent. And yet you've gone two for two on billionaire bingo."
She shot daggers at him. "Watch it."
"But then I realized,” he continued on, not fazed in the least by her small threat, “it's not them. It's you. You're the one with all the power in these relationships. It doesn't make sense that you won't reach out and take what's yours."
"I'm no gold digger."
Amusement flared through him, and Nigel almost smiled again at her thick-headed ways. "Money and power are not synonymous. I know you're not in it for the money, or any of the outward things. In a lot of ways, you and I are quite similar, Miss Lane."
That pulled a loud laugh from her. "Right. We've got loads in common. Why don't you untie me, and we can make friendship bracelets?"
He glared at her. "Your sarcasm is bound to get you killed one of these days, you're aware of that?"
"Speaking of, why exactly haven't you killed me yet? If I'm such a threat to you."
"Oh, you have no idea how much I'd like to kill you," he bared his teeth at her on a sadistic grin. "I've dreamt of killing you. It's like those old American Westerns; the ones where they square off in a duel and say this town ain't big enough for the two of us. Only I'm afraid you see me as the man in black. The big bad guy."
An unflattering snort. "More like the ugly. I know who the real bad guys are here."
Nigel ran a tongue over his teeth, bemusement at her ignorance returning. "Do you?" The little flicker of fear he saw in her eyes was worth all the trouble. He itched to see that fear again, to put that fear into her. She deserved it. She'd ruined damn near everything. "No. But that’s neither here nor there. For now, we wait."
"Why?"
Did the woman have no sense of self-preservation? He shook his head at her and turned back to the table against the wall— far enough away from Miss Lane so that she couldn't cause any trouble. Her chair was very meticulously placed in the middle of the space, away from absolutely everything else. No chances. He rummaged through his duffel bag for some duct tape. "Sorry, darling. Much as I'd like to just shoot you and never see your face again, I'm afraid you're just too good a bargaining chip."
Lois' voice had a slight tremor underneath all her bravado as she boldly defended herself. "Won't be waiting long. He’ll be here soon enough."
Nigel scoffed. "Right. Big Blue." His eyes alighted on the shiny silver roll and he smiled a little gleefully. They'd had enough conversation for one day.
"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into, pal."
He frowned as he turned around, and quickly absorbed her demeanor. Chin jutting out proudly, chest puffed, her eyes unwavering in her stare. A pit formed in his gut as the realization hit him. "You really believe that, don't you?" She didn't squirm, didn't flinch, and the knowledge behind her eyes were more than enough confirmation for him. "You know, don't you?"
There was the flinch. Nearly imperceptible, but present. "Know what?"
He felt a wave of dizziness swirl around him as all the blood drained from his face, and he took the last remaining steps to reach her side swiftly. She struggled against him as he smothered her mouth with the duct tape roughly. She kicked at his shin and he groaned, smacking her across the face in kind. Her head swung away from him, and she shot daggers at him when her gaze turned back.
Nigel stepped back and scrubbed at his jaw while his mind raced. "Bloody hell. He told you. You know." He paced back and forth. If she knew Clark Kent’s nom de plume, what if she knew the rest of it? He shook his head sharply. "This is just bloody perfect. How did he tell you? Romantic candlelit dinner? Rooftop rendezvous? Flight through the clouds?" He glanced back at her as she stiffened in her seat, and he smiled. She'd connected the dots. Level playing field once again. Her stillness spoke volumes, and a bout of giddiness filled him as he realized what she couldn't vocalize. "Oh, no. He didn't tell you. Did he? You figured it out. Didn't even give you the courtesy, the dignity—" he scoffed a dry, smug laugh, happy with the heat in her glare. "Well, join the club. Dignity is in short supply around here."
She glowered at him, and he chuckled as he turned away. "Wonderful. Let's see just how fast your boyfriend comes running for you, shall we? Now be quiet. I have an important phone call to make."
She squirmed viciously in her seat, mumbling beneath the duct tape. Nigel swallowed thickly and turned away from her, shoulders racked with tension. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He'd had a plan. He knew what he was doing. And now... now it was all falling apart, because Lois Lane knew the truth. He was grasping at straws to pull himself together.
The image of a little red vial struck him, and he patted down his pockets trying to find it. He'd had one more vial of the stuff, he knew it. He'd wanted to save it, but desperate times... "Dammit," he muttered under his breath, coming up empty in his pockets.
A thought, a piece of a memory sprung to mind, and Nigel spun to look at his duffel bag once more. He swore and collapsed to his knees, rummaging through the bag like a madman. His fingers touched the edge of something sharp and dread sank into his bones. "No... no, no, no—" he ignored the prick of pain as the shards of glass broke his skin and he pulled the shattered vial out of the bag. The red, viscous serum dripped off the edge, absorbing into the black fabric of the bag, and his heart almost gave out.
He looked across the room at his captive and found her eyes staring back at him with some mix of pride and confusion.
The duffle bag had been in the trunk with her, when she'd been kicking around. He squared his jaw firmly.
"You little--"
He stormed over to her side, needle in hand and grabbed her by the hair roughly. She gave a muffled cry at the pain and he held the sharp edge of the glass to her throat. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" She squirmed and cried underneath his grip. He gritted his teeth with the difficulty of holding back, hands shaking with rage. "God, I want to kill you so badly," he ground out the words sharply, feeling like they were venom in his mouth.
His focus wavered a second, and a thrill chased up his spine as he nicked the skin of her neck slightly with the glass. A small bead of blood rose to the surface of her skin; a beautiful, red color not too different from the Metamide-5 solution he so desperately needed... Maybe killing her would be enough.
He wrenched himself away and shoved her head down forcefully. Nigel struggled to catch his breath, anger making his chest tight. "Not worth half the trouble you cause, you know that?" He walked away, ignoring her whimpering.
He didn't need the drugs. He was a smart man. He could figure this out without them. He smoothed a hand across his hair, straightened the sleeves of his jacket as he went. He needed to compose himself.
He had a phone call to make.
Last edited by Mouserocks; 10/29/18 06:40 PM.
