#aka what would have happened if Stephanie gave him a new look instead of his sweater

[artchixs]

make him over monday! (it’s tuesday)

[peppersonironi]

Siblings: The Truth of the Matter

For @duketectivecomics‘s Duke Week Day Six: All in Batfamily

Summary: Duke had a strange family. Two of his siblings had been raised from birth to be assassins. One was born in a circus. One had been a crime lord for a time. Yet another was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company by the age of seventeen. All of them dressed up in spandex every night to punch bad guys.So when he was woken up by icy water being splashed in his face, tied to a chair in nothing but his boxers, he wasn't surprised. Now, that's not to say he wasn't worried. Duke was definitely worried. Especially since it was these two. AKA Duke gets tied up and questioned by his siblings, all while drugged with Truth Serum!

Notes: I’ve had this for a while (it was going to be a chapter of my Batfam/Avengers Crossover), and figured I might as well submit it! What’s family without pranks, right? I might do a new one later on, but we’ll see!

Duke had a strange family. Two of his siblings had been raised from birth to be assassins. One was born in a circus. One had been a crime lord for a time. Yet another was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company by the age of seventeen. All of them dressed up in spandex every night to punch bad guys.

So when he was woken up by icy water being splashed in his face, tied to a chair in nothing but his boxers, he wasn't surprised. Now, that's not to say he wasn't worried. Duke was definitely worried. Especially since it was these two.

“Now, Thomas,” Damian said, setting a now empty water bucket to the side, “we have a few questions for you-”

“And since we loaded you up with truth serum, there's no way you're getting out of it!” Jason finished. He had an evil grin on his face as he fiddled with a hanging lightbulb that provided light to the otherwise pitch-dark room.

“Of course, the results of this session will go straight to Father. I'm sure he will take them into account with your training.” Damian had produced a clipboard from somewhere, and began to write on it with a… was that a feather quill? Gosh, Duke's brothers were so extra. “Todd, you may now commence.”

Duke could have sworn he heard water drip slowly into a pool as Jason bent over into Duke's face.

“Okay Duchess, what did you do with my power puff girls guillotine? I know you were next to it last week.”

“Umm …” Duke didn't quite know what to say. This was not what he was expecting from The Red Hood. How could he even keep a straight face?! “Jay, do you know how weird that sounded?”

Jason did not find that funny. He stood up straight. “I guess we're doing this the hard way.”

“Wait, what?” Duke started to panic. Knowing Jason, 'the hard way' would probably involve lots of guns. “I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't know you even had a guillotine, let alone a power puff girls one!” Duke couldn't hide the upturn of his lip at the end of his speech. That was one sentence he never thought he would say.

“You saw it when you were in my room last Thursday!” Jason paused, and Duke once again heard the ominous drip. Drip. Drip. Of the water. “Say, Duchess, why were you in my room last Thursday?”

Duke thought back. “I think I was looking for you,” he began, “Dick wanted everyone together for a movie night.”

Jason shook his head. “That may add up, but you've still been around my stuff an awful lot, lately.” 

“Like what?” Duke asked, honestly confused.

“MY CANDY STASH!” Jason blew up. He waved his hands around, almost hitting the hanging lightbulb. “In the kitchen! You got into it, I know you did!”

“Do you mean the single Snicker's in the bottom cabinet?” Duke had found it just yesterday, but didn't touch it for fear of a glitter bomb booby trap. “I'm sorry, if there were more, I didn't touch them. I'm not your perp!”

“That Snicker's is my stash, duchess! And you looked at it funny! I know you were thinking about taking it!”

“Do you know what happens to people in this house when they eat the last of something?” Duke was filled with horrible memories of things he wished he could unsee. “There was all out war when Steph finished Dick's Captain Crunch cereal!”

Damian nodded his head as he kept writing. “Avoiding the questions and denying blame. Good, Thomas. I didn't think you had it in you.”

Jason glared at his partner in crime while Duke denied the … compliment?

“No I'm not! I'm answering the questions honestly!”

Damian gave Duke a look that was eerily similar to Dick's 'oh, honey' face. 

“What about my rubber bullets, kid?” Jason once again leaned down over Duke, and rested his hand on the back of the chair. “You took them. Thought using a vacuum would be sneaky, did'ja?”

Ah, now Duke was in trouble. He and Stephanie had been teamed up for a prank war, part of which involved stealing Jason's ammo. “That's what was all over the floor in the living room?” Thank goodness Bruce had taught him how to evade truth serum.

“What the f*** did you think they were?!” Jason was leaning in close now, his glare boring into Duke's soul. Drip. Drip. Drip. Went the water, its pace ever steady. Damian stood to the side, a small smirk on his face as he wrote down every twitch in Duke's face, every breath. Duke began to sweat from the pressure.

“What's going on?”

All three of the rooms occupants looked over to the sudden intruder. Stephanie stood in the now open doorway, flooding the room with light. She looked very confused.

Duke pulled his eyes away from his savior long enough to take in his now revealed surroundings, and was quite surprised.

Instead of some dark, dank corner of the Batcave, or some KGB torture cell, Damian and Jason had set up shop in one of Alfred's drawing rooms. The windows had been blocked off to limit to the light, and the furniture had been pulled to the sides of the room the only other thing on the floor was a large bowl of water. The lone lightbulb swung precariously from a wire pulled from the chandelier. The Chandelier itself seemed normal, except for -

“Dick?” Duke was open-mouthed at the 20-something year old man wrapped around the gold and crystal, an eyedropper in hand, which he seemed to be using to produce those ominous dripping noises. 

“Uh,” Dick laughed nervously, “hi?”

Stephanie laughed, grabbing the doorframe to steady herself. “Oh, this is gold! What are you even doing?”

Jason grinned, standing straight. He hit his head on the light bulb, but didn't seem that bothered. “We're interrogating Duke. Wanna join in?”

“Truth serum?”

“You know it.”

Stephanie beamed as she skipped over to the others. Before she could join in on the Duke-torture, however, Dick dropped down from his perch and put a hand out to stop the purple-clothed terror.

“Wait, you gotta be in character.”

Crap, Duke thought, as Stephanie nodded solemnly before shutting the door. Once the room was back to darkness, Dick retreated into the shadows, and the dripping continued.

Stephanie walked up toward Duke, pausing to take a deep breath. She put her hands in front of her face, drawing them down as she let out the air. Within moments, Stephanie Brown became a whole other person. A much, much scarier person.

Jason cursed as Steph stalked forward, giving Duke small satisfaction that he wasn't the only one scared. “Duke,” Stephanie drawled as she bent down, “Pancakes or Waffles?”

“I …” Duke looked around, searching for help. Some kind of help. Anything that could get him out of this mess. H***, he'd even take Bruce at this point.

“Duuuuuuke?” Jason asked. “Why don't you answer the lady? Surely old Alfred has taught you some manners while living here?”

“I …” Duke closed his eyes. “My answer is … yes.”

A small snicker floated from the darkness. Great, at least Dick found this amusing.

Stephanie, however, did not. She unleashed upon her prisoner the full brunt of her own batglare(TM). It was different than Bruce's. More Vicious. She accessorized it with a tight smile.

“Which you prefer, Duke?”

“I … I couldn't tell you.” Not if he wanted to live. “I … haven't had them in a while …” Ah, there you go Duke, he thought, beating the system.

Stephanie looked to Jason, and they both grinned. “Oh, I think we can help with that.” From somewhere behind her, Steph pulled two plates, one with a stack of pancakes, the other with waffles. Somehow, they were both warm. “Which do you like better Duke? Pancakes, with their light, fluffiness?” Stephanie waved the plate of pancakes under Duke's nose, and he had to admit they smelled divine. “Waffles, with their crisp exteriors, eggy interiors?” She switched the plates, and her smirk grew as Duke began to tremble. “One is clearly superior.”

“Stay strong, Thomas.” Damian said. The little gremlin had a small grimace on his face. Ah, so he was perfectly fine with stabbing his siblings, but Stephanie's emotional torture was now inhumane?

Yeah, it really was.

Duke smashed his lips together, the only part of his body that wasn't trembling. He wasn't going to tell Steph he preferred pancakes. He'd rather die.

“He's close.” Steph said, deadpan. “He just needs a bit of a push.”

“I got it!” Jason pulled out a syringe from his cargo pants. “One more dose of truth serum. This'll get him singin' like a bird!”

“But I was never Robin!” Duke blurted out before he could stop himself. Jason, Damian, and Stephanie looked unimpressed. “it's true ….” Duke muttered. 

“Poor banter,” Damian said as he took another note on his clipboard. “And to think you were doing rather well. Unlike Todd.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jason said as he tried to inject the dosage into Duke's neck.

“Jason, please!” Duke begged. “Don't! This is too much, even for you!”

“Duchess,” Jason said, shaking his head, “I've killed, maimed, and tortured people. Do you really think this is too much for me?”

“Damian?” Duke turned as much as he could in his restraints to look at his little brother. “Please, have pity! I thought we were good? We play video games together! You've told me I'm acceptable!”

The former assassin turned his head aside . “I apologize Thomas. This must be done.”

“Dick!” Duke was almost to tears at this point. “You're supposed to be the nice one! You're supposed protect your brothers! Protect me!”

Dick's voice trailed from the shadows, full of regret. But also … excitement? “Sorry, Duke, but I also have some questions for you.”

Duke wailed in horror as Jason launched himself forward, jabbing the needle into Duke. “Three minutes should do it.”

“BETRAYAL!” Duke called. Hopefully Alfred would hear. But Alfred knew everything that occurred in his house, so the chances that he wasn't already aware, were slim. Heck, the butler probably approved!

“Once again, Duke.” Stephanie announced, once the allotted time for the serum to start working had passed. She tented her fingers. “Do you prefer Waffles or Pancakes?”

Duke tried to stay quiet, he really did. But none of Bruce's training had prepared him for the horrendous, unstoppable force that was Batman's children.

Just then, Tim Drake opened the door to see a strange scene before him. Duke, tied to a chair wearing nothing but boxers. Jason, standing to the side with an empty syringe, a maniacal gleam in his eye. Stephanie, looking much like the super villains that they fought, her fingers tented, her face dark. Dick, once again wrapped in between the coils of the chandelier, eyedropper in hand.

His eyes were wide and unblinking as his mouth opened and closed, trying to form words.

Unfortunately, fate was not with the captive that day. Duke Thomas couldn't help but blurt out the words that sealed his fate: “I like pancakes better! The texture of waffles is just weird!”

“Uh …” Tim began before cringing as he heard Duke's words, then saw Stephanie's face. He looked to the heavens, as if begging for strength. “You guys look like you need some privacy. I didn't see anything.”

“No!” Duke called. “Tim, don't leave me!”

Tim shut the door behind him, but not before calling out: “Sorry dude, but I value my life.”

Stephanie tutted, shaking her head. “I'm sorry Duke,” she did not look sorry, “But no one's coming to save you.”

Jason whistled. “Wouldn't want to be you right now, Duchess.”

Duke slunk down in his chair. “Me neither.”

Stephanie opened her mouth, about to start a rant on the glories of waffles, when Dick leapt down from the chandelier and handed Steph his eyedropper. “Nuh-uh, it's my turn!”

The purple patron saint of waffles harrumphed, but retreated into the shadows. “I'm not doing that freaky contortion stuff on the chandelier though!”

Dick grinned as he sat down in front of Duke. From a pocket of his jeans, he pulled out an envelope. Out of which he plucked a piece of paper.

“Now, Duke, I have collected some fan-questions for you. All are completely harmless. Do us all a favor and answer … truthfully, eh?”

Duke groaned. “That was just bad, Dick.”

The acrobat didn't seem discouraged. He then unleashed a barrage of questions, completely unrelenting. Luckily, Duke was prepared.

“Best prank you ever pulled?”

“Was prepared.”

“Worst punishment you ever received?”

“Dolled out by Alfred.”

“Most embarrassing memory?”

“Not worth me telling you.”

Jason laughed appreciatively. “He's good.”

Dick narrowed his eyes slightly. “Your funniest pun was …?”

“Better than yours.” 

Stephanie, Jason, and even Damian let out a laugh at that.

“Kid, you are now my favorite brother.”

“Hey!” Damian and Dick said, simultaneously.

“Thanks Jay,” Duke said, “If only you felt this way before you drugged me!”

Jason laughed. “You're funny, Duchess.”

Once again, the door opened. This time, Harper Row stood in the doorway, and she did not look happy.

“What's this that Tim told me about you tying up Duke?”

“It's not what you think!” Dick began.

“Yes it is!” Duke cut in. “They gave me truth serum and are interrogating me!”

There was a war going on in Harper's eyes. On one hand, she seemed to be trying to be the responsible sister. On the other, Harper loved chaos. 

In the end, she sighed. “You guys really shouldn't be doing this. And you, Dick! You're supposed to stop these kinds of shenanigans!”

“That's what I said,” Duke muttered.

Once everyone looked properly remorseful – or at least pretending to be – Harper nodded. “I'm going to go now. This is your only chance.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, and Duke's last hope left, Jason let out a sigh. “That was close. Let's continue, shall we?”

Duke let out a moan, “I thought you were going to stop!”

Stephanie's voice was gleeful as it came from above: “Aw heck no, Duke! This is the most fun I've had in ages!”

“Better hurry up,” Jason said, “B will be home soon.”

Dick nodded sagely. “Of course.” He turned to Duke. “Okay, middle D, one last question for you.” Duke cringed. “It involves ducks.”

Duke’s eyes widened. “NO!” He yelled, knowing exactly what Dick was going to ask. “NO! You can’t make me!

Dick shook his head. “Aw, come on!” Duke continued to shake. “Duke Thomas, how many times have you-”

“What on earth is going on here?” Duke let out a relieved sigh as Bruce opened the door and strowed in. He glared at everyone, and even though every single member of the batfam was immune to Batman’s glare, it still gave Duke’s attackers  siblings pause.

“Just some brotherly bonding, B.” Dick said tentatively. “You know, what you’re always trying to get us to do?”

Jason snorted. “Nothing harmful going on here,” he said, “and that’s the truth.”

Dick chuckled. “Ah, that pun was good, little wing.”

Bruce was not impressed. “Stephanie?”

“We’re having fun!” She said, dropping from the chandelier. “And we’ll clean it up.”

Bruce let out a long, suffering sigh. “Damian, will you tell me what all this yelling is about?”

Damian frowned at his father, before glancing around at his accomplices. “Todd and Grayson insisted on drugging Thomas with Truth serum. I was roped into assisting. I believed that I could keep them from going too far.”

Bruce rubbed his temples and sighed once more.

“If I may, father, Thomas performed admirably under the pressure. You may refer to my notes.”

“Little brat,” Jason muttered, and Stephanie and Dick nodded along.

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t need to see that Damian. Right now I want all of you to go to your rooms. As soon as Alfred is back from the grocery store, He and I will be having a discussion about your cookie privileges.”

Dick, Stephanie, and Jason deflated all at once and filed out of the room. Damian nodded to Duke, then stalked out. Huh, maybe the kid did feel bad.

Once the room was clear, Bruce untied Duke. "I'm sorry about them. If it happens again, come tell me or Alfred."

Duke nodded, "Thanks, B."

Bruce paused at the door on his way out. “The cure is in the cave. Or you can just wait it out.” He frowned, then sighed. “Also, I hope you don’t need me to say this, but please don’t attempt vengeance.”

Duke nodded solemnly as Bruce walked out. Then he smirked. He may be comparatively saner than his family, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t up for a bit of payback.

“Maybe Cass will help me,” Duke muttered to himself. “That’ll be fun.”

[n3rdybird]

Blue Blood is No Guarantee

Hey guys, man this idea has been percolating in my mind for like two years.  And I finally got some written.  Hope you enjoy! Please comment, reblog, give kudos! Also if you’d like to be tagged, just let me know in a comment/ask/message! :D

Taglist!

@sofiao12​

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WWE Shield!Bodyguard AU fanfic

Dean Ambrose x FMcMahon!Heiress

Rating: M (for safety)

Warnings: Nothing too graphic, but someone is beaten, predatory behavior towards women, main character has anxiety/panic etc. (But again, nothing too graphic)

The midmorning sun was hiding behind gloomy clouds, which reflected Dean’s mood at having to be awake.  He was definitely more of a night owl and wasn’t excited at the prospect of being up and about before noon.  Mornings were for sleeping in.  But when he got a call from a blast from his past, he was intrigued enough to leave his bed instead of catching a few extra z’s.

 Dean jogged across the street, flinging his hand up when a car honked at him.  When he reached his destination, he felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him.  Police Precinct number 11.  It had been years since he’d been inside, but it looked and felt exactly the same.  Cops chatting over shitty coffee, belligerent yelling coming from the holding cells.

 A voice cut through the din and drew his attention.

 “Ambrose, I didn’t think you got my message,” a large man with tan skin called out, waving him over.  Detective Dave Bautista, while up in years, still looked formidable.  When he raised his hand, his wrinkled button-up looked like it was straining to stay in one piece.

 “Detective, you look like shit,” Dean responded, taking in his disheveled attire and dark circles under his eyes.

 The detective rolled his eyes and muttered a curse under his breath.

 “And here I thought you might have grown up, follow me.”

 Dean gave his old friend a ‘who me?’ look before following the man to his office.

 The office was cluttered, filled with boxes and papers strewn about. Dean peeked into one of the boxes, seeing a framed photo of Bautista accepting a commendation from the police chief and the mayor.

 “Are ya feng shui’ing in here?” Dean asked, using the framed photo to gesture to the half-full boxes.

 “It’s what I called you here for,” Bautista said, shutting the door and closing the blinds.  He walked back over to his desk and pulled a thick folder from his desk.  Dean put the frame back in the box and crossed his arms.  He sauntered over to the desk and stared at the folder on the desk.  The folder looked like it had been through a war, creased and taped to hell and back.

 “Is that what I think it is?”

 The detective sighed and sat in his chair.

 “It is.  Also the reason for the boxes.  I’ve been put on suspension to ‘get with the program and leave ghosts in the past,” he muttered.

 Dean sucked air through his teeth and shook his head.  For as long as he knew him, Detective Dave Bautista had a lifelong mission.  Bring down the McMahon family.  On the surface, the family seemed normal, aside from the millions of dollars in the bank.  The family ran several businesses, did the requisite charities and ribbon-cutting ceremonies.  But there was a dark layer underneath the gilt facade. There were rumors of backroom deals, protection rackets, drug running, fraud, embezzlement, bought cops, the whole nine yards. The family was untouchable though, brushing off the suspicion and accusations like water off a duck.    

 “Damn man, that’s gotta sting.  But why am I here?”

 Bautista leaned forward to flip open the folder and slide it across the desk.  The top paper was a full-page photo of the McMahon family. Patriarch Vince McMahon in the center flanked by his family; Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley, Shane McMahon, and the youngest Elizabeth McMahon.  Elizabeth’s face was circled in red ink.

 “Elizabeth McMahon, the youngest of Vince’s kids.”

 Dean nodded.

 “Yeah, I know.  She’s been in the news a lot this year, for charity events.”

 “She’s become the new face of the McMahon family, fresh out of grad school.  She’s the key Ambrose.  I think I can flip her,” Bautista informed the younger man.  Dean’s eyes widened.

 “That’s ambitious,” the younger man muttered, flipping through the top photos, all of Elizabeth at various events.

 “I was getting so close, and bam! I had upstairs up my ass, telling me to leave it alone.  Before I knew it, I got hit with a suspension.”

 Dean tossed the photo of the pretty brunette back into the pile.

 “Still not hearing why I’m here though.”

 Bautista rifled through his papers, pulling a photo of Elizabeth with a large suited man following at her elbow.  Dean whistled.

 “That is a big man.”

 “This was Elizabeth McMahon’s bodyguard, Paul Wight aka Big Show.”

 “Was?”

 Another photo was tossed across the desk, this time showing an autopsy photo of said man, beaten to a pulp.

 “Jesus, what the hell happened to him?”

 “A week ago, I think Elizabeth tried to make a run for it.  Mr. Wight may have tried to help her.  When she was recovered by some of her father’s men, he said he lost track of her temporarily,” he added when Dean’s eyebrow rose.

 “Something tells me Mr. McMahon wasn’t pleased,” he said, tapping the photo.

 “No, he wasn’t.  Which brings me to you.  I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground, and Elizabeth still hasn’t been assigned a new bodyguard.”

 Dean froze, knowing exactly where he was going.

 “Oh no no no.  I’m out.”

 “Dean, come on.  I’m so close to putting that family away for good.  You’ve got the credentials.  Elizabeth wants out and even though she’s Vince’s daughter, I don’t think he’s gonna let her go.  Not if she talks.”

 The blonde ran his hand through his hair.  He felt guilty. Detective Dave Bautista might have been a hard-ass when he was younger, but he helped Dean, bailed him out too many times to count.  It was thanks to him that Dean was able to be where he was now.  The best friends, no brothers, he could ask for and a career he loved.  He looked around the office, and at the detective at his desk. 

 Bautista looked tired but he still had hope.  Hope that he’d be able to take down the family that caused so much death in his city.  Dean picked up a photo of Elizabeth, she was smiling and talking to a young patient in a hospital.  Her smile was genuine and he felt a pang of guilt when he realized she wouldn’t be able to leave her family without help.  She’d either be beaten down until she has no willpower left, becoming a cog in the bloody McMahon machine, or she would be killed.

 Dean groaned.

 “If I agree to this, what makes you think they’d hire me anyway?”

 Bautista smiled a grin that seemed to take years off the older man’s face.

 “I have a plan.”

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 A crowd applauded as Elizabeth McMahon presented an oversized check to an after-school program.  She shook hands with some of the kids, giving a few high fives or hugs.  She made her way back to the podium.

 “This is just one of the many charities that my family believes in, and we appreciate all the support you’ve given us.  Together we can help make a difference for our community. Thank you again and please enjoy yourselves,” she concluded to another round of applause.

 The crowd dispersed to mingle and get drinks.  Elizabeth chatted with the charity directors before stepping off the stage.  She made small talk with some of the attendees when a manicured hand gripped her elbow.

 “I’m gonna borrow my sister for a moment, please excuse us,” Stephanie apologized. The group released Elizabeth from their chatter, complementing the older sister on their family’s success and generosity.  Stephanie smiled wide and nodded her thanks before ushering her sister to the side.

 Elizabeth kept up her smile, even though her sister’s nails dug into her skin.  She racked her mind, trying to figure out why Stephanie might be angry with her.  The duo ducked into an unused room.

 The younger sister pulled her arm away, flexing her muscles.

 “Good thing I brought a cardigan.  I’m sure the interview this evening will go well with bruises on my arm,” she snapped, staring at the redness of her skin.

 Stephanie rolled her eyes at her sister’s dramatics.

 “Change of plans, Father dearest wants you to meet him.  I’ll be speaking on your behalf.”

 Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.

 “It’s an interview I’ve been preparing for weeks.  You aren’t even a part of the board for the charity.”

 The elder sister smirked and waved her hand dismissively.

 “Please, as if I couldn’t handle some local news junket. Blah blah blah money for the less fortunate, blah blah we are so blessed to be able to help, blah blah blah, the children are our future.  Finish with a big smile and handshake.  See, not too hard,” she mimed with a schooled professional face.

 “So what does Dad need me for?” Elizabeth sighed, knowing she didn’t have a leg to stand on against her older sister.

 “You need a new bodyguard after the last one ‘left’.”  The smile on Stephanie’s face caused her sister to internally shudder.

 Elizabeth liked her old bodyguard, Paul aka Big Show. He was a gentle giant with her, and his massive size proved to be a formidable deterrent to anyone who would do her wrong.  And her father had him killed for one mistake.  Her mistake.  But this could be her chance.  Stephanie would be busy with the interview, and her husband, Hunter, would stay by her side.  That left her driver, she could persuade him to stop somewhere, and she’d make a break for it.

 “Orton will be escorting you,” her sister said, breaking her reverie.

 “Oh, surely that isn’t necessary.  My driver can take me.  Mr. Orton should be here, keeping an eye on you two.  He is after all assigned to you,” Elizabeth protested.

 “He’s going with you.  No discussion.”  Stephanie raised a brow at her sister’s refusal.  “This defiance lately needs to stop.  Remember, all this-” she said, motioning to the event down the hall, “Is for the family.  Not you.”

 Elizabeth bit her tongue.  It was the truth.  All the charities, all the speeches, all the donations.  It was just a way for her family to mask their crimes.  And she was the smiling face, the front.  And she’d never get out.

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 Elizabeth hated being alone with Randy Orton.  Known as the Viper, he had worked for her family for almost twenty years, longer than most.  Ever since she was a child, the Viper was always around, watching, waiting.  Her older brother had used stories of Orton to frighten her into compliance when she was younger.  They had frightened her and when she grew up, she realized they weren’t exaggerated tales to keep her in bed at night. Randy Orton was a dangerous man, a fact she learned when she saw him standing over one of her father’s business partners, covered in blood.

 It was late, and an 8-year-old Elizabeth McMahon was tired of her father’s party.  They were never fun, just a bunch of her father’s friends.  There were rarely any children her age, and her siblings were much older than her. However, her father instructed the two older McMahon children to keep an eye on their sister, no matter how much they complained. Elizabeth was hovering around her older brother Shane when he grew annoyed at her presence. She didn’t remember what she had done but he told her that Father had gotten her a special present and it was in one of the unused rooms in the basement.  (To keep her from finding it, Shane explained when she looked skeptical.)  After all, the basement was off-limits to Elizabeth, citing it was only for the adults. But Shane cajoled and spun an elaborate tale of the fantastic present waiting for her, that he couldn’t believe his little sister wouldn’t want to go find it.

 Feeling emboldened by the attention she was receiving from her older brother and his friends, she agreed to his plan.  With Shane leading the way, Elizabeth followed. Looking back, she should have noticed the way Shane’s friends were holding in their laughter, but she was so excited at the prospect of a gift and wondering what it could be, she didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

 The dark room was mostly empty, with a few tables and some chairs stacked in the corner.  By the time she had realized there was no present, Shane had shut the door and locked her in.  Far away from the party and anyone that could hear her, Elizabeth was alone and trapped.  She pulled on the doorknob, shaking it relentlessly, banging on the solid door to no avail.  What felt like hours later, but probably only 15 minutes later, she was exhausted from panic.  The child curled up in a pile of unused tablecloths, the musty smell tickling her nose.  She didn’t remember falling asleep, but only waking up when she heard a voice.  Instead of being relieved, she immediately panicked.  Rather than the stern voice of her father, it was the Viper.  She hid under a pile of heavy fabric, rearranging the folds of the fabric to disguise her form.

 The door opened with a bang, and fluorescent light exploded throughout the room.  Through a gap in the fabric, Elizabeth watched as Randy pushed one of her father’s associates into the room.  His hands were bound behind his back, and he already sported a wicked bruise on his face.  The man was pleading, begging the Viper to let him go.  But the man was silent, and just shook his head, leading the man to the chair in the center of the room. 

 With practiced ease, the Viper hooked his leg behind the man’s leg, forcing him to sit in the bolted chair.  He was restrained quickly as he watched the Viper circle him.  If there were questions asked, Elizabeth didn’t remember them. After the first muffled thud of flesh hitting flesh and the grunt of pain that followed, Elizabeth ducked her head, burrowing deeper into the pile of fabric.  Mouth pressed closed, not even wanting to breathe deeply, she could hear each blow as it landed.  The cries of pain reverberated around the empty room, but could not be heard beyond the door.

 Eventually, the screams lessened to subdued gasps and groans.  Elizabeth brought her eyes up and dared to look into the room once more.  The man’s back was to her, but his body was limp, sagging forward.  Randy was in front of him, surveying the damage he did.  His hands were dripping with blood, his crisp white shirt spattered with red.  He paused, as if feeling her eyes on him, and he slowly surveyed the room before coming to a stop on the pile of drop cloths.  Elizabeth let out a raspy breath, which came out like a squeak.  She clamped her hands over her mouth. At that moment, the Viper smiled, his blue eyes like ice as he lifted a bloodstained finger to his lips in a shushing motion.

 “Be quiet Little Mouse.”

 The rest of that night was a blur.  All Elizabeth remembered was one of her father’s men, William Regal, picking her up and carrying her to her room.  His accented voice lulled her to sleep as she refused to let go of his hand.  The next few days drifted in a haze of nightmares, panic attacks, and a battery of medical tests. The aftermath of that night included a prescription for anti-anxiety medicine for Elizabeth and Shane received the harshest tongue-lashing that ever came out of the McMahon family patriarch.  He was kicked out of the main house and demoted in the family business.

 And the Viper?  Well, he was kept out of sight until Elizabeth was old enough to understand the world she lived in.  And now he was sitting less than a foot away.  He wore black button-ups under his crisp suit now.  Less visible bloodstains, she mused internally.  She tapped her nails against her clutch.  Being this close to the Viper made her skin crawl.  Stephanie did this on purpose, she was sure of it.  Punishment for her behavior as of late, or just because she wanted her sister to squirm.

 “Still quiet as ever,” Randy observed, his voice tinted with smugness.

 Elizabeth pointedly looked out the window, ignoring him.

 “Aw Mouse, you don’t want to talk to me?”

 She stiffened at the nickname.

 He reached out and trailed his hand down her bare arm.  Elizabeth darted her eyes to the front of the car.  The driver caught her eye in the window and looked away.  Coward.  She tried to wrench her arm away, but he grabbed her upper arm where Stephanie had earlier, making her hiss.

 He slid across the bench seat, invading her space.  Elizabeth’s heart started to pound.  Too close, too close.  He reached toward her face and she closed her eyes, unwilling to see his cold blue gaze.  One beat, two beats, three.  She opened her eyes at the sound of the door opening.  He had reached across her to open the door.  She hadn’t even realized the car was stopped.  They were at one of her father’s properties in the industrial district.

 Elizabeth steeled herself, she had only been here once before and had no desire to be here again.  Regal waited on the sidewalk for her, guiding her with a hand on her back.  He turned back to Orton, who had a shit-eating grin on his face.

 “Go back to your charges, I’ll take over,” he ordered in a clipped tone.  Regal ushered Elizabeth inside the nondescript warehouse.  As soon as she was away from the gaze of Orton, she sagged against the British man’s side, breathing heavily.

 “Are you alright my dear?”  He saw the beginning of a bruise blooming on her fair skin. Elizabeth took in deep lungfuls of air, trying to calm herself, anchoring her mind to the firm touch of Regal’s hand on her back.  Calming her nerves, she straightened, patting the older man’s arm in reassurance.

 “I’m fine, thank you, William.”

 When he went to retort, she shook her head.

 “I’m fine.  Let’s get this over with.”

 He nodded albeit reluctantly.

 “Of course, this way please.”

 She allowed Regal to guide her through a labyrinth of pallets, all filled to the brim with ill-gotten goods.  She heard shouting jeers and the sounds of fighting she paused to steady herself.

 “Deep breaths,” William murmured against her hair and she nodded.  The door ahead of them was flanked by two guards, who opened the door for the pair.

 Her father, the patriarch of the McMahon crime family, stood next to a railing.  Vince McMahon, millionaire, businessman, philanthropist, and criminal.  Although up in years, he still had a commanding aura.  Whatever Vince says, goes.  No discussions.  No mistakes.  No forgiveness. 

 Down below, men were bare-knuckle fighting.  Elizabeth stood to the side as Regal announced her arrival to her father.  She glanced down at the fighters and immediately wished she hadn’t.  Several men were off to the side, having lost their respective fights.  Most if not all sustained several wounds, black eyes, gashes to the forehead, broken noses. Some looked scarcely older than eighteen, throwing themselves in the meat grinder for her ‘family’.  Others were older, gruff, the weight of the world showing on the lines of their faces.

 William motioned for Elizabeth to join him and her father at the railing.

 “How did the event go?” her father asked, not taking his eyes off the fights below.

 “The charity event went well, though I wish I could have stayed to do the interview,” Elizabeth said, keeping her tone even.  It would do no good to start a fight with her father.

 Vince barely registered what his daughter said, waving it off like a piece of lint on his expensive suits.

 “Stephanie can handle it.  I wanted you here,” he said.  The current fight ended, yells and jeers reverberating through the metal warehouse.  Though all Elizabeth could hear was the dull thud as one of the fighters hit the ground.  She swallowed the revulsion, schooling her face into one of cool indifference.

 “In order for you to understand the severity of your previous bodyguard’s mistake, I invited you here.”

 He gestured for his daughter to join him at the railing, as the next fight took place.  Elizabeth chanced a look at Regal, who nodded.  She made her way to the railing, standing next to her father.

 “I will do anything to protect this family, my legacy,” he started.  Elizabeth nodded along with his words.

 “When Mr. Wight grew lax in his responsibilities, he became a liability to you, to this family, and to me.”

 Elizabeth almost jumped when her father’s hand dropped on top of hers.  It was rare for the McMahon patriarch to show any sort of affection, especially when not in front of the cameras.

 “I don’t like liabilities Elizabeth,” he said, turning his gaze from the men downstairs to her eyes.  “Liabilities cause chaos.”

 The youngest McMahon could only nod, as his hand tightened on hers, facing the carnage below.