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Origins of the Spanish Ninja:Tastes Like Red Wine	By : lilwitch Category: +S through Z > Street Fighter Views: 3420 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: WARNING: Graphic violence and abuse depicted in this story. Read at your own discretion! I do not own Street Fighter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
DISCLAIMER:
This story contains content of a highly disturbing psychological nature that may be offensive to some readers: including but not limited to abuse, rape, and torture/violence. Please DO NOT read if you are likely to be offended!
STREET FIGHTER and characters such as Vega & Remy are owned by CAPCOM. I own all original characters. I make no profit in this work of fiction. For entertainment only.

The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and estate.

I looked at Remy and he continued to stare down at his hands.
“What? What do you mean?”
“It's true. He works for an organization known as Shadowlaw. I was recruited and he tried to train me, but when I refused, he kept me here. I have been sleeping down here for months, nothing but a mat and a blanket. When he heard of your arrival, he was anxious to recruit you; he told me I could sleep in one of the rooms as long as I helped train you.”
“What do they do exactly?”
“Whatever a criminal empire does—sell drugs, guns, women—anything to further their organization. They are always looking for new recruits as their top fighters to join their army of assassins.”
“Assassins...” I said, chewing my lip. The thought was intriguing to me, and powerful!
He looked at me with a wry smile.
“You're not really thinking of joining, are you?”
“Of course not. Why would I do that? I have no interest in any of that boring criminal stuff.”
There was another lull in the conversation and I could feel the awkwardness rise.
“So, I know you said that Marc Antoní kidnapped you, but how did he find you?”
Remy scoffed and shook his head.
“I was in Monaco a few months ago. I was in this street fight with a rich Monégasque girl, you know, like you.” he smirked at me and I rolled my eyes. “She had long blonde hair and the most haunting purple eyes, perfect porcelain skin—”
“Yeah, but did you win?” I asked, not to be outdone by his petty insinuations.
“Narrowly. She was a very athletic girl, lots of flips and cartwheels; and the way she moved in that frilly white dress... like the petals of a flower.”
“Did you pluck her?” I said with a grin.
Remy looked at me with disgust.
“Why would I do that?”
I shrugged.
“Why not? You beat her, didn't you? You had to be at least a little turned on when you fought her.”
“Maybe, but I don't fight to be turned on. She was as worthy as me.”
“And prettier than you.”
Remy sighed heavily.
“It wasn't like that. She had her butler there with her the whole time, watching.”
“Well, what was her name? At least she gave you that?”
“Lili, Lili de Rochfert. I bid her goodbye and then Marc Antoní came. An older man, tall and somewhat menacing but I wasn't afraid of him. He had a big black man by his side; he was an American, he said. A boxer. He said that I should come with him to a fighting tournament called the World Warrior tournament.”
“What did you say?”
Remy laughed.
“I told him to piss off. Tournaments are not my style anyway.”
I shook my head.
“I'm sure Marc Antoní wasn't pleased about that.”
“Oh, he wasn't but he was also persistent. He told me if I didn't fight, I'd never see my sister again.”
“What? I thought you said she was dead?”
“She lies in a place only I know, frozen in time forever. How Marc Antoní found out about it, I don't know.”
“Well if he knows about it, obviously it can't be too secret. Then again, Marc Antoní knows a lot about a lot of things even I don't understand.”
Remy sighed again.
“The Bay of Biscay.”
I raised my eyebrows. Of course I was familiar with the area; I knew its history and its importance to my country. I had no idea, however, why he'd want to bury her in the ocean.
“In the ocean?”
“No, not in the ocean! I found a secret cave in the area, off the coast. I knew she would be safe until I could return to her again. I promised her.”
I nodded,
“Then you must get back to her. I think maybe I can get you out of here.”
“How?”
“I haven't worked it out yet but it's me he wants, not you.”
“You should leave too. There's no reason to be here. You're not his prisoner.”
“No, but my mother...she's infatuated with him. My mother's taste in men is...poor. I'm not really surprised but this is the worst yet. I've tried telling her before but she won't listen. To make matters worse, I think they used to be lovers.”
“If she loves you as much as you say, then she'll listen.”
“I'll make sure she listens, don't worry. The minute she realizes he's been abusing me, it's over.”
“Abusing you? That's not how I've seen it! You wanted him to train you.”
“Yeah, I know, but she doesn't know that. Besides, look what he did to you tonight.”
Remy chuckled, brushing the hair from his face and throwing the bloodied rag at my face.
“You are right, mon ami. Maybe you're more clever than I thought...but you're still an asshole!”
I laughed at him.
“Then, I'm an asshole but I am still beautiful!”
He rolled his eyes at me with another chuckle and I grinned.
“Remy...” he leaned forward towards me, “how would you like to meet my mother?”

We sat in the parlor that afternoon, Remy, my mother, and I, sitting in red velvet lined chairs, facing each other, my mother sitting on a sofa. The sunlight streamed through the wide windows, glinting off the glass of red wine my mother held in one hand. Remy sat next to me, his head bowed as always and very quiet. Mother sat, one leg crossed over the other, sipping her wine slowly. The afternoon light streaming in behind her gave her a subtle diffuse glow, like an angel, shadows cast over her face.
She smiled warmly at us, her eyes gleaming, dangling her foot idly. Hoping to ease some of the awkwardness, I rose and greeted her.
“Bona tarda, Mama.” I kissed her cheek.
She touched my face.
“Bona tarda, el meu amor.”
Remy looked at us, and his brows knitted in confusion.
“Oh, pardon us. Vega and I forget ourselves sometimes. We are Catalan and we often speak our native tongue at home.”
He chewed his bottom lip and nodded. I sat down beside her, resting my arm across the back of the sofa, and crossed my legs.
“Would you like some wine, Remy? It's very good.” offered Mother.
“No, thank you.” he replied softly, continuing to stare down. I could see concern growing on Mother's face. She did not like people being upset, especially if they were guests. Mother then turned to me, offering me a glass of the wine.
“Gràcies, Mamà.” I cooed and she nuzzled my cheek.
“Ah, you're so shy, Remy! It's okay.” she gushed, turning back to him. “I was not always the society woman you see now. I grew up in the poorest neighborhood in Barcelona and I was always shy. I was—as the saying goes—'a shrinking violet', but soon I was taken from the darkness and into the light where I blossomed.”
Remy looked up at her but had no response and she chuckled. He fidgeted with the zipper ties on the sleeves of his leather jacket and I watched his gaze carefully. I knew without a doubt he was already taken by her—but it was not hard to believe, really. From the plunging neckline of her white silken blouse, showing us glimpses of her ample cleavage, to the short hemline of her black pencil skirt that showed off her shapely legs, every part of her demanded attention. Now, I of course was used to this, but for any other man who happened to meet her, I pitied them...
When I was very young, my mother used to read to me from one of my favorite stories; The Lord of the Rings had been newly translated into Spanish around the time I was born, and she delighted in reading it to me—although I digress—what captured my imagination almost more than the fiery demon, Balrog was the beautiful and enchanting elf Galadriel. I used to imagine my mother was like her; with her otherworldly and fair beauty—long flaxen, golden hair, blue eyes as blue as the sky, dressing in pure white—I would chuckle, imagining the dwarf Gimli faltering to meet her gaze, lest he lose his heart. I knew now this happened to Remy.
It is true that maybe I should have felt more jealous of Remy's glances at my mother, but I knew better. The greater threat was the man she professed to have as a friend, our gracious host.
She leaned forward, a streak of sunlight touching her face, and I watched Remy's eyes dart down towards her cleavage and then quickly back up again. I smirked, taking a sip of my wine, and folded my arms. I could not tell if she noticed or not.
“Remy, do you like it here? Vega says you've been staying for a while.”
He shrugged,
“It's alright.”
“Marc Antoní has been very kind to look after you. Oh my, look at your hair! It's quite a mess. You know, Vega should give you some tips to better care for it. I can't even see your eyes.” He tucked his long blue hair behind his ears and Mother gasped.
“Déu meu! Remy, what happened to your lips? And you're so pale!” Now revealed was the true extent of Marc Antoní's brutality; a large scab formed on his bottom lip. Dark circles framed his blue eyes.
She reflexively leaned forward to touch his face and he flinched.
“Oh! Forgive me. I did not mean to...” Mother receded back into the shadows.
I patted her shoulder and went to Remy's side.
“What happened?”
I looked down and dug my toe into the floor.
“Marc Antoní, Mama.”
“What?” she rose.
Remy's eyes widened and he shifted in his chair, perhaps afraid she might touch him again.
“Marc Antoní did this. To both of us.” I declared again.
A sort of empty look washed across her face. She stood there silently, wine glass in hand. I rushed over and took it from her, placing it on the end-table next to the sofa.
Mother stood there, her mouth open, as if she would speak. I saw the tears coming to her eyes and I knew the reality of the situation began to sink in. She looked up at me now, tears still in her eyes, beginning to paw at my face, no doubt looking for any sign of abuse.
“Mama,” I gripped her shoulders, reading her sad eyes. “It's okay now. I'm okay.”
She exhaled a shaky breath and looked over at Remy.
“Remy, I'm sorry.” she said, her tears beginning to fall. He simply nodded and looked down.
“I won't let him hurt you ever again.”

The next day, we began to pack. We were leaving our gilded prison once more. We would get away from there and she would be mine again.
We went out into the parlor, our suitcases in hand. Marc Antoní met us coming down the staircase, his arms crossed.
“Ah, my honored guests! Good afternoon.”
“We're leaving, Marc Antoní.” said my mother. “We can't stay any longer.”
“Really? Isn't it hard to go anywhere without your passports?”
“What?”
He stepped towards us and Mother grabbed my hand.
“Your luggage never arrived, you have no passports. You have nothing. Victoria, tell me, why are you really here?”
“I-I...what do you mean?”
“Surely, Vega knows.” and he looked at me. I met his gaze as calmly as possible and she looked back at me.
“Vacation, without Miguel? You haven't left that house in 16 years, Victoria. I'm not blind. You came with no passports, no luggage.” he rubbed his mouth and then smiled but it made me feel uneasy.
“Where is Miguel? He would have never let you leave. Unless...unless he's dead?” and I shot a look at my mother. I was not actually sure who he was speaking to.
My mother's face broke and her lips quivered.
“Vega killed him. He was protecting me.”
“My father was a cruel, evil man. He had no right to live for what he had done to my mother and I.”
“Ah, so you haven't told him yet, Vicky?” The flippant way he regarded her began to boil my blood.
She staggered backward, squeezing my hand hard.
“Don't you dare, Marc Antoní!” she snapped.
“Tell me what, Mother?”
Her face drained of its color, a ghostly pale more than normal. I could feel her hand trembling in mine; I stroked it with my thumb, trying to console her.
“You have no right! He was my husband!”
“And he was my best friend!” I could see his eyes flashing, both of them locked in a passionate stare.
“It is my choice and you won't take that from me!” she exclaimed.
“Tell me what?” I yelled, desperately trying to get an answer.
“Shh, está bè, Vega. Et prometo.” she whispered.
“There are many cruel twists of fate in this world, Vega, and unfortunately, you've only had a taste of that. Your mother fears what would happen if you were to know more. She thinks she has a choice in whether or not you know this.”
My mother scowled at him, turning away and grabbing her luggage again.
“Vega, we've leaving. Come on.”
I glanced up to see Remy in the shadows of the corridor. He began to start down the staircase but stopped.
“You're not leaving me, Victoria. Not now, not again. I need you.” he growled. I watched his green eyes darkening, like a brewing storm over a calm sea. My mother did not seem afraid, however. I saw her standing there, and for the first time in my life, I saw that she stood as strong as her resolve.
“I know what you did, you bastard! I'm not going to let you continue to abuse my son or Remy.”
“Abuse? Hardly.” he scoffed, “I was only teaching Vega the ways of being a man. Remy merely assisted me.”
“Like Miguel? Is that it? Is a boy's only way to learn but through bloodshed and violence? My son needs nurturing and love. I can give him these things.”
“You smother him, Victoria! How's a boy to grow up properly if he can't breathe?”
“She's not smothering me, Marc Antoní. She loves me and she wants what's best.”
I admit it was not my best defense at the moment, but it's what I felt. Even if she did smother me, there was still that part of me that loved it.
Mother nodded in agreement and picked up her luggage, continuing towards the door.
Before I could blink, he grabbed her arm, pressing her against his chest, his other hand around her throat. I dropped my luggage and lunged forward.
“No, Vega. Stop!” she cried. “He won't hurt me.”
A chill ran down my back. I was watching the horror movie of my life unfold before me again.
“You know I would never hurt you, Victoria. I love you. Stay and be mine again. You can have everything you ever wanted, like before. I can show you pleasures you never knew. Our nights will be in ecstasy, just as before. Don't you remember those nights we spent together? You, me...and Alberto?” She squirmed in his grasp.
“Don't talk like that in front of my son!”
“Give it up, Victoria. You're not the saint he thinks you are. You should stop pretending now. He's a big boy.”
I glared at him.
“No, it can never be that way again. Let me go.” He ignored her pleas and nuzzled her hair.
“He will be happy, you'll see. I'll see to it he has the best of everything, just like you. No more fear, no more pain.”
“No. I-I don't need anyone else. I have Vega now. He is my happiness and I live for him.”
“You suffer for him, Victoria. You are not the Holy Mother and he is not the Holy Child. The blood you shed is in vain.” He spun her around to face him, wrapping his arms around her, and then stroking her cheek.
“Can't you see what you've become? Being alone with him and no one else for so long. It isn't right—it isn't natural.”
Her posture stiffened and she broke from his embrace.
“Who the hell are you to judge me? A man with predilections like yours, you wouldn't know what's natural! You have no idea the hell I've endured these past years.”
“I came back for you! Many times I tried.”
“And each time he punished Vega and I for your transgressions. I nearly died the last time! Because of that, I am barren and my womb is nothing but a shell...”
I felt my stomach drop and the realization hit me like a ton of bricks.
“You!” I yelled. “You were there that night...”
Mother gave me a mournful look.
I grabbed a butter knife from the table on the veranda that was set for our afternoon meal. I grabbed my mother's wrist and pushed her away, holding the knife to his throat. I knew it would not cut him but it was not the point. He grinned at me.
“It's not sharp, Vega. What do you think you can do to me?”
“You destroyed her! You made her suffer! I won't let you get away with it.”
“I did not beat her, boy. I did not rape her! That was Miguel...” he grimaced, “Your father.”
I felt my mother's hand over my hand that held the knife.
“No, Vega. Marc Antoní is an immoral man,” she shot him a bitter glare, “but he is not responsible.”
I ground my teeth, gripping the knife tighter, pressing the dull tip to his throat, willing a drop of blood to fall.
“Está bè, el meu amor...está bè.” she whispered in my ear and gently she took the knife from my hand. I was so angry, I could feel the pulse in my head begin to throb and tears came unbid to my eyes, though they did not fall.
“There are things that you do not understand, Vega. Things that I could not tell you...”
I turned to her and she took my hands. I stared into her eyes and I could scarcely process what she was saying. She put her hands on my face and pressed her forehead to mine; I looked down.
“T'estimo...”
“Més que la meva vida.” I finished her sentence. She smiled and replied,
“No. Més que a mi mateix.”
I looked at her and yet with all of her affectionate reassurance, something did not feel right. Her words did not truly register in my mind.
She kissed me and I felt nothing but the warmth of her lips against mine. It was as meaningless as any other physical gesture from someone else; my heart did not lift from my chest, nor did the tears vanish from my eyes.
My mother turned back to Marc Antoní, who stood in his usual smugness.
“We'll stay...for now.” my heart stayed at the bottom of my stomach. She took my hand and led me back up the stairs.

TO BE CONTINUED...

“T'estimo...” - I love you
“Més que la meva vida.” - More than my life
“No. Més que a mi mateix.” - More than myself
- 15
- 16
- 17
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Origins of the Spanish Ninja:Tastes Like Red Wine