It's Irresistible

The nightclub is dark, lights placed strategically and dim, which makes it easy for him to watch his target. Bex asked him not to follow her, so Victor didn’t follow her. He has his own errands to run. Eric Mason owes Cobblepot money, for what Victor really doesn’t care, but he’s here instead of paying up. In about a minute, Eric Mason and the girl he’s talking to will disappear into one of the back rooms. Ten to fifteen minutes after that, Eric Mason will slip out the back door into the alleyway behind the building. That’s where Victor will catch up to him. For now, he’s going to enjoy his drink and hope that it’s strong enough to make him forget this stench in his nose.

“Oh, Joey, you’re so bad!” The voice is high-pitched, girlish, and followed by a drunken giggle. Joey Solomon, the owner of The Empire, must be auditioning a new girl. Victor would pity her, but the girls come to Joey. Not the other way around.

“First pro I’ve ever seen all covered up. Surprised Joe took ‘er,” the bartender mutters. He must’ve seen the look on Victor’s face when the girl’s laugh echoed throughout the space.

Covered up? The girls here just have a few pieces of strategically placed fabric. Victor turns around on the stool and seeks out the source of that annoying laugh. In one of the corner booths, Joey is sitting with a woman placed firmly in his lap. The woman’s back is to him, so all he can see is pale blonde hair and dark blue fabric. She really is all covered up. There’s a few rips in the fabric along her arms and ribs, but she’s mostly completely covered. Definitely not the norm. Joey looks up and catches Victor’s eye, so Victor just smiles and raises his glass. Joey knows better than to try and kick him out; Joey pays his dues to Penguin, just like everyone else in town.

“Another.” Victor keeps his eyes on the back booth as his drink is poured, and he’s just raising it to his lips when Joey leans forward to whisper in the girl’s ear. That ear-piercing laugh shoots through the room again, and the girl flaps a hand at Joey’s chest. The owner says a few more words, and the girl slowly gets to her feet. She’s naturally short, but the heels she’s wearing make her look like a skyscraper. The dark dress hugs her curves, and Victor watches as she slowly turns to face him.

Bexley.

Even from this distance, he can see the fire in her eyes. Joey gives her a quick slap on the ass, and she turns to look down at him. Her arm lifts, to blow Joey a kiss, and she slowly starts walking towards him. He can barely recognize her. Her hair is blonde instead of brown, and longer, so that it nearly reaches her hips. He can’t see any evidence of scars or tattoos through the rips in her dress, and the scars on the bottom halves of her legs have been hidden somehow. Makeup? Even the way she walks is different. Normally she walks like she doesn’t have a care in the world, or she’s skipping. Now she’s walking with a purpose.

She easily moves between his splayed legs and drapes her arms loosely around his shoulders. The height of her heels puts them at eye-level, and her chest pushes against his as she leans forward. She smells like cheap whiskey and cherries, like any other common working girl, and her red lips brush the shell of his ear as she leans in.

“Ol’ Joe wants me to take you in the back. Says you make his customers uncomfortable. Is that true?” Her nose brushes his cheek when she pulls back, and she winks over his shoulder at the bartender. Victor listens to the man walk away and then meets her eyes.

“Just here to have a drink.” Her eyes flash, he can see the dark shift behind the average color, and one hand drifts over his shoulder and down his chest.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a drink with me?” Her hand lands on his thigh, too high up to be anywhere near proper, and he looks past her to see Joey watching them. If he turns her away, it could blow her cover. Also, he wants to talk to the real her. Not the girl she’s pretending to be. He turns his head to the side to finish his drink and then grabs the hand still holding onto his thigh. She giggles, a high-pitched sound that makes him want to take a drill to his eardrums, as he pulls her towards the back. They’re both quiet as they walk through the back hallways, and Victor pulls her into an empty room.

“This is your big plan?” Bex seems to shake herself a little before she smiles at him, and that’s the Bex he knows.

“Joey’s one of the strongest people in the city now; he’s got a solid business and plenty of people to back him up. And he’s got dirt on everybody, so he could get all the big names in his pocket. He needed to be checked out.” She sits down on the bed and crosses her legs, and her skirt moves up to show more of her thighs. He can’t see the scar on her left leg or the tattoo that wraps around her right one.

“So you dressed up as a hooker?” She looks down at herself and shrugs.

“Nobody pays attention to the working girls, unless they want something from them. I’ve been at Joey’s side most of the night, with a clueless look on my face and giggling whenever he says something that he thinks is funny. Did I sound really bad?” He moves over to sit down next to her, and she drops her head onto his shoulder.

“Your laugh had me contemplating suicide.” She lightly punches his arm, without moving away from him, and sighs. “What did you find out?”

“We’re gonna have to kill Joey Solomon.” Simple statement.

“Are we?” She sits up and turns to look at him, and he’s not sure if he likes her all painted up. She’s easier to read when her face is bare.

“You might as well help me now that you’re here. You didn’t follow me, did you?”

“I have my own business to attend to, but it can wait.” Her eyes light up at that, and she quickly moves to her feet.

“Okay, so, here’s the plan…”


As luck would have it, he runs into Eric Mason as soon as he steps out of the room. He’d been in the room across the hall, and the man’s eyes widen when he realizes who‘s standing across from him. He feels Bex slip past him as Eric takes off running, and he bares his teeth at Bex before chasing after him. He catches up with Eric in record time, and the man shakes with fear as he hands over the money he owes. Victor was hoping he wouldn’t hand it over so easily, so he could rough him up a little. Eric trips his way down the alley, and Victor moves back into the building.

“The danger is, I’m dangerous, and I might just tear you apart.”

There’s a stage placed in the back of the room, and there’s a single light highlighting the lone figure standing dead center. Joey’s whole focus is on Bex as she moves to the song, but Victor’s never seen her dance like this. Her body is moving slowly, perfectly timed to the beat, and she hasn’t looked away from Joey.

“I’m gonna catch ya, I’m gonna get ya, get ya. Oh, ah, oh.”

Her hair, which he now knows is a very convincing wig, is disheveled just enough to make it look like she’s been up to no good. Her words, not his. She gracefully slips off the stage but keeps her body moving in time to the pulsing beat, and Victor watches as Joey sits up a little straighter in his seat.

“This is a bad town, for such a pretty face. This is a bad town, for such a pretty face.”

That one line keeps repeating as she lowers herself into Joey’s lap, and her dress moves up as her body continues to move. Joey looks up at her like he’s starving; Victor can see the way the man’s hands shake as they smooth up Bex’s legs. She grabs his hands before they can get too far, before he can feel the scar that she has covered up.

“I wanna taste the way that you bleed, oh. You’re my kill of the…night.”

The room claps as the song ends, and he sees Bex whisper in Joey’s ear before standing up. The man says something to the others at the table, which makes them all laugh, and Bex giggles along. Bex’s hands move over Joey’s chest and arms as they walk away, and Victor waits a few moments before following after them. He sees Bex pull him into a room, and he waits outside for his cue.

Ten minutes later, the door opens and Bex sticks her head out. Her hair is mussed, her lipstick is smudged, and her eyes are wide. She grabs his arm and pulls him into the room, and Victor takes a moment to take in the scene. Joey is tied to the bed with the sheets, wrists to the headboard and feet to the posts at the foot of the bed. His tie is stuffed in his mouth, which is smudged red. His shirt is ripped open, but his pants are still on. Victor looks over at Bex, who shrugs at him.

“Say what you want, but it’s effective.”

“If you say so.” She raises a brow at him and then moves over to the side of the bed. She kneels next to Joey’s side, and Joey’s panicked eyes keep glancing between them.

“Alright, Joe, you remember Victor? You said some not-nice things about him. I think you should apologize.” Whatever Joey says is muffled by the fabric in his mouth, but Bex smiles anyway. “Good job, Joe! Now, it’s time to talk business. I want you listen very carefully so that when I take that tie out, you can give me some honest answers. If you don’t, Victor’s going to take his pound of flesh. Literally.”

“Um phrmse.” It is still muffled but gets the point across, and Victor crosses his arms as he waits for Bex to ask her questions.

“Now, we both know that you don’t have the balls to go after Penguin on your own. Someone is backing you, and I want to know who. Tell me the truth the first time, and you might make it through the night. Ready?” Joey nods his head, and Bex roughly pulls the tie out of his mouth. Joey takes a few seconds to breathe and lick his lips, and he looks up at Bex.

“You’ll pay for this, you little bi—” Bex backhands him so hard that Victor sees blood splatter the wall next to them, and she grabs Joey’s chin to make him face her again.

“We don’t have time for clichés. I really want a shower, so that I can scrub away the feeling of your filthy hands. If you don’t want to tell me right now, that’s fine. I’ll let Victor play for a little while and then ask you again later. It’s completely up to you.”

“Completely up to you,” Victor echoes when Joey looks up at him. The man seems to really think his options over, and he spits out a wad of blood before looking up at Bex.

“His name is Gavin Hawthorne.” Bex goes completely still; Victor can see the tension taking root in her legs, and her hand snaps out to grab Joey’s face.

“Not possible. All the Hawthornes are dead.” Her voice comes out in a purr, and one of her nails digs deep enough into Joey’s cheek to draw blood.

“Whoever took out the Hawthorne family missed one.”

“Current wife. Ex-wife. Mistress. Five children. Six grandchildren. I killed them all.” Victor watches as Joey lets that little revelation sink in, but Bex doesn’t give him a lot of time to process. “What did I miss?”

“He divorced his first wife, and the third wife was killed. The second wife.”

“She died in a car accident, years ago.”

“Falcone had her killed. She was pregnant. All the records show that the baby died with her.” Bex is nearly shaking; her limbs twitch at random intervals, and she’s biting the inside of her lip. She lets go of Joey’s face and sits back on her heels.

“Where is he?” Joey smiles, wide enough to show bloodstained teeth, and looks Bex up and down.

“Let me go.” Bex presses her hands flat against his chest and pushes herself into the air, so that she’s straddling his stomach and has her hands locked around his throat. Her spine curves as she leans over Joey’s face, and her voice is sickly sweet when she next speaks.

“You don’t get to bargain tonight, Joey. For planning to go against Penguin, I was just going to rough you up a little. Cripple you, maybe. Make you see the light but pull you back before you could walk into it. Now? Well, now, everything’s changed, hasn’t it? My entire reputation has been built on total annihilation, and you just told me that I missed one.”

“If you want the last Hawthorne, you need me alive,” Joey hisses.

“If there’s another Hawthorne out there, he’ll find me.” Bex lifts herself up and places both feet back on the ground, and Victor can’t read the look in her dark eyes. She stops next to him but keeps her back to Joey. Her hand reaches up to grab his shoulder, and she leans up to whisper in his ear. “Kill him slowly. See if he squeals.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” That gets a smile out of her, briefly, and she squeezes his shoulder before walking away. He listens to the door close and then smiles at the man still tied to the bed.

“Looks like it’s just you and me.” The thick walls and loud music cover up the sound of screams, and Victor gets to work.


The elevator ride up to the top floor, to Bex, feels like moving through mud. He feels heavy and light, like he can sink into the floor or disappear into nothing. It’s the best kind of feeling. The kind of feeling that only comes after he’s taken his time taking someone apart. He spent an hour with Joey Solomon; he would’ve stayed a little longer, but he wants to see Bex. He barely knows her, but that doesn’t really matter. They work together, better than he thought, and he respects her. Even if she does have a horrible taste in lamps.

“Oh, Victor, look at you. You’re filthy. Go get in the shower. I’ll grab you some clean clothes.” She’s sitting in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal, and she looks like herself again. At least, he thinks she does. She’s wrapped up in a yellow bathrobe with a matching towel on top of her head, but her face is bare. “Quit starin’ and go get in the shower! You look like an extra in a horror movie.”

“Yes, boss.” He hears her laughing as he leaves the room, a loud and carefree sound. Not high-pitched and irritating enough to make him want to rip out her esophagus.

The mirror in the bathroom still has a little steam clinging to it, but the rest of the bathroom looks spotless. He drops his bloodied clothes into a corner and pulls back the polka dot shower curtain. The shower is hot, and he watches the little streams of dark pink wash down the drain. There are two sponges hanging on little hooks; one is dark purple and the other is black. The purple one smells like coconut and vanilla, so he grabs the black sponge to get rid of the day’s dirt. He’s going to smell like Bex, but it’s something that he can live with.

“Water pressure is amazing, huh? Best I’ve ever had.” Victor sticks a hand out of the shower curtain once the water is turned off, and Bex tosses him a towel. Black.

“Is everything you bought me black?” It was hard to keep track of everything that Bex threw into the carts while they were shopping, but he knows that she picked things up for him. He protested, but she said she was free to do whatever she wanted with her own money.

“Most of it. I couldn’t find a black toothbrush, so I got you a red one. Mine’s—”

“Purple?” He pulls back the curtain once he’s sure the towel is secure around his waist, and Bex smiles at him from her seat on the sink counter. She’s still wearing her bathrobe, but her wet hair is free around her shoulders. Such a dark brown that it looks black while it’s wet.

“Good guess!” Her feet are hanging by the cabinet, bare heels lightly banging against it, and there’s a neatly folded pile of clothes sitting next to her. His other clothes, the bloodstained ones, are missing.

“Are you here for a show?” He’s not shy or modest, never has been, but he feels like he should give her a warning before the towel drops.

“Don’t be crass.” She turns around, so that she’s facing the wall with her back to him. It looks like she even has her hands pressed over her eyes. “Did he tell you anything important?”

“He didn’t know where Gavin Hawthorne is. Just that he wants to take over, and he wants to find the person responsible for killing his family.” Black sweatpants, black tee shirt. Next to the sink, there’s a yellow toothbrush holder with blue flowers holding one purple and one red toothbrush.

“I’m sure he won’t be too hard to find. The Hawthornes were not known for their patience,” Bex huffs.

“Should I tell Cobblepot there’s a new player in town?” He moves to stand in the open doorway, and Bex lets her hands fall so that she can see him.

“No. Hawthorne is my problem. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get anywhere near Oswald.” She says things so simply, like she’s declaring an oath. Making a promise. “Follow me!”

She slips off the edge of the counter, grabs his hand, and starts pulling him all through the house. Through the bedroom, down the hallway, down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out onto the patio. He takes a seat at the small table, but he doesn’t get to see what she has set out. As soon as he’s sitting, she moves to sit in his lap. She starts to smile at him but stops, and he’s never seen someone pause mid-smile before. She looks down and bites the inside of her lip, and she moves her hands into her own lap.

“All the touching is weird, huh? I think I forgot what it’s like to be a normal person. The only touch I’ve allowed since I was sixteen came from people trying to kill me and when I used my body to lure people into a false sense of security so I could kill them. Jumping on you and laying on you isn’t normal, is it?”

She’s starving for touch and affection; he figured that out not even a full hour after meeting her. After figuring out who she is and what she’s done, he’s not surprised at all. Orphan. Assassin. At sixteen, she went on a killing spree that nearly tore her apart. The scars might be smooth now, but he knows that they carry an ache deep inside. He likes his personal space, but he doesn’t mind her presence. She skips too much and likes to sing off-key, but she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty and finish a job. She’s the boss. He belongs to her.

He must have taken too long to think it over, because she starts to move. He reaches out to stop her, and his hand meets warm skin instead of that obnoxiously colored bathrobe. Top of her left thigh. Thick scar tissue, ridged despite the passing of time. A burn that healed badly. It spans the width on top of her thigh and is nearly as long as his palm; his fingers are spaced apart, so that his pinky finger is brushing soft skin under the scarred flesh. Bex freezes on top of him, and he tightens his grip.

“Is anything about us normal?” Her smile is a little shaky as she places her hand on top of his, and maybe he’s a little touch starved too. No one wants to get close enough to touch a monster.

“I guess not. Thank you, Victor.” She’s unsettled, probably from the news about Hawthorne. They’ll have to deal with him, sooner rather than later. “Did you have time to make a mark?”

“Not yet.” The answer slips out before he’s fully processed the question, and Bex twists around in his lap to reach the table. He moves to the side to get a look and sees the first-aid kit she pulled out last night. There’s the usual things that you expect to find in a first-aid kit, bandages and alcohol pads, but the knife that Bex pulls out isn’t part of the usual.

“May I?” He always makes his own tally; it’s part of his own personalized ritual. The people that know about it don’t ask about it, and he can’t picture anyone else ever daring to ask him to let them be the one to do the honors.

His throat feels tight and his skin is too hot. He nods his head and feels cool fingers running along his left arm. Bex laces her fingers through his and raises his arm, and her brows draw together in concentration. They both stop breathing when the knife touches against his skin, and he watches the way that the still healing four cuts split as the now fifth line cuts through them. The pain is secondary; his main focus is on the way Bex cradles his arm and the way her eyes widen as a line of blood streaks across his skin. She keeps his arm held straight out as she turns to get the alcohol pads and a Band-Aid, and he stays still as she works. It’s another one with multi-colored peace signs.

“Why?” It’s the only word he can really get out, because he’s still confused about what just happened. Bex closes the kit, the quiet snapping sound is loud to his current over sensitive hearing, and turns back around to face him.

“I asked you to take care of Joey, and you did. For me. I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” She did. When he mentioned that he was tired of changing bosses, she promised to commit fully and to take care of him. He thought she was joking, or possibly insane, but she meant what she said. His hands raise up to cup her face, gently like she’ll break if he uses too much pressure, and her hair is still wet. He pulls her face down until her forehead presses tight against his, and she smells so clean. Coconut and vanilla.

“Thank you, Bex.” He’s not going to say it out loud, but he’s committing fully. To her.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed. It’s been a really long day.” He moves one arm under her knees and swiftly moves to his feet, and Bex gasps before laughing. She manages to snag the first-aid kit before he can walk away, and she drops her head onto his chest as he walks inside.

She started the day by killing four men, furnished an entire penthouse suite, seduced one of the more powerful criminals in Gotham, and got his loyalty. Yes, it’s been a very long day. Bex tosses the kit onto her dresser, and she seems to burrow into her blankets after he sets her on the bed. The size of it is still ridiculous. No one needs a king-sized bed. He pulls the blanket up to her chin, and it gets a smile out of her just like he thought it would. Once she is completely tucked in, he turns around and walks back to the door. He turns the light off and starts to leave, but something makes him stop. She doesn’t call out his name or make any other kind of noise, but he can hear her crying out just the same. It was the look in her eyes, when she tried to move off of him.

“Move over.” She scoots over without a word, and he’ll bet his favorite knife that she’s smiling right now. He’s always slept on his back, so it doesn’t take him long to lay down and pull the blankets over himself. He waits a moment and then feels her searching hands. She pats him down, to see how he is lying, and then moves over to his side. She’s still wearing the fluffy bathrobe, and her drying hair brushes against his chin. One arm reached across him to the bedside table, and music fills the room a moment later. Classical. Soft.

“G’night.”

“Goodnight.”


“—found dead. No one knows what happened.” The hand holding the phone tightens, enough to make the plastic creak, but Gavin Hawthorne quickly gets himself under control.

“Natural?” The pause over the line makes him grit his teeth; he doesn’t like waiting for his answers.

“Not natural, sir. It, uh, it looks like…”

“Like. What.” With every passing second, it feels like fire is moving through his veins. He never should have hired that idiot, even if he is from Gotham and knows the area better than any of Gavin’s own men.

“Like someone tore him apart. And, uh, there’s a message. For you. Looks like Joey wrote it right before he died. In blood. In his own blood.” The guy sounds like he’s headed for a nervous breakdown. Is this his first crime scene?

“What is it?”

“Zsasz. It just says Zsasz.” He knows that name. He’s one of Falcone’s enforcers. If Galvin isn’t mistaken, Zsasz is the one that killed Nathan’s hired man after Nathan’s failed attempt to take over from Falcone.

“I’ll be there soon. Get a house ready for me.”

“Sir, no offense, but Victor Zsasz ain’t like normal people.” Definitely panicking.

“Oh? Then what is he?” He meets his wife’s eyes across the room and nods his head; they’ll be leaving for Gotham immediately. She turns around and leaves the room, and Gavin waits for the man to spit out whatever it is he has to say.

“A monster. He’s not a man, he’s a monster.”

“Then I’ll hunt him down like one.”