What The Cat Dragged In Ch. 20


Müller got up. "Keep going." The order was delivered sharply.

The door crashed inward before he could reach it. Kelly was sure she heard Victor's roar. That was impossible, but the rough hands had left her body. She shifted as far away as she could and curled up tightly, her hands protecting her head. She heard screaming and the sickening sound of bodies hitting the floor and bones breaking. Müller started to scream for help. She heard something that sounded like melon splitting against the ground and then there was silence.

She ventured a glance. Her vision was blurred with tears, pain and fear, but she could make out someone walking toward her. She had no strength left to fight. She started to whimper and squirm away.


It sounded like Victor, but it had to be a trick, either one they were playing or one from her own mind. A clawed hand stroked the outside of her thigh. It was the first time she'd been gently touched in what seemed like ages. A soft purring growl vibrated the air around her. Kelly lowered her arms slowly. Her vision was blurred, but she could make out the familiar, hulking shape above her.

"Victor?" The word gurgled in her throat. She started to shiver.

"It's me, kitten." She heard his voice crack.

Kelly moved closer and groaned. Her muscles trembling. "Thought you were dead." She started to cough again.

"Didn't take." He unlocked her wrists first. Kelly knew he was being careful, but when he pulled the metal bars out of the wounds they'd created, she couldn't help but cry. "Told you nobody's figured out how to kill me yet." He put his coat over her and moved down to her ankles.


She was dying. Creed could fucking smell it starting to gather around her. Her hair was matted with blood, both of her eyes nearly swollen shut. What little he could see of her right eye was completely red from burst blood vessels. From the quality of the bruises on her torso he suspected she was bleeding internally too. The other cuts and bruises were too numerous to list, but some of them were infected already. He'd delivered fatal beatings that left less severe injuries.

Creed heard someone walking down the hall. He turned quickly.

"All the video is on live feed-" Conlon stopped in the doorway. "Jesus Christ."

"Get the fuck out. Get back to the truck and start it."

She looked up at him with unfocused eyes. "Where-"

"Taking you to a hospital, just hold on."

"Can't walk." She was barely conscious.

"Think I don't know that?" He fought to keep his tone normal. Upsetting her wasn't going to do a goddamn bit of good. He moved his arms under her and lifted as he stood.

She cried out in pain. The bullet that had torn through his head had hurt less. He moved as fast as he dared through the claustrophobic complex. When they emerged into the frigid night, he held the frail closer to his chest. She started to shiver anyway. He kept up a soothing growl and supported her head as best he could. When he got back to the rented SUV, Conlon was waiting. He got into the back, the frail cradled in his lap.


Conlon drove out of the secluded turn-off and onto the main road. "Fifteen minutes." He said.

"Fifteen-?" The frail was mostly unconscious. She was trembling; her breathing was shallow and irregular. He scanned the countryside. "That ain't gonna cut it. Take the next right."

"But that's-"

"I know where it goes. Just take the fucking right." His voice was low, dangerous. He shifted carefully and pulled the phone off of his belt. He searched through the directory until he found the number he wanted. He dialed.

Each time it rang unanswered, Creed felt the pain his chest increase.

In the middle of the fourth ring, the phone was answered. "Charles Xavier."

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