Boulder City - December 3
Victor Creed sat at the back corner of an all night diner just outside of Boulder City. It was the kind of place where anyone could feel anonymous, even big, ugly mutants like him. No one looked twice, especially not the servers.
He swallowed half a cup of shitty coffee, ignoring the burn down his throat. A Christmas song played from a tinny speaker in the kitchen, and someone hummed along. Too bad they couldn't carry a note in a bucket.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to see 'Cupcake' flashing on the screen. His thumb hovered over the 'decline' button, but somehow it moved over and swiped 'accept' instead.
"Yeah," he said softly.
"Staying out of trouble?" Amelie Carver asked, her voice overly soft and husky, a lingering effect of their misadventures in the summer.
He couldn’t help a smile. "What do you think?"
"I think you're moping in some sad little truckstop diner somewhere."
Fuck, he missed her sassy mouth. "What do you want, cupcake?"
"It's almost Christmas."
"And?"
"Any plans to be in the neighborhood?"
Creed scoffed. "No."
"Too bad. I got you a great present."
He traced a claw through some spilled sugar on the table. "Look, I appreciate--"
"Hang on." There was a sound of her hand covering the mouthpiece on her phone, but it wasn't enough to muffle her asking Jamie to say hello, or his hissed refusal.
"Logan."
A few seconds later, there was a gruff, "Yeah, happy hoho."
Creed cleared his throat. "You too."
Amelie’s voice returned. "Okay, I've interrupted your moping long enough."
He smiled again, despite himself. "Nice to hear from you. Both of you."
"Just think about being in the area sometime. Okay?"
He didn't say anything.
After a moment she sighed. "Merry Christmas, Vic."
"You too, cupcake."
He ended the call and stared out the window for a long while, trying to silence the green monster that was raging inside his head.
She's ours for the taking, if you'd be less of a pussy.
That woman ain't anybody's for the taking.
Not with that weak attitude.
Be quiet.
The monster gave a whining snarl. Can't fuck. Can't fight. Can't kill. What kind of fucked up, boring life you tryna pull off, huh? Who do you think you are? A decent person? No, little princess. You're a killer. It's all you're good for, and all you'll ever be good for. Sooner you accept--
The server dropped off his pancake platter, with extra pancakes, saving him from the monster's latest rant. He dug in right as the late news came on the TV across the room.
"Outrage tonight in Tucson, Arizona, where a female teacher accused of sexual misconduct with several of her middle school students was acquitted of all charges. Francis Pinewood's lawyer gave a statement outside of the courtroom."
Creed’s hand tightened on his fork until it bent. 'Sexual misconduct'. Call it what it is, you voyeuristic fucks. She raped baby boys.
"Sir? Are you alright?"
He forced himself to simmer down, lest he freak out the server and get the boot. "I'm fine."
"Can I get you anything else?"
He shook his head.
As the server walked away, Creed decided to make a special trip to check Frankie Pinewood out, all the way to Tucson, Arizona, despite his deep and abiding hatred for the desert.
Maybe if he gave the monster a little exercise it would stop the relentless shrieking. What better way to test that theory than to target this cunt?
Tucson - December 22
Creed sat in his truck, watching the club. The Stone Wyvern was a dark place that tried to give off some sort of Gothic vibe, made even darker by his red-tinted glasses. Creed might have liked the place if he was there on recreational business. But he wasn’t. Tonight he was hunting a kiddy diddler. His favourite kind of target. In his experience, no one missed them when they were gone, and no one looked very hard for the person who got rid of such degenerate scum.
The music from behind closed doors was loud enough to throb in his chest from across the street. He frowned and hunted down a pair of foam ear plugs. They wouldn't be nearly enough to make the sound bearable, but at least it wouldn't hurt enough to give him a headache.
It was almost midnight and his prey hadn't shown yet, but she would. Francis "Frankie" Pinewood. Accused of raping teenaged boys as young as 13, and acquitted on all charges, even though ten boys had come forward. Something about improperly filed evidence, and a witness whose statement contradicted the other boys' stories. Her picture had been all over national television for almost a week before they got bored and moved to the next new story.
But Creed hadn’t gotten bored, and he hadn’t moved on.
Hell, he’d even planned more careful than usual. Parked his truck and camper at an airport storage facility in Denver, and flew out to Vegas, where he took a leaf out of Remy LeBeau's book, and picked up red tinted glasses to disguise his eyes. Then it was a trip to a nearby mall, where he got himself a haircut and proper shave. A nearby department store had a couple expensive, yet poorly fitted suits he didn’t bother to have tailored, to better hide his true build. A few tacky rings and gold chains later, he was properly kitted out.
With that, he rented a truck and cruised on over to Tucson and set himself up in a hotel with one of his many false identities. It took less than a day to track down both Frankie and her lawyer, and just over a week to figure out her pattern of behaviour, and the best opportunities he’d have to whisk her out of the public eye. Once that was all nailed down, he found the perfect, out of the way spot in the middle of nowhere.
And now he was here. At the Stone Wyvern. Watching for his prey.
A buzz in his pocket made him jump. He pulled out his phone to see a video text message from Dahlia.
"Hi Victor! We're making pie!" She waved and pointed the camera at the kitchen counter. Amelie was rolling out dough, while Remy was pulling trays of steaming roasted pumpkins out of the oven.
Dahlia flipped the camera to face herself again. She was glowing in a way that made his heart feel a little too big for his chest.
"It smells really good in here," she said. "Even Mr. Logan says so."
The video ended with a shot of Amelie smiling toward the camera. Creed touched the screen, wishing it was her actual cheek he could feel beneath his fingertips. He hadn't missed anyone in his entire life, except maybe his brother, but Christ he missed her. And Dahlia, if he was being honest with himself.
They don't give a shit about you. No one even tried to stop you leaving.
He flinched at the memory of driving away in the wee hours of the night. I didn't exactly give anyone the chance to stop me.
A cab pulled to a stop across the street, saving him from another dark cycle of negative thoughts. A familiar dark-haired woman stepped out and went into the club. Music blasted the street briefly before the door closed.
A pleasant shot of adrenaline flooded through his belly. He had to temper his natural predatory reaction and dial his eager smile back a few notches. Didn’t want to spook anyone. Not yet, anyway.
He got out of the truck and checked his hair in the mirror. It was slicked back and dorky, just like he wanted. Creed practiced a normal, non-monster smile one last time before he crossed the street and went inside the door.
It was loud as fuck, but the ear plugs were doing the trick to deaden some of the impact on his ear drums. A bouncer stood in the entry. He was sturdy enough, but Creed had him on both height and weight. Even when he tried to slouch, the guy was a full five inches shorter.
"ID," he barked.
Creed handed over his false ID.
"Richard Steel," said the guy, a little doubtfully. "That's your real name?"
He smirked. "Most people call me Dick."
The bouncer scoffed and handed it back. "Whatever. Twenty bucks for cover."
The reek of lying filled the air. "Highway robbery," he said, keeping his fake smile as best he could.
"You can party somewhere else if you don't like it."
He handed over a twenty. Calling out a shitty liar could wait for another night. "Nah. I heard this is the place to be if you wanna find a hot babe."
The bouncer barely disguised a mocking sneer, which confirmed that Creed had succeeded in his ruse to look harmless and a little lame.
Yeah. "Ruse".
You shut up. I'm doing this for you.
Keep telling yourself that, princess. You're a born killer. Just let me take the reins, and I'll remind you of the glorious beast you can be.
Finally the guy moved aside. Creed ignored Sabretooth’s urge to shoulder into him on the way past. They weren't there to cause trouble for anyone but Frankie.
It took less than a minute to spot her through the crowd. She was waiting in line at the bar, her hips twitching to the beat.
She was pretty, this Frankie Pinewood. Dark hair and eyes, legs a man could climb to heaven. Could probably get laid by men her own age if she wanted. Probably did get laid by men her own age. But it wasn’t enough. The bitch had to use her power as a teacher to get teenaged cocks inside her. Disgusting.
Creed pushed carefully toward the bar, ignoring when someone copped a feel of his ass. So far Frankie was alone, but he didn’t know how long that would last. He needed to get her away from this bar. To get her to talk. Confess her sins to Papa Sabertooth, all alone in the middle of the desert. To deliver justice for those baby boys that didn’t deserve to be manipulated into losing their innocence to a greedy slut.
He made it just in time to see the bartenders ignore her in favor of other patrons. Hard to tell if it was deliberate or just timing. He shoved his way to the front, deliberately bumping into her.
"Easy, buddy," she said.
"Sorry!" Creed flashed a hundred dollar bill at the bartender, then pointed to himself and to her. "Least I can do is buy you a drink, seeing as how I'm totally cutting the line."
Her eyes caught the Benjamin, and then drifted over his jewelry and lingered. "Sounds fair to me," she said after a moment, moving closer.
The bartender came over and took their order. Top shelf gin and tonic for her, and a beer for him. She tapped her glass against his, and pretended as though she intended to leave.
Creed played along and caught her arm, smiling his non-creep smile. "Dance?"
Frankie gave him another blatant once over. For a second he worried he'd gone too far on his quest to be the opposite of his normal awesome self, but she seemed to approve of his appearance, because she smiled and tipped her head toward the dance floor.
A lesser known ability of Creed and his brother were their pheromones. They couldn't be used at will like their claws or their senses, but if they were on the prowl, the chemicals always kicked in enough to be enticing to anyone who was in the mood to be seduced. Most nights, he didn't have to do any work to pick up a playmate, unless he was being fussy. Which he almost never was.
He’d already laid the trap for Frankie, with his geeky, yet wealthy appearance. Creed could see when her reptile brain hit on the pheromones and triggered the instinctive mating drive inside every person he’d ever met. She put on a show of propriety, but within a song, she was starting to paw him all over and grind on him. Her touch repulsed him, but he forced that smile to stay on his face. She'd find out soon enough how he really felt.
Gonna take her apart, one piece at a time. Gonna drink in her screams as we lick her blood off our hands while she watches.
His pocket buzzed. Creed was tempted to ignore it, but Dahlia's name flashed with another video, and he couldn’t resist. He excused himself to check the message.
"I'm sending another message to Victor! Say hello!"
The camera work was shaky for a few seconds, then focused on Remy and Marie. They waved, and Remy said, "Gon' miss ol' Vic on movie night."
Marie rolled her eyes. "Only because Vic's the only person who doesn't care if you fall asleep on his shoulder and drool all over."
Dahlia laughed and moved the camera to Hank, who smiled and tipped his silly Santa hat. "Hello Victor! Happy Christmas!"
A squeal sounded off-camera. Dahlia swung around in time to see a snow-covered Bobby throw a snowball at Kitty, who let it pass straight through her and smack into Jamie's face.
There was a moment of silence, then Jamie bellowed, "That's it! You're goin' down! All o' you!"
The video ended just as another arrived. Everyone was covered in snow except Dahlia and Amelie, who were laughing from inside the mansion.
Amelie stole the camera and waved. "Wish you were here, too. We all miss you."
Dahlia joined her, nodding.
Jamie burst through the door behind them and slammed it shut against a volley of snowballs. "They're ganging up on me!"
"Tell your brother you miss him!"
"No! Because he'll just show up and help these jackals get the drop on me!"
Creed laughed at Amelie and Dahlia's disapproving faces.
A hand slid over his lower back. "Miss you on the dancefloor," said Frankie in a sultry voice.
He stared at the frozen image of Jamie, Amelie, and Dahlia for a moment longer. He hadn't missed anyone in his life, and he missed them.
Don't you fucking dare. Don't you fucking do this to us!
Frankie tugged at his arm. She was right there, and all horned up over him. It wouldn't take long to drag her to his little spot in the desert, to get a video of her wailing in apology to the kids' and their families. To butcher her body, and dump it on her lawyer's doorstep as a special delivery from Santa.
Come on, come on! Please...please, we need this.
His phone buzzed. It was a text from Dave and Judy Carver. 'Merry Christmas, Victor! We hope you can make it for supper at our house on Christmas Day.'
Creed was still staring as another message popped up, this time from Jamie. 'lee's parents invited you to xmas. u should come.'
Frankie grabbed at his phone. He snatched it out of her reach, barely stopping himself from backhanding her for the insolence. "Come on, baby," she whined, tugging his arm again. "It's my favourite song!"
Creed swallowed hard. There were plenty of people out there that needed a good killin', including this miserable bitch. But there wouldn't be another first Christmas with this weird new family he'd somehow found for himself.
You need this, princess. You need to remember who you really are and stop wasting your life on this do-gooder bullshit.
Frankie was running her hands down his chest. He caught her hands before they reached his belt and bent close to her ear. "You're lucky it's Christmas."
She giggled coyly. "Why is that?"
"Because I got presents to buy, so now I don't got time to butcher your pedophile ass."
Her face drained of color and she jerked her hands away from his. "Those were false allegations, asshole!"
Creed could smell the lie, and the monster strained desperately to snap her neck then and there. He came within a breath of giving it that little bit of release, but decided he didn't want to play Fugitive this close to Christmas, not when he only had a few spare hours to pull his shit together in time for Christmas day. "Maybe after Christmas I’m not so busy. And maybe I come back." He bared his teeth and brandished his claws. "And maybe I find those baby boys some actual justice."
Before he could emphasize the threat with a snarl, she stumbled away and ran into the crowd, panic and adrenaline flooding through the air.
It wasn't enough to quell the monster's appetite for destruction, but he felt a little better knowing she was running scared. That he'd put that fear in her heart, and that she'd be looking over her shoulder. And he liked imagining the moment she saw him standing there. Ready to finish what he started.
But for now, presents.