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To Belong	By : BringtheHawt Category: +A through F > Bioshock Views: 20677 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the bioshock franchise or any of its characters. I am not attempting to make any money off of writing/sharing this.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Author's Note: Done with school! Hopefully I'll be able to pump out chapters a little quicker from now.
I really recommend checking out the character listing if you haven't read the story in a while or if you've forgotten anything.
These characters are seen this chapter: Noah Reed, Stefano Galucci, Lillian Averssy, Benjamin Boyd, George Growland and Milton Boudain – the guy with the cute family that's trying to escape the Bianchi family and hired Booker to protect them.
Tobelongfic . livejournal . com
(Remove the spaces)
Enjoy!
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The sun was disappearing, and venturing through the woods was slowly chewing up Stefano's sanity. For a small, small second, he irrationally believed the gnarled limbs of the forest's trees were reaching for him.
Somewhere within their cryptic surroundings was the 'lone female' that had attacked Noah …
Truthfully Stefano just wanted to run as fast as he could out of these woods, but there was no chance that Noah could keep up with him in his current state. Noah was having difficulty walking. And Stefano wasn't going to leave him behind … no matter how damn terrifying the woods were at night.
"Are there ghost-bitches in these woods?" Stefano asked abruptly.
" … Thousands of them," Noah responded with a slight smirk on his face. Regardless of intent, Stefano was always ridiculous; it made conversations with him interesting.
Stefano clenched tightly onto his gun. Fuck Noah for living in the middle of a creepy-fucking-forest in a creepy-fucking-cabin that probably has a thousand dead-fucking-bodies in the basement. They need to get back to the road to where Stefano left his damn car so he could get the gigantic blonde headache walking just behind him back to his damn mansion …
"Is your 'employer' a ghost-bitch?" Stefano suggested, "cause I'm still trying to figure out how a 'lone woman' almost killed you."
"I suspect my employer is a mortal woman, though truthfully I'm not entirely certain of this. I intend to investigate further."
Before Stefano could ask for clarification, the Negotiator whistled loudly three times. The strange act produced a moment of silence and stillness between the two men. They both waited, listened … but beyond the eerie whisper of the evening wind, the woods provided no response.
Of course, Stefano had no idea why Noah whistled or what they were waiting for … so he lost patience quickly.
"Why the fuck did you just whistle?"
"Achilles," Reed answered.
"Ack-what?"
"My hound," the tall criminal clarified, "I think she may have killed him."
A horrified expression emerged on Stefano's face.
"What sort of …. – Who would even … - Ya, everyone wants to kill you, I get that. But who would kill a dog? Dogs are wonderful fucking animals!"
Noah smiled slyly and responded: "in her defense, Achilles did attempt to eat her."
"Christ," the Galucci mob boss muttered as he resumed walking, "I'm gonna need some fucking details, Noah. I gotta know what breed of crazy bitch we're dealing with."
Stefano expected to hear some sort of sarcastic response from Noah, but instead he heard the sound of a three-hundred pound mass of muscle, bone and flesh connecting with mud, twigs and leaves – the sound of a man collapsing onto his knees.
"Jesus-fucking-christ," Stefano hissed in disbelief after turning to stare at the fallen sadist, "what the fuck happened to you?"
Reed took a few measured breaths before providing his blunt answer: "I tripped."
"That's not what I fucking meant," Stefano snarled, kneeling beside the larger man, simultaneously agitated and concerned, "Jesus Christ. I've never seen you like this. I don't think I've ever seen you fucking sneeze. What happened?"
"I obviously… " Reed began as he slowly rose onto his feet, "misplaced a pint or two of my blood."
Stefano's face twisted angrily as he himself stood upward.
"You need to start being straight with me!" the Galucci mob boss snapped as he pointed a finger toward the larger criminal's face, the volume of his voice growing with each word uttered, "you're hurt. You're really fucking hurt! You're not telling me what happened, you're not telling me who attacked you. – "
" – Your penchant for drama is – "
"—How can you be so fucking calm?! She was ready to kill both of us. Both of us. Does that mean shit to you? That bitch … I'm gonna find her. Keep your fucking secrets, I'm still gonna fucking find her. She threatened me, she nearly killed you. I'm gonna find her, I'm gonna find her – "
" –Yes, you've announced your resolve to find her," Noah interrupted as he shook some excess mud off his gloves, "what do you intend to do should you actually accomplish this?"
"I ... " the mob boss paused, "maybe I'll fucking kill her, I dunno … Maybe I'll fucking … - I'll scare her, I'll make her leave this fucking city, I'll show her you don't cross the Galuccis, I'll turn her right-fucking-teat into a milkjug if she ever shows her damn face in New York again."
Noah held back a laugh, but couldn't avoid a smirk. The order of Stefano's ideas, in particular, amused him: kill, intimidate, exile, transform a breast into a milkjug …
Reed silently thanked fate that he had the foresight to publically abandon the Galucci mafia before Stefano established control of it.
"Let's review the inevitable outcomes of these possibilities," Noah suggested as he set his hands on his hips, "we both know you won't kill her - you couldn't scare an excitable child, much less a confident woman capable of waltzing with a man such as myself … – "
" - Fuck you, Noah -
– I assure you, she can come and go from any place she pleases, so that leaves our final option … "
The two men examined each other's expression for a small moment. Stefano grit his teeth. He wasn't exactly sure what Noah was about to say, but he was preemptively annoyed by it.
"Go forth, Stefano. Find my assailant, do what you must to her right breast. Be sure to inform me how that turns out for you."
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Elizabeth stood on an isolated peak within the grand canyon, observing events of interest from afar …
In this area of the world, the sun was just beginning to set. The warmth it provided seemed to further boost her confidence. The powerful female had to admit that beating Noah at his own game was … fun. She couldn't imagine being so cruel to any other man … she suspected other people would have begged for mercy during the moments Reed simply goaded her to do worse. Their session had been about limits. Noah had skillfully pushed her towards her own, she had eagerly forced him toward his. At the end of it, Noah was kneeling and pledging fealty ...
But perhaps it was too early to declare her victory over the Negotiator. She was confident the clever man had some sort of trick up his sleeve. The subject of Stefano aroused her suspicion. In her presence, Noah had denounced Stefano quite nastily … yet as she spied on the two men slowly exiting the forest, they exchanged banter like a common pair of well-bonded siblings. Did Reed truly look at his adoptive brother – an adoptive brother willing to run into danger on his behalf – as nothing more than an easily-manipulated tool? Someone was being deceived by him – either herself or Stefano.
Elizabeth would simply keep an eye on them. What could Noah possibly do to her even if he did intend to betray her? And at moments he did seem legitimately spell-bound by her … Perhaps the occasional caress and soft whisper would keep him … charmed.
Suddenly, the blue-eyed female heard a growl to her left. She knew the source of the sound instantly: it was Achilles – Noah's human-eating German Sheppard. The dog was quite distressed. He didn't understand why he was in this strange, hot place that was filled with unfamiliar scents - he couldn't see his wounded master or detect his scent – he was thirsty and hungry … and this human female was proving very difficult to eat …
With a loud bark, Achilles charged at the source of his frustrations.
Of course, Elizabeth was too quick for the hound. She opened a portal just as the hound neared her, and instead of pouncing a human female, he leapt into one of the canyon's rock-walls.
"You're as stubborn as your master," Elizabeth scolded. It was the eighth time Achilles had attempted to charge her … and each attempt led to the bemused hound smacking its face into a wall.
Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt as she watched the dog wiggle his snout repeatedly … perhaps trying to shake away the pain its abrupt impact with rock had caused. She used her space-twisting powers to summon a bowl of cool water directly before the hound. Achilles suspiciously pawed at the bowl, then began drinking from it.
"You will be a normal dog by the time I'm through with you," Elizabeth promised before looking away from the hound.
Her supernatural-eye turned to Buffalo, to Booker. Elizabeth had been peeking upon him from time to time – she was not happy about Noah's hired whore's attempts to charm Booker, but to her relief she never caught Booker's eyes lingering on the seductive woman's body … he barely even spoke to her. Perhaps he silently suspected she was danger.
Currently, Booker was in the middle of a gunfight. This made her anxious. The concerned female wondered how the gunfight even began … then wondered if this Milton Boudain was worth risking one's life over. She could simply pluck Booker out of the dangerous situation out of the situation, of course, bring him back to New York, to her arms, where she knew he'd be safe …
Elizabeth briefly wondered what it'd be like to reveal herself to Booker. Noah had been so amazed by her powers, by the view of the fallen earth and colors of the Grand Canyon she was currently enjoying. Would the sight impress Booker? Would it make him smile and laugh and sputter theories and compliments …
But what if Booker figured out she was his daughter? A version of his daughter, anyway, but still … the thought may unnerve some men. Would Booker still be willing to embrace her as a lover if he knew?
Elizabeth shelved her theories on how Booker would respond to her powers. For now, she'd keep her secret. She watched her lover from afar … Obviously Elizabeth wouldn't let him die to keep her secret, but she'd only intervene if she absolutely had to.
And … honestly, it'd be a good thing if Booker got a little bruised and scared during this violent excursion. Maybe it'd remind Booker that violence consumes lives, and that he may one day fail to return home to his loved ones if he keeps getting himself in trouble …
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Lillian's heart shuddered rapidly within her chest. Boyd was not playing games, he just shot three innocent people in their faces. Including Fred, the man she had risked her life to bring to the supposed safety of the terminal.
She was so scared. Scared but ... angry as well. Fear, anger and blood were an interesting combination on that pretty face.
But she needed to be ... clever, or her children were going to be missing a mother along with their father.
"That man, the man I sat next to on the train," Lillian spoke quickly, "I saw him shoot first. I think he's killed at least three men. I tried to leave the terminal and he told me there was a sniper on the building across the street - "
" - Who is he?" Benjamin insisted.
"I don't know, I swear I don't know! I wasn't travelling with him - I was one of the last people on the train, the seat next to him was open - "
" - you're lying, Lilly," the mafioso barked, tightening his grip around her waist.
A very real sense of panic began to rise within Lillian.
" - he was handsome! He was handsome and traveling alone! I wanted to, to see if I could convince him to pay for my hotel room - but he was a cheap, rude bastard. Called me a whore, wouldn't even share his name with me - "
" - Of course he didn't. What man would bother introducing himself to the beautiful dame sitting next to him during an eight hour train-ride? -
" - I swear, I swear, Mr. Boyd," allowing all of her desperation to be reflected in her voice, "I know nothing of him, I'm just delivering a package for Angelo, that's all. The shooter, he went across the street after the sniper, and the family, they're hiding. You're after them, right? I saw where they're hiding, they're not far -"
" - Finally some fucking useful information," Benjamin muttered as he shifted about to firmly swing Lillian back-first toward his criminal companion.
The fellow mafioso intercepted the blonde whore by her hips.
Benjamin examined the disturbed expression on Lillian's face before asking: "You'll show my friend where that family is, won't you, Lilly?"
The fearful female nodded as a trembling hand lifted upward to wipe some of Fred's blood off her eyelid.
The brutish criminal stepped forward, inspecting Lillian for a short moment. The alluring damsel had blood all over her hands, on her dress, on portions of her face. Perhaps he shouldn't have shot a man directly in front of her. Oh well.
Though the blood on her face was awfully distracting, the inspection allowed Benjamin to identify a bruise on her jaw and a split at the side of her lip. Her former pimp, Sergio, had said she was trouble ... and now he was dead.
It probably wasn't a coincidence. Benjamin believed that dames were always trouble - some simply caused more than others. He spoke, using a tone that started kind: "If you're telling the truth, I'll take care of that hotel room for you, maybe even buy you a drink if you're up for it," then that light tone turned cruel, "but if you're lying to me ... well, Lilly, it'll break my fucking heart."
Lillian failed to maintain eye contact with Benjamin. She nodded submissively. This position between two criminals that were each close enough to wrap their arms around her was beginning to make her feel claustrophobic.
Benjamin's eyes moved to his criminal ally before he started giving orders: "See if she's telling the truth. Take her with you, don't take your fucking eyes off of her, find that prick Milton and kill him, forget the wife and kids. If she's lying, if she breaks my heart, put your gun in her damn cunt and pull the fucking trigger."
The henchman nodded grimly as Lillian sucked in a heavy breath of air.
Benjamin gave the gorgeous tramp one final look-over.
"Don't break my heart, Lilly," the ruthless brute insisted before turning away from them. With his gun ready, he began to march toward the terminal exit, "I'm going to go find the goddamn cowboy that just killed half of my fucking men."
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The sound of gunfire didn't scare George Growland; he stopped fearing the sound a long, long time ago. Still, he was too old, too chubby for this shit … and, truthfully, despite serving in the Calvary for years, he had never been a particularly good shot, so he probably shouldn't involve himself in gunfights …
Yet, despite the violent chaos and his questionable level of potential usefulness, George wanted to find Booker. There was a lesson he had learned at a young age: never leave a fellow soldier behind. It wouldn't feel right to simply turn around and walk away from this situation.
The aging man was searching the area around the terminal. He moved slowly, carefully, stayed out of sight … which was becoming easier with each minute that went by, because all lingering sunlight was beginning to fade.
So far he had identified at least three dead men, though there were undoubtedly more. As George stared at the corpses of the two mafiosos laying in the center of the street, he contemplated whether it'd be worth the risk to run out into the open to fetch one of the guns the men had undoubtedly had on them when they were killed.
George was glad he had elected not to, because at that moment a fairly large, sharply-dressed man had marched out of the terminal, heading straight toward the bodies. The man looked like a professional; it wouldn't surprise him if the mysterious brute had been responsible for the three most recent gunshots.
For now, the former soldier continued to observe the situation from the shadows.
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"God dammit it," Benjamin hissed as he approached the factory that had been across the street of the terminal. He walked past two corpses of his henchmen while crossing the street, and now he could identify a third slumped against the doorway of the building he had been attempting to investigate.
He paused for a small second to examine the corpse – Henry's corpse, a man he had worked with for several years. Apparently, it took Cowboy two bullets to kill Henry –one to the gut, one to the head. His two other henchmen all died to a single shot to the head.
Each of the fallen had headwounds. If Benjamin wasn't so pissed, he'd be impressed. Cowboy was clearly a dangerous son-of-a-bitch, and that made Boyd even more eager to make Cowboy a dead son-of-a-bitch. Could Cowboy really have killed these three men, while being targeted by two additional shooters who had been firing from concealed positions, alone?
The sound of rapidly approaching footfalls caught Benjamin's attention. Those ice-blue eyes launched toward the depths of factory building. He couldn't see anyone, but he was certain someone was running in his direction.
Is that you, Cowboy?
Boyd hid within the alcove of the entrance to the building and waited. At moments like this, during the stillness before the storm, when most men would feel some sort of combination of fear, anticipation or excitement … Benjamin felt calm.
Completely calm.
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Lillian had seen the Boudain family earlier. She had personally beckoned them to hide in the women's public restroom of the terminal.
But that wasn't the location she directed the Bianchi mafioso – Benjamin Boyd's henchman - toward.
She led him to the men's public restroom – a fair distance from where the Boudain's hid. Perhaps some sort of opportunity would emerge, perhaps she could escape this mafioso, perhaps she could convince him to let her go … If Lillian could help it, she wasn't going to assist the Bianchis with killing a man before his family.
"They're … they're inside the restroom," Lillian lied, hoping the Bianchi henchman would go investigate the restroom alone so that she may flee.
Such was not the case. The mafioso, with a firm but harmless grip on her arm, kept Lillian right at his side. The criminal first peered into the room cautiously then slowly entered the restroom, then began to open the bathroom stalls one by one …
By the last stall, he realized the whore had lied to Benjamin. With a pained, frustrated expression, he shifted to stare at the blonde beauty at his side and, without words, insisted on an explanation.
"They … they must have abandoned the restroom," Lillian claimed, "I swear they were here!"
The criminal bit his inner cheek, weighing his options. Theoretically he was supposed to shoot Lillian in her cunt right now …
"This … this isn't fair," Lillian insisted, attempting to sound as pathetic and desperate as possible, "they were here and, and I tried to help you, and now they're gone and … - Are you … going to shoot me?"
The criminal and the distressed beauty looked at each other miserably.
"No, I'm," the mafioso paused, shaking his head, "I'm going to take you back to Ben, you can tell him – "
" – you know he'll kill me … "
"He … I don't know. He may not … - I think he may like you," the thug argued awkwardly.
The blonde prostitute briefly wondered how Benjamin treated women he didn't like, if he was commanding his men to shoot ones he did like in their personal parts.
"You can … let me go," the gorgeous woman suggested anxiously, "you can tell him I escaped … "
"Listen, it's Benjamin Boyd. Big Ben. I can't return to him empty-handed and without our only lead."
Lillian stared into the criminal's mud-colored eyes. There was so much sympathy in them …
The courtesan knew how to take advantage of sympathetic men.
Lillian used her free hand to touch her own face as she made her best effort to feign sorrow. Her fingertips found several specs of Fred's blood that had remained on her face, and she released an anxious sigh.
"May I … wash my face? The smell of the blood … I can't stand it. Please, sir?"
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The sounds of a gun fight are different from the sounds of an execution. Booker knew the difference. One expects multiple shots from multiple sources during a proper gun fight … but when shots are fired in rapid succession from the same source … that's an execution.
Booker once more cursed himself for impulsively starting a gunfight.
As the ex-soldier jogged through the factory building so he could exit out the front door, he anxiously wondered who was just executed … Milton? His wife? Civilians? Hopefully not the Boudain children – he didn't want that on his conscience. Maybe Lillian was the recipient of one of those bullets – this realization disturbed him. Yah, Milton Boudain had a pretty wife and some cute kids, and he certainly sympathized with the story of a crooked man attempting to escape a crooked past, but he wouldn't gamble Lillian's life over his. Milton was a criminal. Lillian was a young woman, probably a mother … a female brave enough to run to the aid of a wounded man during a violent conflict. You don't trade people like that for criminals – no matter what their station in life is.
Still … Booker didn't want to believe the Boudain kids just lost their father. Christ, what if Milton and his wife were gone, leaving behind just the little kids? He couldn't just toss them on that train to Chicago and hope things work out for them … -
Damn it, Booker, he scolded himself silently, focus. There's two men left …
The ex-soldier's instincts forced a warning bell to go off on his mind just as he attempted to exit the factory building, but it was too late. Someone had been hiding in the recess of the building's entranceway, and that someone was strong. A powerful grip –probably intended for his wrist - snagged onto his gun while the assailant moved behind him and attempted to wrap a bulky arm around Booker's neck.
"Running toward gunfire?" a gruff voice snarled, "that's pretty fucking bold of you, Cowboy."
DeWitt, as he ducked downward to avoid having the offender's arm secure itself around his neck, instantly realized this man was physically stronger than him, which limited his options. The ex-Pinkerton released his own cobalt and instead focused on removing his opponent's weapon from that hand – ultimately the gun that had a finger on its trigger took priority over the gun being held by its barrel.
Booker did manage to pry the gun out of the dangerous mafioso's hand, but that's when he felt the cold metal of his own cobalt smack into the side of his head. The strike left him momentarily disoriented, and he dropped the gun he had just successfully removed from the assailant. A single hand from the mafioso gripped onto the front of Booker's vest and dragged the dazed ex-soldier back-first into the brick wall of the factory building.
As DeWitt reclaimed his senses, he finally got to see his opponent, and the stranger – who he'd later be informed was Benjamin Boyd – lived up to Booker's expectations. He was a broad-chested, sharp-eyed man who wore a very natural-looking sneer – the sort of brute that could command respect without a word: don't make eye contact with him, do everything he tells you to, stay out of his way.
But Booker wasn't easy to intimidate. Hell, it wouldn't even be the first time today he fought a man larger and stronger than himself.
"You working alone, Cowboy?" the mafioso asked, still gripping onto Booker's vest with a single hand. Benjamin awkwardly attempted to shift his palm from the barrel of the stolen cobalt to its handle … because he was about to shoot Cowboy with Cowboy's own gun. "Kill three of my men all by yourself?"
"Killed five men," Booker corrected gravely, "about to be six."
Before Boyd could react to the comment, Booker abruptly wiggled and shoved his body forward, slamming his forehead just above the larger man's right brow.
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Lillian's captor had allowed her the opportunity to wash up. The criminal was, at first, silent as he watched the lovely woman cup her hands to collect water to wash her face with. Once her task was complete and the blood was removed from her cheeks, It was easier for the mafioso to see how pretty she was …
They began to speak. Lillian asked a few anxious questions, admitted to a few fears, thanked him for showing her more kindness than his superior had …
Then, finally, Lillian coaxed the name out of her criminal captor – Charlie. That's when she approached the man, pressed her palm against the man's inner thigh and whispered a handful of pleas and promises into the man's receptive ear …
Now Charlie's back was pressed against the bathroom wall and Lillian was on her knees.
The criminal watched the beautiful blonde's slender fingers reach for the zipper of his pants. In the back of his mind, he understood this young woman was doing this because she was scared and desperate … but she was insistent, and he lacked the willpower to stop her.
Charlie knew this was a terrible idea. Someone was going to walk into the restroom: the lone gunner that just killed a few of his allies, a civilian, Milton Boudain … or maybe even the worst possible option: Benjamin Boyd.
Despite his unavoidable anxiety, he was getting hard. Lillian might be the most beautiful damn fox he'd ever seen. The contours of her face, those inviting eyes, those perfect damn lips that hovered close to his now-exposed, currently-swelling cock …
Don't even get him started on those generous-sized breasts that peeked out from the hemline of her dress.
Yes, perhaps someone was going to walk into the restroom and shoot him in the damn head, but Charlie was beginning to think there were worst ways to die.
Lillian gazed at the hardening cock before her eyes: a nice-sized, pink prick that, as it grew, clearly had a slight upward curve. The man's testicles were smooth, and Lillian always figured that if a man took the time to groom himself in such an area, it was because he enjoyed being touched there.
The whore licked her own lips, moistening them. Then she leaned forward to rub those lips along the fleshy globes dangling beneath that responsive cock.
Charlie felt a tightening within his loins as he watched it all. The cheek of that pretty face was occasionally brushing against his dickflesh, and he released a quiet moan when the feel of her lips and skin sliding across his balls became a slick, soft tongue. She lapped at his flesh like he was some kind of treat … and suddenly the man wanted to take the incredibly beauty home, make her his wife and have forty-three children with her …
That tongue wrapped as much as it could around that smooth sac, coated every inch of available skin with her saliva. The fingers of a single hand teasingly stroked along the shaft of his prick as she sucked his left globe into her mouth.
"Fuck, Lillian, " Charlie groaned out. It felt like they just started and he already felt like he was about to cum. He wanted this to last, so he peeled his eyes from the image of the beautiful blonde nuzzling against his shaft as she gently sucked on part of his sac.
After a moment of licking and sucking, Lillian switched to the man's second testicle. She repeated the process using each one of her tools: her lips, her mouth, her tongue …
Another groan emerged from the criminal, which prompted the sultry female to switch to her third target – that now fully-engorged shaft. She slid and tapped her fingers along the length of it, used the skin of her cheek and lips to tease it further, breathed softly on the swollen flesh …
Now those perfect lips Charlie had been admiring earlier were wrapping around his pinkened pricktip. He had to look at her, now. The sight of his rigid pole poking between her lips imprinted within his mind.
"You're so damn beautiful … " the mafioso complimented honestly, clenching his fingers as his prick pulsed … He breathed as he felt her warm, wet mouth suck on him for a moment, then she began to ease back-and-forth along the length of his straining cock … taking slightly more and more of him with each forward motion.
With some effort, with the adjustment of her position, Lillian managed to take the entirety of Charlie's throbbing dickflesh into her mouth. She moaned softly as her nose pressed into his nest of neatly trimmed pubes.
"Shit!" Charlie huffed as his hips jerked. The mafioso reached to grip onto strands of blonde hair, so that he may shove several quick jabs into that sexy little mouth. A sound of muffled surprised escaped the alluring female, but she handled the throat-fuck like the experienced professional she was.
All too soon, the criminal lost control. That twitching, desperate cock finally exploded within the depths of Lillian's mouth, spraying the back of the sultry tramp's throat with multiple streams of cum …
The whore made no efforts to move away from the spasming prick. Charlie had a considerable amount of seed built up within his body, but the blonde swallowed it all with ease. The cream was thick; the taste was inoffensive.
Charlie breathlessly watched Lillian remove herself from his blushing prick. She gave the sensitive flesh a couple playful licks before gazing up at the satiated criminal …
"You're … curved a bit, Charlie," Lillian purred quietly, "I like it that way. Brushes against all the right places within my body … "
Charlie sucked in a deep breath. He just came and she was already resurrecting his anticipation …
The seductress' gaze pointedly returned to that slightly softened cock. Two fingertips brushed along its slickened length …
"Maybe after a few minutes … we can share another round?"
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Blood had instantly burst forth from Benjamin's split brow. Boyd snarled a curse as he took a half-step back, his free hand instinctively reaching toward his headwound.
Booker attempted to dive down for the fallen gun. Much to Booker's disappointment, Boyd was smarter than your average mafioso. In terms of violence, the most effective criminals were skilled at identifying, locating and avoiding potential sources of death. Boyd cleverly predicted DeWitt's move, and though he was attempting to wipe away the blood pooling in his eye, he still managed to quickly kick away the loose gun that had fallen beside his shoe into the middle of the street.
That forced Booker to make a quick decision. Should he run in the middle of the open street to retrieve the gun, or should he run back into the factory for cover? There was no time to evaluate all the risks and benefits of each decision. At moments like this, DeWitt relied on his instincts. Truthfully, the ex-Pinkerton's instincts were good. Damn good. They've kept him alive through hundreds of violent situations; there was no reason to start questioning them.
Those instincts told Booker to run into the factory.
The decision made sense. Benjamin would likely regain complete orientation within seconds … so running roughly thirty feet into the street to retrieve the fallen gun would leave Booker exposed to the gun-wielding criminal and possibly the seventh Bianchi thug that he knew was lurking somewhere in the vicinity. Lastly, the fallen weapon belonged to the mafioso … for all Booker knew, there may be not a single bullet left in its chamber.
So Booker ran back inside the factory, and Boyd, though still slightly disoriented and trying to blink away some of that excess blood that had leaked into his right eye, took a snapshot at the fleeing ex-Pinkerton. The clumsy shot missed.
DeWitt ran with all his speed into the depths of the building. He heard the Mafioso cuss from the doorway, then he heard the larger man begin to chase him.
The Mafioso made a second shot – this one would connect with the intended target. The bullet scraped off a small chunk of flesh from the edge of Booker's right thigh. It wasn't a debilitating strike, it wouldn't permanently impact Booker's mobility, but it hurt. Being struck by a bullet at such close proximity produced a searing, fiery pain at the point of impact, and it nearly made Booker stumble.
DeWitt heard his assailant curse loudly. There had only been two bullets remaining in his cobalt when Boyd had pulled the weapon out of Booker's hands – the big brute must have just figured that out.
DeWitt, conscious that the dangerous Mafioso was still pursuing him, weighed his options. He wanted a gun - a loaded gun in his hand would put an end to this fight very quickly. The only nearby gun he could think of that wouldn't require backtracking was the sniper rifle on the roof …
Booker ran past the factory's various crates and machines as he headed toward the staircase.
"Where you running to, Cowboy?" the voice behind him growled.
It was the ex-Pinkerton's turn to make a mistake. He underestimated how much more difficult it'd be to scale the stairs with the sizzling pain in his leg, and his heavy breathing, combined with his freshly-battered rib cage, was producing a distracting ache in his chest. The pain was slowing him down, and Booker realized as he ran up the stairs that the surprisingly quick beast charging after him would catch up before he could reach the roof.
"Shit," Booker muttered, as he ran through the stairwell door on the third floor of the factory building.
The third floor proved to be rather discouraging for Booker. It was a single, wide-open room with a handful of crates, barrels and tables. No decent place to hide, and the only means of escape was jumping out a third-story window and risking a painful, debilitating smack with the concrete sidewalk at the base of the building.
Booker cursed his luck but he was prepared to fight the jackass chasing him. When he spied both a crowbar and a hammer on one of the nearby tables, he ran toward it and grabbed a tool in each of his hands. Finally, he turned around and waited for the inevitable confrontation to begin.
Boyd did not disappoint him. Within seconds, the tough guy showed up … and, even with the bleeding split on his brow, he looked exactly as strong and mean as he had a few minutes ago. The mafioso stopped running when he realized the ex-Pinkerton was cornered, then took a second to wipe the excess blood off his pale face with the sleeve of his suitjacket.
Finally, he looked at Booker.
There was a short staredown between the two men – both standing about sixty feet from each other. The light-eyed criminal's expression was humorless, dangerous … and he didn't seem bothered at all that Booker had acquired two blunt objects to fight with.
"So, Cowboy," Benjamin sneered nastily, "want to know why seven Bianchis were commanded to track down that fucking prick - Milton Boudain?"
"Money? Drugs? Murder?" Booker responded dryly, instinctively squeezing his weapons, "I really don't give a damn - it's always the same reasons with you guys."
"No, Cowboy, nothing like that," Benjamin corrected, "Boudain was a drug-dealer for the family. Earned us a good deal of money, did his job quietly, didn't get involved in the politics or drama … but one day, we found out he was allowing addicts to purchase goods by selling their fucking daughters to him."
Outwardly, Booker betrayed none of his emotions. Inwardly, his mind screamed with a combination of denial and rage.
"We're Bianchi. We don't want child-fuckers in our ranks. Right now there's a pregnant eleven year-old living on Bowery Street with a pa too coked up to care who put a damn baby in her belly. That's a Catholic neighborhood, Cowboy. That little girl's life is ruined," Benjamin announced nastily as he began to quickly stalk toward Booker, "just wanted you to know you're about to die on behalf of a perverted, gutless prick."
"Damn it," Booker spat angrily, charging forward as he lifted the crowbar into the air. The two men met in the center of the room. DeWitt went for a combination of strikes, swinging the crowbar toward the criminal's head and preparing for a follow-up swing with the hammer aimed for the thug's shoulder.
Boyd realized Cowboy was fast – it'd be difficult to dodge those attacks. Mitigating whatever damage he could and disabling his quick opponent became an immediate priority. He barely managed to block the blunt length of the crowbar with his forearm, protecting his head – but he was forced to accept the hammer smacking into his bicep. The unavoidable pain forced a grunt out of Boyd, but he surged forward …
DeWitt had been expecting his opponent to attempt to avoid his attacks, not simply intercept them with flesh and muscle. His opponent wasn't employing a feasible long-term strategy, but perhaps the Mafioso expected the fight to be over within several seconds. It was a fair assumption - most fights outside of an arena tend to end quickly.
Booker ducked to avoid what would have been a nasty punch if it managed to connect. The ex-soldier attempted to reposition, but Boyd's large hand gripped onto the ex-soldier's forearm. The powerful criminal tugged DeWitt into a standing position and attempted a second punch.
Booker swung his crowbar fiercely into Benjamin's flesh, jamming the sharp tip of it into the side of the larger man's abdomen, just before a heavy fist connected with his face. The impact of the punch forced Booker onto one knee and caused a temporary burst of darkness to claim his vision … but Booker did not let go of the crowbar, and he inadvertently tore across several inches of Benjamin's flesh and skin.
Before DeWitt could recoup, a heavy foot slammed into his chest … forcing him entirely onto the ground. Pain enveloped his abdomen, and his ribs were now begging him to stop getting into fights with larger men. Boyd made an attempt to kick the fallen ex-Pinkerton, but Booker began quickly rolling away from the larger man, creating several feet of distance between them.
Benjamin didn't instantly follow Booker. The Bianchi criminal took a moment to examine the bloody wound on the side of his body. It produced a distracting level of pain, and it really pissed him off.
Booker rose onto his feet, teeth clenched and muscles tensed. He couldn't take many more punches from this muscle-heavy bastard if he wanted to be able to brawl effectively … This fight needed to end; he needed to kill this damn bastard.
The two men glared at each other.
"I'm going to rip your fucking head off!" Benjamin sneered loudly as he, once more, began to march toward DeWitt.
An unexpected intrusion surprised both men. A voice from the direction of the stairwell filled the room: "I got you, soldier!"
Booker didn't even bother to look to see who it was. The voice was vaguely familiar, and the message was just personalized enough to convince DeWitt that, inexplicably, an ally had just showed up … He knew the message was a warning: get out of the way so I can get a clean shot …
Booker immediately dove for the ground - as far from Benjamin as possible - just as the Mafioso turned about to confront the interloper.
The sound of two gunshots rang in Booker's ears.
Booker rolled onto his feet, and turned so he could assess the situation. He was hoping to see Benjamin's corpse collapsing onto the ground – but each of the bullets apparently missed. The Mafioso, alive and intact, ran toward a nearby table as a third shot was fired toward him – another miss. Boyd quickly knocked over the heavy wooden table and hid behind it as two more bullets seared through the air. These bullets became two more misses - one of them managed to hit the table Benjamin was now hiding behind, another struck a nearby window.
Booker looked at the unexpected ally incredulously, and even from a fair distance … he recognized the man. It was George Growland. Why the fuck was George Growland here? DeWitt hadn't seen the man since their cavalry years together …
It suddenly made sense why all the bullets aimed at Benjamin were missing – George was a notoriously terrible shot. Booker grimaced – he had a terrible feeling that, even after George unloaded each bullet in his gun's chamber, Benjamin was going to be just fine.
The assumption was correct. When the sixth and final bullet inevitably missed, Boyd immediately leapt out from behind the fallen table and charged toward George, and Boyd grabbed a large, heavy-looking wrench off of one of the tables on his way to Booker's ex-comrade …
Booker cussed and leapt up to chase after the charging Mafioso. To both DeWitt's amazement and dismay, the aged, beer-bellied man pitched his empty gun at the hefty criminal who charged at him but made no attempt to flee.
The former soldier intended to stand his ground.
Idiot.
"Run you dumb son-of-a-bitch!" Booker warned as he struggled to catch up to Ben.
"Just another man that's going to die over a fucking pedophile!"
The next few seconds felt so surreal to Booker.
The Bianchi brute reached his intended target …
There was a moment of useless struggling as George attempted to twist away from the grip of a single, powerful hand …
The wrench was raised in the air, then slammed down upon the wiggling prey's upper back …then the wrench was raised once more …
Each of these acts were illuminated by a lamppost's light – a lamppost that could be seen within a window just beyond the two tussling men. Had time slowed down? A strange strength had risen within Booker. His heart was pounding so loud within his chest he could hear it in his ears. He surged at his top speed toward Benjamin, then braced himself just before ramming into the unprepared Mafioso with full force.
Together they hurled into the window – but only Benjamin would smash straight through it.
The sound of shattering glass filled the three men's ears.
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Booker breathed, ignoring the pain that could be felt in multiple points of his body. He leaned through the window to spy upon the fallen mafioso. The pale criminal looked stunned, but he was breathing. If only the three-story plummet had killed the damn jackass ...
The ex-pinkerton was about to run to the roof for that sniper rifle so he could finish the bastard off, but movement at the end of the street caught his attention. It was a car. A police car.
"Shit," Booker muttered. He couldn't exactly shoot Benjamin right in front of the damn cops - the big bastard was going to survive. DeWitt silently thanked God that George had referred to him as 'soldier' earlier instead of using his actual name … It would have been bad news if a vengeful Bianchi mafioso had survived their encounter with that particular piece of information.
Booker turned to look at George.
George was crouched downward, grunting over the undoubtedly terrible pain in his back. The former soldier silently admitted he probably should have ran when that nasty brute charged at him …
"Two questions," Booker announced as he moved toward his ex-comrade.
"Ya?"
"One: Are you okay?"
"Ya … I think," George responded, grimacing as he attempted to straighten his posture. For the first time, he believed it was fortunate that he had gained weight over the years … without the extra padding, the muscular mafioso would have probably damaged his spine.
"Two: How the hell do you miss a man that big six times?
"Fuck you, Booker," the older man muttered, "my eyes aren't what they used to be … - You're welcome, by the way."
" … thanks," Booker sighed. This conversation may have been able to make him smile if his thoughts weren't currently focused on that fucking bastard Milton Boudain.
George bit his tongue as he rolled his shoulders repeatedly … Christ, the pain was terrible. He was close to tears over it.
"Listen, a couple of cops are here," Booker revealed, "more are probably on the way. We need to clear out."
"Yah … yah, I agree," George admitted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card for a local hotel – with the phone number for his own hotel room written beneath it, "we probably shouldn't travel together … but when everything's settled down, give me a call. I'll be in the area for three days and we … we should talk."
Then Booker remembered that this whole situation was suspicious. George just happened to show up at the terminal on the exact day Booker arrived, in a city neither men lived in?
There wasn't time to think about it or ask questions. Booker stuffed the business card in his pocket.
"Let's go."
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That fucking hurt.
Benjamin was tougher than nails, but that fucking hurt. There was no hiding it. Shoved out of a window three-stories high, smacking into a concrete sidewalk … it hurt.
"Fuck … " Benjamin muttered as he slowly moved into a kneeling position. Christ, everything was throbbing with pain. Benjamin plucked a moderate-sized piece of broken glass out of his right bicep as he attempted to regain his bearings.
A vehicle on the road came to a halt directly in front of Boyd, grabbing his attention.
It was a police car.
"Of-fucking-course!" Benjamin huffed. He didn't bother to look up toward the window he had just been pushed through, if Cowboy and his companion had any wits at all – they were already gone.
Battered, bloodied Boyd rose to his feet, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender as cops jumped out of the aforementioned vehicle. He was going to be arrested – that was certain – but he was confident that a single phone call from the Bianchi leader would fix matters. There would be no trial, no consequences, no justice for the three civilians he had recently shot in the face.
But Milton Boudain's fate was now out of his hands entirely.
Who knows. Maybe Charlie, his last remaining thug, would pull off a miracle and kill both Milton Boudain and Cowboy. That'd be nice.
But if that didn't happen – and he was pretty confident it wouldn't – Boyd was going to return to New York City a failure.
Malicious anger awoke from within him as two cops warily approached him with handcuffs.
You better hope I never find you, Cowboy.
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The situation was insane, Charlie had to admit. There were dead bodies in the terminal, a crazy gunman was out there shooting mafiosos, his ruthless criminal superior was out there somewhere looking for the aforementioned crazy gunman …
And he just came in a gorgeous whore's mouth.
Then she hinted that she wanted more, and dammit, he wanted more, too. God, he wanted to fuck her for hours.
So now he had the intoxicating female's body lifted in the air, with her back pinned against the scuzzy bathroom wall. Her legs were wrapped seductively around his torso. He was awkwardly kissing her collarbone, found his eyes constantly drawn toward her bust.
Charlie considered ripping open the hemline of her dress to expose those undoubtedly fantastic breasts when a sincere request was whispered into his ear.
"Do you think … maybe you could let me go? Let me live … " Lillian asked quietly.
Charlie swallowed. The reality of the situation gutted his enthusiasm. He pulled his head back from the dazzling beauty's shoulder so that he may look into her pleading eyes.
"I have to take you back to Ben, but … I'll tell him, I'll tell him we found the Boudains, I'll tell him they were in a car and got away," the criminal looked at her hopefully, "I won't let him shoot you, Lilly."
For a small moment, the whore's expression was unreadable. Then a smile slowly emerged on that beautiful face. She pressed forward, planting several tender kisses into his neck.
"Thank you, Charlie," Lillian murmured.
She felt the man nuzzle his face into her long, perfurmed hair.
Lillian clenched her teeth, her heart began to beat wildly. Ultimately, her fear of Benjamin – the smart, suspicious brute – was greater than her confidence in Charlie – her trusting but foolish would-be protector.
As Charlie became preoccupied with kissing her throat, she reached beneath the skirt of her dress to clench upon the handle of a concealed blade.
It was a risky move. Even if she made a perfect slice on the criminal's neck, severed his carotid artery just as Mr. Reed showed her, the man would survive for at least a few minutes …
But she had to try. She had to try. She couldn't let Charlie take her back to Benjamin Boyd.
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Booker snatched a gun from one of the fallen criminals in the center of the street on the way back inside the train terminal. He had given up on his original plan of killing all the Bianchi criminals – it was impossible now that Benjamin Boyd was in the hands of the police. At this moment he only had two priorities: finding Milton Boudain and getting the hell out of there. Hopefully he'd be able to find out what happened to Lillian on the way, but he wasn't going to linger around looking for her. The police were here and he just killed five men – he couldn't afford to linger.
Of course, Booker wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do if he did manage to find Milton Boudain. His mind felt full, stuffed with dark imaginings and twisted ideas. The claim that Milton Boudain had been fucking the unfortunate daughters of desperate drug addicts - some not even old enough to be considered women – haunted him. Things were fucked up. Things were really fucked up. He was angry about it. And, as he ran past three dead civilians, three victims of this fucked up situation – one of them being the man Lillian had risked herself to rescue, he became even angrier.
Booker paused, scanning the interior of the terminal silently.
The sound of a door being suddenly forced open stole his attention. He whipped around to face the sound, instinctively aiming his gun toward the noise, but the sight of flowing blonde hair stilled his trigger finger.
Lillian.
She was running at full speed through the terminal – probably fleeing from someone.
Booker stayed silent and watched from afar with his gun ready. A second later he spied a wounded man stumbling out of the bathroom Lillian had just charged out of. He was clutching his bleeding neck with one hand, aiming a gun at the retreating female with the other.
The ex-soldier took his shot; the armed thug fell to the ground with a brand new hole in his head.
But Lillian didn't stop running.
"Lillian, I got him! You're alright!" Booker shouted toward the fleeing female as he marched toward her and the fresh corpse.
The blonde, breathing softly, stopped. She turned toward the ex-Pinkerton that was walking toward her, then glanced behind to confirm that the thug who was after her was, indeed, dead.
The sight of her actually softened some of the rage he had been feeling moments ago. There were tears in her eyes, her hands were trembling, there were stains of blood on the disheveled fabric of her dress … she looked absolutely terrified – who could blame her?
"Th-the shot, I thought it was for me," she stuttered anxiously, sliding a piece of hair out of her eyes, "I thought I was dead, I thought the shot was for me, I thought –thought … I was waiting for the bullet. I thought I'd never see my children again."
And the tears which pooled in her eyes finally began to leak out. Lillian covered her eyes with her hands as a heavy sob escaped her. She truly believed she would never leave the terminal alive …
Booker was curious about what happened – particularly how the hell the female lured the armed thug close enough so that she could apparently slice his damn throat –but there wasn't time to ask for details.
"Lillian," Booker called out sympathetically, reaching to gently grip onto her upper arm, "you're a tough girl, you're okay, and you're going home to your children, all right? Now, come on, we have to go."
"Are they, are they still out there?"
"No – but the police are," Booker answered, glancing about the terminal as he tried to determine their best route for escaping the Buffalonian law enforcement, "let's go."
"The big pale man – someone called him Ben - he, he shot three innocent men right in front of me. That … bastard shot Fred! – "
" – The police have him now," Booker explained, giving Lillian a gentle tug, "come on, let's go."
Lillian's expression went sour as Booker began to lead her out of the terminal. Benjamin was alive … of all the Bianchi men that died today, the worst of them lived.
Then, she remembered the Boudains …
"—Wait, wait … I … helped a family hide," Lillian admitted, wiping away her tears as she casually pulled free of Booker's light hold on her arm.
The Boudains? Booker's jaw clenched, his grip on that stolen gun tightened. The anger he had developed before helping Lillian was beginning to surface once more.
The distressed prostitute led him to the women's public restroom. And, yes, the entire Boudain family was inside … safe and sound. Milton, his wife, his son and his daughter – who was currently clinging to her father's leg …
'The family any man could covet' …
This also pissed off Booker. The man had, at least on the surface, a perfect damn family. Was he really going around raping and impregnating young girls behind his beautiful wife's back? Christ, in a handful of years when the fucking pervert's own daughter became a budding female, would he start fucking her, too? Disgusting bastard.
Milton stared at DeWitt in belief: "You … you killed them all? Good Lord … You were worth every penny, sir!"
Booker bit his tongue. He was about to aim his pistol and shoot Milton in the damn head, but the conversation between the two women beside him kept his hand still.
Milton's wife grabbed at Lillian's bloody hands and asked, "oh goodness, sweetheart, what happened? You should have hid with us … "
"Th-they found me," the blonde whore stuttered, "they wanted me to show them where you all were hiding but I … I wouldn't do it. I couldn't … help them shoot a man in front of his children. I couldn't … "
"So brave," Milton's wife complimented, releasing the softest of sobs as she wrapped her arms around the disturbed blonde, "in your debt. My family is in your debt. You're both heroes … our heroes."
As the women spoke, Milton and Booker locked eyes. Booker made no attempt to smother the intense feelings of loathing that had manifested within him, and, after a few minutes of enduring this hateful glare, Milton began to look afraid.
A silent conversation had occurred between the two men. All Booker said, all Booker had to say was 'I know.'
Without looking away from the ex-Pinkerton, Milton's quivering hand reached down to gently pat his frightened daughter's shoulder.
DeWitt summoned all the willpower he had. For now, his hand didn't move.
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Author's Note: I pray people are still reading/enjoying the story. I'd really love to see some reviews for this chapter because I'd love to hear what you guys thought about the fight scenes.
Thank you to all my new reviewers! Annabelle, Guest, Redguy25, Wolfy Loveland, Master-Magician, Avatar Conner and ThisisCMpunk. The kind words were very much appreciated!
Shouts outs for my awesome/lovely/glorious repeat reviewers!
WouldyouKindly84: Thank you for all your support ever. Someday I'm going to pay you to rewrite my whole story so I can see how awesome it could have been, lol. You're glorious, beautiful, charming, a prodigy! Be mine!
Badkidoh: Thank you so much for sticking with me. :D Hope you enjoy this chapter! You strike me as someone that likes action sequences!
Lattydatty: Hi Latty! Thanks for reviewing! There wasn't much Noah/Eliz interaction this chapter but there shall be in the next! :D
Byakk: I literally added the Lillian sex scene because of your review, lol. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. And stay tuned regarding Elizabeth's characterization … she does tone it down when Booker returns to her, and there's an upcoming plot twist involving her that may explain a few things … ;D
Mr. Brown: Thank you so, so much, my muse! I get so happy when I see your reviews. :D I give you my love!
Shtoops: Nooooo my darling! SPOILERS FOR BURIAL AT SEA. Im very mixed about Burial At Sea. How does Elizabeth take out Songbird but then falls apart and becomes useless when a Big Daddy comes after her? MY Elizabeth would have took care of business without a second damn thought. I feel like they did what I felt like I had to do to make an interesting post-Bioshock fic, which is tone down Elizabeth's ridiculous level of power. There would literally be no way to make a dramatic plot involving Elizabeth if she got to maintain her full power(untouchable, space-twisting and omniscient) Still, there are probably plenty of ways to save children without all the weird lengths she went to, considering her level of power. And why fuck around with Daisy Fitzroy's character? Because some people hated the fact that she had a "ends justify the means" mentality? Whatever. Bioshock Infinite was simply continuing the very honest point that the first Bioshock had made: Extremes are bad. Neither Andrew Ryan nor Fontaine were good men, neither Comstock nor Daisy were good people(though Daisy was probably the most sympathetic character out of all of them, she was the only one who had a reason for being an extremist, and it's not like she slit the kid's throat like a stone-cold bitch… it was a decision she was openly struggling with – but I suppose racial criticism was unavoidable).
I'm very happy you seem to be enjoying the Noah/Eliz interactions. They're so very twisted together. – I GOTTA ask you if you thought my fight scenes were better this time around, I recall you specifically mentioning that chapter five's boss fight disappointed you. Did Boyd and Booker do a better job?
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