It's Irresistible

A light touch against her right collarbone, firm enough to register but not light enough to tickle, wakes her up. She shifts her legs under the sheet as she sighs, and her toes curl as the light touch moves down her sternum. The touch pauses halfway down the scar, stopped by the sheet, and moves back up. Over across her left collarbone and then up the side of her neck. The side of her neck flares with heat and a little throb of pain, even at the slight pressure, and her back arches up as a quiet groan slips out. She opens her eyes as she settles back down against the mattress, and she lets her head roll to the side so she can meet Victor’s eyes with her own. The move leaves the left side of her neck exposed, and Victor lays his palm flat against the dark purple mark. (She has to cover it up at night before she goes to Oswald’s, and it takes a lot of carefully applied makeup to keep the dark hickey from being seen. Maybe, by tomorrow night, she won’t have to hide it anymore.)

“Good…” She trails off as she leans up to look over Victor’s body, at the clock on the bedside table, and she flops back down after taking in the bright red numbers. “Afternoon. Sleep okay?”

“Mhmm.” His eyes are focused on the side of her neck, and she can feel his finger tracing the outline of his mark. It seems like she’s not the only possessive one in this relationship of theirs.

“Do you have to go work on Mark?” He meets her eyes then, and she smiles at him as she shifts around so that she’s lying on her side instead of her back. Her bare legs tangle with his, and she reaches over to lay her fingers against his chest. Maybe she dug her nails in a little too deep?

“I do, but I’ll be back at seven-thirty.” She raises a brow at that and curls her fingers so that she can lightly touch her fingertips against the four lines going down the left side of his chest.

“Why then? I have to be at Oswald’s at nine.” Oswald asked her to come by an hour earlier than usual, and she usually gets there a little before ten. The band that plays is excellent, so they rarely need a lot of time to prepare before she starts singing.

“Because we’re going to dinner.” She lets her hand slide off his chest and down onto the bed, and her fingers run over the raised scars on his left arm. There’s four new tallies carved into his arm after the job he did last night, but he’s lying on them.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Her tone is teasing, but she can feel warmth curling low in her stomach. Assassins on a date…they should have their own movie.

“Am I?” She flips the sheet off of them as she moves to straddle his stomach, and he reaches up to grab her hips on instinct. Her palms press flat against his chest as she leans over him, and she takes a moment to press her lips against his chin before answering.

“I would love to go to dinner with you, Victor, but I have one question first.”

“Yes?” he asks when she doesn’t say anything else. She lowers her body over his, skin against skin, and moves her lips next to his ear.

“Do you have to leave right now?” The hands on her hips smooth up her back and then tangle in her hair, moving her so that he can see her, and she licks her lips as his dark eyes meet hers.

“I think they can wait for me.” Lucky her. That’s just the answer she was hoping for.


That night, she dresses somewhat modestly. The white dress she puts on is tight around her upper body but flares around her hips and thighs, and she pulls on her black leather jacket. She’s shown her arms nearly every night, so she can cover them up for a night. The jacket also has a high collar, just in case the makeup on her neck is degraded from sweat. The black boots she pulls on go over her knees, covering the bottom halves of her legs, which means that most of her body is covered up. The scar on her chest and the tattoo on her right collarbone are still visible though. Once she’s dressed, she brushes her hair out and decides to keep the waves instead of straightening it. After her and Victor become more public, she’ll start wearing it up and out of her way.

At exactly seven-thirty, a knock sounds on the front door. No one has ever knocked on her door, and she turns off the TV before walking over to it. She squares her shoulders and puts on a pleasant smile, and she opens the door with ease. Dark eyes meet hers instantly, and her smile becomes completely genuine as Victor grins at her. He’s dressed in a different suit than the one he left in this morning, and she takes a moment to look him completely over. She loves the way that his clothes fit perfectly, tight in most places, and she tilts her head to the side as she meets his eyes again.

“How lovely to see you again, Victor.” Heat is spreading across her cheeks and low in her stomach, and she feels like giggling. She feels light. Is this how everyone feels on a first date?

“Did you dress up for me?” His tone is teasing, voice low and quiet, and she looks down at her dress.

“Depends. You taking me somewhere good?” He easily turns on his heel, so that his back is facing her, and holds out his arm. She skips forward and loops her arm through his, and she twists around to close the door behind her. He takes her out the front door, instead of through the garage like they normally do, and she pauses outside on the sidewalk. There’s a black car pulled up at the curb, and Jade is standing next to the open back door.

“Good start?” Victor asks and looks down at her. Jade’s face is blank, but Bex is sure that the woman is laughing internally. There’s a glint in her eye.

“I’m starting to think that you’re secretly a romantic.” Victor makes a quiet sound as he pulls her towards the car, and she sits down first and scoots over to make room for him. Max is in the front seat behind the wheel, and the car starts after Jade sits in the passenger seat.

"We said we’d go public, so we’re going public,” Victor says after the car is moving down the street.

“He’s like a teddy bear!” Jade calls out and starts laughing.

“That kills people,” Max adds. Bex laughs as she meets the woman’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and Max glances away a moment later to focus on the road. “And you look great, Miss Bex.”

“Yeah, you’re killin’ it,” Jade laughs. Bex’s laugh escalates as Victor rolls his eyes, and the rest of the ride is filled with quiet talk and the three women doing their best to annoy Victor. Going by the small tick in his jaw, Bex thinks they’ve succeeded.

Once they reach their destination, Jade easily hops out and holds the door open for them. Bex is amazed at the way the woman can go from mad giggling to coldly impassive from one moment to the next, and she quietly thanks her after she’s standing on the sidewalk. In front of a small restaurant. Victor laces their arms together and walks her inside, and she looks around the empty room. There’s one table set up in the middle of the restaurant, with plates of food and drinks already laid out. She turns to look at Victor, and he raises a brow at her.

“I don’t like people,” he states and leads her to the table. She bites the inside of her lip to keep from laughing when Victor pulls her chair out for her, but it’s not because the idea of Victor being gentlemanly is funny. (Although, there is something humorous about a seasoned assassin treating her like some kind of high society lady.) She feels so light and airy, like there’s nothing to anchor her down.

“How’d you swing this anyway?” she asks after Victor sits down across from her. When he just looks at her curiously, she makes a point of looking around the very empty room. “No customers, no waiters…it’s like a ghost town in here.”

“I killed the owner’s son-in-law, so he owed me a favor.” She’s starting to think that Victor takes payment in the form of favors, which isn’t a bad way to do business.

“You didn’t kill him here, did you? That’s bad karma.” The food smells so good that she might let that slide, if that is the case, just this once.

“In his office uptown.”

As they eat, Bex questions Victor about some of his other jobs. He worked for Mister Carmine for twelve years, but he only had forty-four tallies when she met him. Only forty-four kills. She accumulated that many just by killing the Hawthorne family, and that’s without including all of the guards and known associates. With a reputation like his, Victor’s body count should be higher. So she listens to him explain his system while she chows down on some kind of expensive steak. Mister Carmine wanted him to train at first and to be well-rounded, so Victor exceeds at more than just assassination. He’s a tracker, a retrieval specialist, and the best questioner and conditioner in the city. (Possibly the country, if she’s being honest with herself.) Victor took care of Mister Carmine’s high profile clients, but he left most of the contracts to his girls. To train them. Teach them.

“Can I ask one more thing?” Their food is gone now, and she needs to be at Oswald’s soon. Victor leans back in his chair as he looks at her, and she stretches her legs out so that she can rest her flats on top of his boots.

“I’m an open book,” Victor says and holds his arms out.

“When Maroni started going after Mister Carmine, when that little gang war broke out, where were you?” As Mister Carmine’s enforcer, Victor should have been at his side the entire time. She knows that Victor wasn’t there though, and she hasn’t been able to think of a reason why.

“After Maroni’s first attack, Falcone arranged to have his staff relocated. It was my job to get them out of Gotham safely. He didn’t want any of them to be used against him,” Victor explains. The simple explanation makes her throat and chest feel tight, and she glances down at the expensive white tablecloth.

“He’s gotten sentimental in his old age, huh?” Her voice sounds thick, possibly a little watery, and she makes herself look up and into Victor’s eyes. Mister Carmine’s entire household staff was killed once, so he had his best killer get them out of danger when the shit hit the fan. It was a foolish move and not very strategic, but it makes her respect the older man even more than she already does.

“I suppose.” Victor says it quietly before he stands up, and she shakes off the weird feeling as her eyes trail up his body. When he pulls her chair out for her, so that she can stand up, Bex springs up and wraps her arms around his neck. The move means that her feet are dangling in open air and that Victor has to wrap his arms tightly around her back to hold her up, and she nuzzles against the side of his neck for a moment.

“Best date ever,” she murmurs before she slides down Victor’s body. It’s also the only real date that she’s ever been on, but she can keep that to herself. Victor’s smile is all teeth as she looks up at him, and they’re both smiling as they walk back outside. Jade is waiting for them when they walk out, and she opens the car door for them with a blank face. After the car starts moving down the street, Jade twists around in her seat and asks Bex how the food was.

“No fair, boss man. How come we don’t get the good food?” Jade raises her shaved brow as she asks the question, and Bex copies the look as she turns to look at Victor as well.

“Yeah, Victor, how come the girls don’t get the good food?” Bex asks. He looks back and forth between them, but Bex can’t read the look in his dark eyes. After a moment, he huffs quietly and pulls his gloves out of a jacket pocket.

“I didn’t realize it was my job to feed them,” he says as he tugs the first glove on.

“You gotta take better care of your girls. Oh! I know! Why don’t the two of you come by tomorrow for breakfast?” Bex asks and looks at both of them. Jade moves to look at Max, and Bex watches on as the two women have a silent conversation with their facial expressions.

“Don’t you mean lunch?” Victor corrects her. She has been waking up later in the day because she stays at Oswald’s so late, but she still has breakfast foods.

“Brunch then,” she compromises.

“We accept your offer,” Jade says with a wide grin. Bex can see both rows of her teeth, and the almost manic grin reminds her of Victor.

“I like her, sir. She’s a keeper,” Max says as the car slows to a stop. The compliment makes Bex feel warm, because she wants Victor’s girls to like her. If they clash and hate each other, it’ll just make things difficult for everyone. Bex likes a challenge, sure, but she doesn’t like difficulties.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Bex says before sliding out of the car. The two women call out a goodbye, and Bex walks towards the front door of Oswald’s with Victor walking right behind her. Once they’re inside the nightclub, she takes a look around. It’s mostly empty. The bartender looks half asleep behind the bar, and there’s voices coming from the back of the club. Oswald’s office. Victor follows her into the office, and Oswald and Butch both look across the room at him. Not at her.

“Need me for anything?” Victor asks when they just continue to stare.

“You’re free tonight, Victor,” Oswald says and then looks at her. “But I would like a word with my singer.”

“Of course, sir.” Bex spins on her toes to face Victor after he speaks, and she can see the question in his eyes as she looks up at him.

“Will you come listen to me sing later?” she asks him. His eyes flick over to Oswald before meeting hers again, and he slowly nods his head.

“Later,” he promises. He raises one gloved hand to grip the right side of her neck, and his thumb brushes under her jaw so that he can tip her head back as he leans down. She makes a quiet noise as he nips at her bottom lip, and she actually stumbles forward a step when he pulls away. With one last look at Oswald, Victor turns on his heel and leaves the room. She waits until he’s gone before turning around to face Oswald, and she lets her tongue swipe across her bottom lip to soothe the small sting there.

“Butch, go see how things are going.”

“Sure thing, boss.” The big guy gives her a look when he passes by, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief, and she doesn’t say anything until she hears the door close a moment later. After that, she lets out a very audible sigh and smiles at Oswald.

“You wanted to talk to me, Mister Cobblepot?” she asks. He smiles back at her, gently, and motions to her usual chair. She skips over to it and flops down, mindful of her dress, and lets a quiet laugh slip out. “Sorry. It’s just…I’ve had a really good day.”

“Which is precisely why I asked you to come in early.” He presses his hands flat against the desk as he stands up, and her head tilts to the side as he walks around the side of the desk. He leans against the front of it, directly in front of her, and she looks up at him.

“I’m not following, Mister Cobblepot.” When he holds his hands out, she reaches out and laces their fingers together without hesitation. The quick response causes him to smile again, and she feels a little more relaxed at the look. She’s at least seventy percent sure that he’s not planning on killing her.

“I wanted to make sure that Victor treated you well. So, how’d it go?” That’s actually really sweet of him. Then again, with Victor’s reputation, he might just be making sure that she’s not irreparably damaged.

“Can we talk openly, sir? No bullshit?” She wants to show Oswald that she’s okay with this world, with Victor’s world. The number one crime boss needs to know that she’s not afraid of the criminal underground. It might also help him open up to her in the future if he knows that she can handle it.

“Of course we can, my dear. Speak your mind.” She tightens her grip for just a moment and makes sure to keep her eye contact constant as she speaks. Liars look away.

“I know Victor’s really good at killing people, and he’s a pretty intense guy. I think his stare alone can make men cry.” She pauses for a minute to laugh quietly and then continues. “But he’s also really sweet. He walked me home last night but didn’t ask to come inside, and he took me out on a date today.”

“Victor Zsasz took you out on a date?” Bex laughs again at Oswald’s incredulous look and then launches into the story, which is all true. She tells him about Victor showing up at her door and taking her to a nice restaurant, where they had a delicious dinner without any interruptions. She keeps her smile sweet with only a little mischief as she talks, and Oswald shakes his head a few times but doesn’t question her story at all.

“I think he might be the possessive type though,” she confesses in a whisper. She’s smiling as she says it, and Oswald raises a brow at her.

“And are you okay with that?” In a way, she likes that Oswald is looking out for her. He only knows her as Bexley Cavanaugh, an orphaned young woman living alone in a new city, and he wants to make sure that she’s okay. It’s nice.

“You know, I think I am. I’m normally not into super macho guys because it gets annoying, but he’s not loud about it like most meatheads. He just radiates aggression naturally. Which probably shouldn’t be a turn-on, huh?” she asks. Oswald laughs at that, quiet and gentle, and he squeezes her hands.

“To each his, or her, own,” Oswald says after a moment.

“He probably looks hot shirtless too.” This time Oswald laughs loudly, completely unrestrained, and Bex joins him. (Even though Bex already knows that Victor looks amazing shirtless. No, better than amazing. Spectacular? Phenomenal? Breathtaking? She’ll have to keep thinking it over.)

“If he causes you any problems, tell me immediately.” Such a good boss. Bex nods at him with a serious look on her face, and Oswald lets go of one of her hands so that he can gently cup her cheek. “You are my singer, and I will make sure that no harm comes to you.”

“Thanks, sir. It’s nice to have someone looking out for me,” she says after he moves his hand off of her face. He’s still holding her right hand, and she likes the point of contact.

“Call me Oswald, Bex.” First name basis already? This really is going her way.

“Thanks, Oswald.”


Brown eyes lazily move around the room, taking in the ostentatious decorations, while waiting. Always waiting. Ten minutes and seventy-three tongue clicks later, the large double doors in the room open. Light colored eyes look away from the decapitated statue across the room and at the newcomer instead, and the man walking into the room is quickly sized up. Few inches shy of six feet. Leanly built, from regular workouts and not hard labor. Thick brown hair. Cold blue eyes. Expensive clothes, tailored specifically. Expensive watch and shoes. Comes from money. Probably used to getting his way.

“You must be Jackson.” Smooth, even voice. Hint of a command. Comfortable giving orders that he expects to be followed without question. “Is that your given name or surname?”

“Does it matter?” He’s reclined back in a large chair, a comfy chair even, and he raises a brow as the man looks him over. Probably checking his boots for dirt. Well, too bad for him because Jackson is a fucking professional which means that he knows how to cover his tracks and therefore not track dirt into overly expensive houses.

“You can tell a lot about a person by their surname. It tells others where they come from.” It sounds like he’s preparing for a speech, and Jackson has very little patience for speeches. Unless he’s making them. He likes making speeches. Listening to them? Not so much. Because rich dudes likes this one always give the same speech about someone doing them wrong and needing to be dealt with. Like a dog that’s shit on the carpet.

“People don’t hire me because of where I come from. They hire me because of what I can do,” he says and watches the man pace in front of the fireplace. An actual fireplace. Sometimes Jackson hates rich people, but they pay the best so he keeps his mouth shut and waits.

“You are highly recommended.” Jackson already knows that. He’s good at what he does, but there is one thing that’s been bothering him since he got the call to come here.

“I am, but I thought Gotham was known for its wide variety of assassins.” The man tenses up at the word, probably doesn’t like the blunt ugliness of it, but Jackson has no problem saying what he is. He also doesn’t have the time or patience to deal with someone who can’t even acknowledge the reason for his presence. Jackson kills people. He’s here because the rich dude obviously wants someone dead.

“Who’s the best hitman in Gotham?” Great, it’s a game of twenty questions. Why can’t clients just give him a job without being dramatic about it? If this turns into a weird game of king of the castle, he’s bailing. No money is good enough to make him listen to that kind of speech.

“I think that’s a matter of opinion.” As an afterthought, he adds cheerfully, “Sir.”

“Off the top of your head, who’s the best assassin in Gotham?” The man turns around to look at him, and Jackson pushes out a breath as he sits up. There’s a whole network of professionals in Gotham, each with their own reputation, and he thinks the names over quickly. There is one name that’s known more than most. He started as Carmine Falcone’s enforcer, the first to get a contract from the mob boss, and he now works for the new mob boss.

“Victor Zsasz,” he says after a moment. He’s never met the man, he’s never set foot into Gotham until two hours ago, but he’s heard others talk about him. Even people who have been in the assassination business for decades call him a monster. Jackson’s kind of impressed by the reputation and is now considering tracking him down for an autograph.

“That’s your target.” Jackson’s eyes narrow as he crosses his arms, because he has his own code. He doesn’t kill other assassins. Not without a good reason. (Can he get an autograph before the hit? Assuming he takes the contract, of course.)

“You want me to kill Gotham’s Boogeyman?” The man huffs in what sounds like annoyance, but Jackson is only stating what he’s heard.

“No, I want you to bring him to me. Alive. I’ll be the one that kills him.” Before Jackson can ask why he wants the hitman dead, the man’s phone rings. He answers it and talks quietly for a minute, and Jackson waits for the call to end. Not patiently, but quietly. Once the call is over, the man smiles and looks over at him.

“Good news?” Jackson asks.

“I know how we can get to the monster.” Jackson still isn’t too sure about this job, but the money is good. Good enough for him to do a little research before making his decision, but this guy doesn’t need to know that he’s still on the fence. He gets to his feet and rolls his shoulders, to release some of his tension, and meets the man’s eyes.

“Where do I start, Mister Hawthorne?”


Just like the previous nights, Bex sings and engages the crowd. She notices when Victor returns close to the end of her time on stage. Two songs after Victor sits at a table with Oswald, another familiar figure slips into the nightclub and sits at the end of the bar. Mark. A part of her is worried that it’s too early for Mark to be out on his own, but she trusts Victor’s judgment. One song after Mark takes his seat, Bex slips off of the stage. She smiles as people touch her and yell over the DJ to tell her that she did a good job, and she’s breathing a little heavy when she reaches the table that Oswald and Victor are sitting at.

Once she’s close enough, Victor extends his arm and carefully wraps his gloved fingers around her wrist while raising a brow at her. She nods even though she doesn’t know what he’s asking, because she trusts him. He pulls on her, quickly without hurting her, and she laughs breathlessly as she lands in Victor’s lap. One of his arms winds around her hips to hold her securely since she’s sitting sideways in his lap, balanced on one thigh, and she wraps her arm around his shoulders.

“Marvelous job tonight, Bex!” Oswald says and pushes a glass of water towards her. She smiles gratefully before chugging some of it down, and she rests more firmly against Victor’s front.

“Thanks, sir!” She dips her fingers under the back of Victor’s collar and twists her smile into something a little less innocent when he looks at her. “Did you like my performance, Victor?”

“I liked the last song,” he says as one gloved hand rests high up on her thigh. Under the hem of her dress. The leather feels good against her skin, but she still wishes that he wasn’t wearing the gloves. She wants to feel his bare fingers denting her skin, but she can wait until they get back home.

“Why don’t you two call it a night?” Bex looks away from Victor, with some difficulty, and over at Oswald.

“Are you sure?” She normally spends a half-hour with Oswald before she leaves for the night, and she doesn’t want to give that up. Especially since she knows that she’ll be going home with Victor no matter what.

“Yes, get out of here!” Oswald says and waves his hand. Well, she’s not going to argue with the boss. She looks at Victor, who shrugs and then shifts so that he can grip her hips and lift her up. Once she’s standing, he stands up as well and moves an arm around her shoulders. Possessive. That’s good.

“I’ll come in a little early tomorrow.” Oswald nods at her, as if saying that’s okay, and Victor starts to walk off. Bex looks over her shoulder to wink at Oswald and then smiles when the crime boss laughs. As they walk through the club, people move out of their way. The people even look down or away, and she wraps an arm around Victor’s back as heat curls low in her stomach.

“It’s you again,” Ivy says when they step outside. The girl is looking up at Victor with no emotion showing on her face whatsoever, and Victor’s arm tightens around her shoulders as he bends to look into Ivy’s eyes.

“I’m paying for your food. You should be respectful,” he says slowly. Ivy wrinkles up her nose and then turns on her heel, and Victor makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a growl. It makes Bex laugh as she follows behind the girl, and Victor is pulled along with her.

“So, you let Mark out,” she says quietly. Ivy is far enough ahead of them that she can’t hear them, so Bex isn’t worried about the girl hearing something that she shouldn’t.

“It’s only temporary. He has to report back to Max and Jade.” Victor’s smile is dark and makes her heart rate increase, and she presses her fingers against his back a little harder.

“What’d you have him tell Hawthorne?” she asks.

“Just that I was spotted with Cobblepot’s nightclub singer.” The look he gives her makes her mouth go dry, and she’d consider dragging him into a dark alley if they weren’t following after Ivy. The girl depends on her for food, and she can control herself until they get home. She’s pretty sure she can anyway.

“You’re walking too slow!” Ivy calls out. Bex noticeably hurries her step, pulling Victor along, and she catches the small twitch of Victor’s lips as they reach Ivy. This just might be her best job ever.