The Dead World Ch. 09

"Do you want me to rip it off of you? Stay fucking still."

He wouldn't tell her again. She turned her head away from him, glaring at the door, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. The chill of the air erupted little goosebumps over her bare flesh as he pulled the shirt up and over her golden tanned skin, the folds bunched against her neck.

His eyes swept over her collarbone and to the fullness of her bust—plump, full breasts with cute brown nipples. It was a wonder no one had noticed before, they were more than even a gracious handful... but he was certain she had a few tricks up her sleeves when the group had come along. She hardly looked anything like the young, anxious boy he had met a few weeks back, though he might have thought them related... an older sister... an aunt, perhaps.

As her nipples grew firm in response to the cold, causing her to shiver, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to control her terror. He began to move from on top of her, offering the slightest twinge of anxious relief as he did so, drawing her eyes as he moved to stand. She bitterly grasped the hem of the shirt and began to tug it down.

"Leave it. I told you not to move."

Charlie wasn't wearing anything but that thin bit of material, exposed from the waist down. She might have flushed in embarrassment if she had the blood supply to do so. She fell still and silent, watching him nervously as he took in her mostly nude form. His eyes swept over her flat stomach, the curve of her hips and her plush thighs, drinking in her lissom, feminine physique. A hand had shifted subconsciously to rest over her privates, shielding her pubic mound with its soft, dark curls from his crude inspection, and after what felt like an eternity, he began to move around the bed to the nightstand.

He plucked one of the disposable syringes and the small, milky vial from where Diablo had placed it, plunging the needle into the bottle and tipping it skyward. As he filled the syringe, Charlie once again began to tug the shirt down, shuddering as the cold early winter air filled the room.

"You might be easy on the eyes, but you don't listen for shit. I guess it doesn't matter right now. You'll learn how to behave... soon enough." He turned back to the bed and slowly moved to sit beside her, smirking as she thought to withdraw away from him. "You're really weak right now. You're not going anywhere like that... Barely hanging on by a thread. Heh, you're in a lot of pain, too, after that last little trip, aren't you? Good. You deserve it."

"Fuck you, Skully."

"We'll get to that," he sneered. He took her arm despite her attempts to pull free, and jerked her closer. He plunged the syringe none too gently into the first visible vein at her forearm, and she sucked a harsh breath through her teeth as she fought to break away from him. She didn't need to bother, not for long.

He released her wrist and watched as the rush of euphoric bliss washed over her and robbed her of the prangs of pain he'd stirred up earlier while taking advantage of the open wound. "You were smart to try and hide from us, but that's all over now... and oh, the things I'm going to do to you... and when I'm done, I'll let the boys have their fun, too. It's been a long, long time, Charlie, since any one of us has seen something as pretty as you. Do yourself a favor... be a good girl."

Her pattern of breathing slowed, and her eyelids dropped low as she cursed at him and made a solid attempt to drag herself from the bed and get away from him. She'd only gotten so far as to pull herself to the edge and struggle to stand before the much taller man stopped her, pushing her back into the bed firmly, back down among the feather-down pillows. He even thought to draw the blanket up and over her as she began to teeter the edge of consciousness.

"Get some rest, little dove. You won't be any fun all doped up and unable to fight back... No... when you're up again, and active... we can get to know one another a little better."

"Fuck you..."

He chuckled wickedly and turned to close the balcony doors for her before quietly unlocking the door and disappearing into the dark hall.

The room fell quiet again but was in no way comforting. She gritted her teeth, and felt the threat of tears welling in her eyes, trying her best to form a coherent thought as the twisting sensation of euphoria swept over her. Her heart rate began to slow despite her best attempts at remaining alert and conscious. What if he came back? What could she possibly do to stop him?

Charlie rose with a start.

The sound of the door closing faintly had ripped her from her hazy sleep, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the sun peered brightly through the balcony door windows. She shot up to sit, ignoring the dull ache, and gathered the thick comforter close before shooting a wary glare at Diablo as she made sense of where she was and the time of day. The Spanish man smiled sympathetically, and slowly made his way to the side of the bed. He was carrying something with him, the medic bag looped over his shoulder.

"Buenos dias—uhm... Good morning?"

"Get out," She snapped at him impulsively, watching him with troubled distrust as he carefully slid a tray onto the table beside her. Her eyes couldn't help but dance to the assortment of sliced apples, root vegetables and leafy greens from the greenhouse. He'd scrambled eggs alongside strips of venison, the scent pleasant enough to ignite the prang of hunger in her stomach. She tried to think back to the last honest meal she had. She could barely recall it at this point.

He took a few certain steps back, bringing his hands up as if to show her he meant no harm, not having the slightest idea about the things that had transpired during the wee hours of the morning. She looked unsettled but, well... who could blame her?

"Okay... but I should probably change the dressing, at least... and give you something for the pain—you don't want it to get infected, trust me."

"I can do it myself—and I don't want any more fucking drugs..." she insisted with a scowl.

Diablo frowned a bit and shook his head gently. "I mean, not unless you got another pair of arms. I, uh... I see Dog got the shirt on you? You'd just have to turn around, no need to take it off, just pull it up a little so I can reach your shoulder. I'll be quick about it."

She hesitated at first, unable to keep her eyes from dancing to the plate he'd brought. Her mouth was watering.

He blinked in realization before shaking his head. "Oh—shit, yeah, go ahead, sweetheart... probably starving huh? You've been out damn near two days now. I know you and Dog didn't have much with you on the road..."

"My name... is Charlie. Don't call me anything but Charlie." The tense agitation in her tone inspired him to nod his head firmly.

"Right, my bad..." He had never felt more awkward in his life. Diablo stepped back once again as she reached for the plate, taking the fork and all but devouring the first few bites in between breaths, not daring for a moment to let Diablo out of her sights should he be up to no good.

She looked very, very different not suited in men's clothing with a heavy cap over her head. Far more delicate and easy on the eyes. He wouldn't have ever expected such long hair to be hiding under the oversized beanie and certainly hadn't noticed her thick eyelashes or soft pink lips shaped like a cupid's bow before. The color was coming back to her golden complexion which had gone so very pale when Slash and Dog rushed her back.

He turned his eyes away from her quickly, uncertain of what to do with himself now. He didn't want her struggling to take care of the injury alone, but she very clearly didn't want his help. As the discomfort of standing in the presence of the lone, aggressive female grew, Diablo expelled a breath and shook his head as he turned to leave.

"I'll leave you to it, alright? Oh... the boss said to leave you one of these." He drew the tall black walkie from his back pocket, and carefully placed it on the foot of her bed. "If y'know... you need someone or anything, just say the word."

"...You're just going to change the bandage... right? Do it... then leave." Her voice even sounded different now, not by much, but it was certainly far less low, mousy and demure. Her words were sharp and irate. She had every right to be aggressive... Slash had damn near killed her, after fucking with her nearly the entire time they'd been at the resort.

Diablo hesitated, stroking back his straight black hair from his face nervously with a heavy sigh. He didn't want to be anywhere he was unwanted, and frankly how tense and uncomfortable she seemed was making him uncomfortable. I knew I shoulda had Ruthless come along...

"...You sure?"

"Just do it," She groaned between another mouthful of venison, crossing her legs and carefully stuffing the blanket around her thighs as she settled with the tray upon her bed. She set aside the fork as he nodded firmly, and scooted across to the right side of her bed, carefully drawing up the back of her shirt. Her left hand rose instinctively to gather the material in one spot against the back of her neck, munching away at an apple slice she rapidly stuffed between her lips, feeling far less ravenous not even halfway through the plate. A long time between meals had a habit of doing that to you.

He carefully shifted through the medic bag, placing vinyl gloves on and drawing the bottle of liquor with its heavy alcohol content from within, soaking a clean white towel. With as delicate a hand as he could, he peeled the gauze away, noting that it was saturated with her blood. He frowned slightly.

"You should try to avoid using this arm if you can. You're bleeding again..."

"No fucking shit," Charlie growled, wanting to insist she hadn't done a damn thing to cause the blood flow to resume to the area. Diablo didn't give her a warning before the sting of the alcohol cleansing the wound caused her to flinch and curse aloud, the hand holding her shirt tightening violently. "God-fucking-damn-it-that-fucking-BURNS!"

"You shoulda let me give you something for the pain. Hard to tell if Slash hit anything important... There's a couple arteries in this area if I remember right, and judging by the blood you lost, you're not gonna be in the clear for a while... even with the cauterization.. I did my best not to leave it too ugly," Diablo sighed, his matter-of-fact tone doing little for her discomfort.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the damp towel dabbing away at the rough patch of the open wound. He placed the towel at the bottom to catch the flow of the grain alcohol as he tipped the bottle to let it rinse over the wound, and afterwards was quick to lay another few pieces of sterile fabric over it, carefully applying medical tape to hold the bandages in place.

"Right, all clean chica."

She dropped her shirt and greedily took the fork once again, stabbing a few bits of scrambled egg and guiding it sourly into her mouth. She wanted to bring up Skully... but, in all honesty... she couldn't remember much of anything he had said to her the night before between doses of morphine. Just the feeling of absolute sickening dread and fear and the surges of pain, and the fact that it had been he who inflicted it upon her.

She wasn't certain if anything would be accomplished by telling Diablo—or telling any of them for that matter—aside from perhaps implanting similar horrendous ideas into the minds of the other men... and so she was quiet about it for now.

"...Thanks." Her bitter expression of gratitude came as she took a few apple slices, shoving them none too gracefully into her mouth, and Diablo smiled, amused. He wasn't sure why it made him happy to see her with an appetite. Perhaps because the first time he'd really seen her she was gushing blood and knocking on death's door. Survivors were too few and far between these days—women more than anything.

"If you don't want the juice, I have painkillers you can take with water. They aren't as strong. Shit tends to be less effective after sitting for six years, but it'll get the job done. You need water as often as you feel like drinking, you lost a lot of fluids and blood... I'm sorry I can't run an IV or anything like that. Just gotta make the best of what I got. So... Eat. Water. Rest. That's all you need to be doing the next few weeks... you do that and it'll heal up in two-three months..."

"Gee thanks, Doc. I can't really feel my fingers... is that normal?"

He nodded solemnly as she flexed the digits of her right hand slowly. "Good chance you're gonna end up with nerve damage... but, hey... at least you still got the arm. Rest up. I'll come back later with another plate if you want it."

"...Can you take it to Dog?"

He frowned a bit, not wanting to give her any bad news. She'd find out soon enough once she spoke to Oz, especially after the group had met and decided the fates of everyone involved in the last serious spat. He carefully tucked materials back into the medic bag, taking one of the disposable coffee cups to tilt a bit of the liquor into it and placing another dressing aside it.

"This is for the other end—I stitched it up best I could, so just rinse it and you should be fine—don't drink this... shit's not only like drinking jet fuel, but it's all I got in the way of cleaning injuries... and you know... descansar, por favor."

He closed the door quietly after him, leaving Charlie to her rest. The moment he had departed, she carefully moved aside the tray with the plate, taking the bottle of water and bringing it to her lips to drain nearly the entire thing as she moved to the door. She turned the lock and slid the chain in place, glancing to the balcony and moving as quickly as her little feet would carry her to lock that door as well.

With a heavy heart, she moved back to the bed. The room was significantly smaller than the one she had claimed as her own so many years ago... It felt foreign, angled away from the sea, and dreadfully exposed. Anyone could walk into this room if they wanted to.

Her appetite faded away as she looked to the nightstand, where several long white pills had been placed aside the half-filled vial and handful of syringes. She wanted to flush the shit, she truly did, but the fact that the material didn't belong to her was the only thing stopping her. The last thing she wanted was for any of them to be pissed or think she owed them anything. She'd have to be very, very careful these next few days if she meant to make it out of this most unfortunate situation.

She took her time nibbling from the plate until she had eaten all that she could, depositing the plate into the mini refrigerator nestled beneath the entertainment stand, certain she'd be back at munching on it later.

She fumbled through the drawers and finally pulled a few suitcases from under the bed in her search for clothing, finding an assortment of options from the ill-fated vacationers—mostly swimwear and beach attire. It was better than nothing.

Charlie fitted a pair of black bikini bottoms on before pulling the soft fabric of black yoga pants onto her petite, toned legs and swapping out the oversized and bloodied white crew neck shirt for a loose-fitting red and white Hawaiian print shirt that had belonged to a rather hefty man many years ago. It draped off of her slim frame comically. She did the buttons haphazardly, forgoing the bikini top for the fact that she didn't want a damn thing pressing against the injury.

Where the fuck are my boots? She wasn't even certain where she meant to go. She all but tore about the room looking for her effects—Matt's hunting knife, her leather jacket—her things were missing, and she wasn't at all pleased about it. With a frustrated groan, Charlie realized she had stopped in her search, sinking down to sit on the carpeted floor almost winded from the simple task of moving about the room.

Pain streaked from the wound, burning and pulsating to the point she couldn't ignore it any longer. She glanced back at the assortment of painkillers on the table and with bitter resolve, moved to take one, and then another, swallowing them down rapidly. With a frustrated sigh, she sprawled on her stomach on the bed and spent a long time simply lying there, glaring at the walls of the room as she tried to decide her next course of action.

"...You fuckers still here?" She had grasped the walkie-talkie from its place, holding the button as she spoke into the microphone. There was a moment of static before the device lit up.

"Still here. Over." It was Oz.

She noticed the soreness and burning sensation of the cauterized wound had faded, slightly improving her mood. After a long moment of debating whether it was wise or not, she brought the walkie to her mouth. "I want my shit back. My boots, my jacket, my gun... my room. I don't feel safe here."

There was silence for a long few minutes before the static on the other end crackled, and the tired voice of the older man answered her calmly. "Roger that. I'm coming down."

"Just leave it at the door." She insisted.

"We need to talk... if that's alright." Oz returned gently.

She groaned. She didn't want to talk to anyone, but she had half figured that would be coming. Oz wasn't going to just hand her the means to cause trouble without having a few words with her. She paused and set the walkie aside, training her eyes on the door anxiously. I should have told him to bring Danny... Fuck...

It seemed no time before there was a quiet knock on the door. She was reluctant to open it and did so with just enough space to peer through to the other side, making out the face of the older Callaghan there with several items in hand. At his back, the tall blonde Russian shadowed him, as did the slim Spanish medic. She assumed they joined him for good measure, for safety... but the safety of who she wasn't entirely certain.

"Put it down... and move back there. Way back there."

Oz did as the curly-haired woman directed, watching Charlie reach through the door first to grasp her pistol, closing it quickly. Ruthless tensed visibly as the door slammed. With the black handgun in her hand she checked the chamber and the clip, pleasantly surprised Oz had delivered her the gun still loaded. Carefully tucking it into the waistband of her yoga pants, Charlie took a deep breath and removed the security chain and deadbolt lock, swinging the door open.

"Alright... come in. Keep your distance—wait no... you... you guys wait out there..."

Oz's men looked at him cautiously, and he nodded his head, not at all threatened by the dainty thing that was Charlotte. He didn't get a dangerous aura from her, he never had... If anything, the only way she would think to act violently would be out of retaliation. She was clearly fearful, and he was willing to do anything he could to ease her worries.

He slowly stepped forward and she gestured to the chair near the door, meaning for him to prop it open, before slowly backing away. Matt's leather coat was all but caked in her blood, reminding her now exactly why it wasn't with her. Her boots on the other hand, were fine and intact, however worn they already were. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed and watched as Oz slowly sank to sit at the chair in the doorway. He offered her a gentle, comforting smile.

"Good to see you up and about..."

"I guess..." She fidgeted uncomfortably, her gaze hard on his face, looking very much like an angry child. It was hard not to chuckle.

"It's alright, Charlie. No one's going to hurt you."

"Oh really? That's funny... your brother seems to think differently." She set the moment for tension, watching as Diablo and Ruthless shifted nervously out in the hall, inadvertently listening in. Their movement, however, inspired her to take her gun in hand, carefully angling it toward the ground.