-Verando's POV-

The gray-haired man departs the car, handing the keys to the valet as he enters the rear entrance, then touches a small black device in his ear. "I need someone competent to park my car." He murmurs into the device, light eyes tracking the patrons entering and exiting the venue.

 Evaluating the level of threat and taking inventory of potential adversaries made it difficult to shut off the mentality of being on the front lines.

Verando straightens his jacket, reaching to fasten the watch around his wrist, then flicks the sleeve to check the time. A man rushes out of the rear doors, looking to be in his thirties, dipping his front half to bow in respect. He's dressed in a Lycra bodysuit with a variety of body armor layers covering his vitals and shoulders.

"Mr.Mercer. I apologize, Sir. I-- I lost track of time."

"Hmm. A lack of discipline on your part, I'm sure. Is Ron inside?"

"Yes, sir." The younger man nods, tired already from the stress of the conversation. 

Hesitating, the retired warlord glances slowly up and down the man. "Where is your sister?" 

Widening his eyes, the man's worst fears were realized. "I-- Sir. She did not mean to shoot you- Believe me, she tried to make up for it, but it was too late." He stammers, kneeling before the warlord in a sign of respect, an attempt to appease the beast that was his employer.

Verando rolls his eyes, "For god's sake, have some class, get off your knee. That's a costly suit, and you're supposed to be a professional. You should not beg for the life of others, even if it's family."

Quickly, the man stands, trying desperately to compose his face. 

"Do you know what the problem is, here, Grayson? It's messy. That scene on the beach was an utter catastrophe; you could have so easily been caught if you had been any slower; I hired you to find these lycans as they occur, not chase them to my front doorstep like a bunch of amateurs."

"Sir-"

Verando fastened the mid button of his jacket; it was hard to remember that these people were civilians forced to be mercenaries. He couldn't expect the same from them as those in his own time; even now, he struggled to cope with the shift in humanity's tolerance for anything uncomfortable. 

"You were not needed in that chase with those mutants; I knew exactly where they were without your gallivanting, which served as nothing but a distraction." He narrows his eyes, coming toward the actual reason he felt the need to put the fear of god into this man-child. 

Grayson deflates just slightly, shutting his eyes, knowing the punishment was coming.

 "Your reckless behavior resulted in my lover almost getting hit by a vehicle. Offering to help was not part of the plan; if he had accepted, you would be dead, do you understand?" 

This wasn't about the bullet wound; it was the fact that I had been hurt. 

Someone so precious to him, someone who didn't deserve to be stuck in the crossfire of his misdeeds. The road rash, the near collision with the car, my pain was his pain. 

"Sir." The man nods, exhaling under the weight of the intense stare. "Please. We did not know you were among them, and.. to be honest.. You had disguised yourself to look like them, so we couldn't have known. We thought they had escaped you--"

"Right, well, mistakes can be costly, now can't they?" Verando checks the time once more. "Your sister, Grayson." 

Obediently, Grayson presses a button on his belt to summon her. 

"Your job is to continue to find lycans and direct them to where Helen might discover them, and if at all possible, do not allow my granddaughter to be eaten by these hell beasts. You must work to get to the top when you are the lowest common denominator. 

Prove to me that you have the talents you claim to have, and I'm sure Nicolas will be very interested in meeting you; if there is any truth to your story. I'm not a man who handles disappointment well; you'd do best to refrain from testing my tolerance on the matter."

"I won't let you down again, Sir." Grayson responds.

The older man returns to business as usual when the slender woman appears, her head shaved on one side, and she's dressed very similarly to Grayson. She freezes, and he retrieves a gun from his waistband. 

Before either sibling can react, Verando aims quickly to shoot a glancing blow off her bicep, slicing it but not piercing it. She cries out, snatching her shoulder as Grayson runs to her.

"I know you won't because I just gave you an obvious reminder. Endanger what is mine again, and it will be your last fuck up. I can tolerate mistakes; not the undeniable laziness you've both presented." Flicking the safety on, he returns the gun to its place in his waistband and adjusts the jacket. "Clean up and keep an eye on Helen. I won't need you for the evening."

Grayson leads his sister away as the warlord enters the building, his body practically ablaze with the level of restraint as the wolf inside fans the flames. It feels incredible to be in control, flex his will, and be the dominator once more—the ultimate high, coursing through his veins like a fresh shot to his system. 

Cursing the duo in his head, he steps into the elevator as a short, stout man runs to catch up to him, effectively ending his buzz. 

"Mr.Mercer." The man wheezes, pulling his briefcase up to his rounded stomach.

"Ron," Verando responds dryly, frustrated that he was denied a bask in the afterglow. "I trust that David Malcom has been taken care of?" 

But he already knew the answer because murdering that man was just not possible.

Clearing his throat, the man taps his fingers idly on the suitcase and rocks back on his heels with a casual glance down. His hair is thinning on top, with a small bald spot on the crown of his head. Ron doesn't wear glasses, but one would suspect it's more a matter of style than necessity, given his age. 

This man was a seasoned veteran when it came to dealing with demanding clients, and yet, there were times when he felt unqualified to handle the military-minded individual. 

"Well, not exactly. He's the boss's kid, I can't just ice 'em. There's a protocol, paperwork, besides the fact that your boyfriend likes him or, at least, he did. But, he ain't gonna press charges on ya, so that's a good thing. You're fortunate you got away with what ya did."

A low hum of disapproval rumbles in his throat, a threat to keep his opinions to himself, and he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one and taking a long drag. The New York style accent grating on his ears, messy and harsh, like a bad joke. It tugged on the migraine he was already nursing, a mild withdrawal from only smoking when I wasn't around. 

"Please, Ron, you know I detest this horrid accent. Annunciate. Vowels. He's not my boyfriend; he's damned near my husband. I don't wish to keep correcting you." 

The correction prompts the man to nod hurriedly, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. One could only compare the small space to being in a cage with a wild animal, the calm before the storm, the stillness before the bite.

"My apologies, Mr.Mercer." Gesturing out the door, he allows Verando to go first and sighs with relief to be out of the cramped space with him. "Do you want me to remind you that you asked me to take your cigarettes?" 

It makes him pause, and he exhales, tired already, and the night hasn't even started.

"Yes. Thank you, Ron. Much as I detest your necessity, I really don't know what I'd do without you." 

However, it doesn't sound like a compliment as he retrieves two from the pack and sticks them in his pocket with his lighter before handing it over. Clutching the box, the portly man manages a small smile.

"We'd both be a lot less wealthy, wouldn't you say?" He shakes the pack happily and tucks it into his pocket. "Just a few songs; holograms will take up most of the evening. I got your message that you have a date...? With Mistress Corina? I made your reservation at The Bijou; you're scheduled to leave after the Senator gives his speech. 

I know you don't like to be up all night, can't have ya gettin' any more gray hair! The ladies love this silver fox look." 

Making an amused sound, Verando rolls his eyes and straightens his tie out of habit, as if anything could be out of place with the constant fidgeting. Little did his manager know that this was all permanent.

"Thank you, Ron." 

Maybe he should be more sociable, and perhaps he shouldn't allow himself to revert to old habits just because these people were afraid of him. Allowing his tone to soften, the man uses it to his advantage and elbows him as he waggles his eyebrows.

"And, here's a condom."

Regret burns deep as he thinks of how to cause the short, round man to suffer. "Don't push your luck. I'm marrying a man, do you think I'd want that dried up husk?"

"I just figured.. It's pretty standard for celebrities to have affairs. Besides, you mentioned you have a son, I figured you were bisexual, or maybe just enjoyed having a male companion-"

Rejecting the offer of the rubber, he departs in as much of a foul mood as when he came in.

His music takes on a more sinister tone; the old-fashioned 'rat pack' style of singing, accompanied by actual instruments, was refreshing compared to the techno beats of today's music. Low and slow, singing was something he enjoyed, and while it did him some good to belt it out on occasion, there was more to the drawn-out versions of tonight's verses. 

While Ron inspired him to commit a crime, he was experimenting with the effect of his on-stage presence compared to the number of lycans the singing triggered.

 Would there be more triggers? Was it the sight of him alone or the duration?

Experimenting with the highs and lows, quick and slow, he effectively wore himself down to the negatives in terms of his energy level. Emotionally exhausted, he stole away in the dressing area to watch the remainder of Senator Campbell's speech and eye the crowd from afar. 

"The future looks good on you, Daddy." It takes everything in him not to groan outwardly. Snagging a glass of champagne from a passing tray, he takes a calculated sip. "No Nic, tonight?"

"No, I wanted to speak to you alone. I assumed you wanted the same?"

Red sighs, crossing her arms under her breasts and resting one of her hips as she stands in front of him. Her low-cut dress was picked precisely to leave very little to the imagination. Split over her hips and down the center, it was a wonder it stayed on. "Is talking to me all you wanted to do? I figured I'd offer you an old-fashioned."

With Marisol back in his life, it was hard to compare a woman to what he considered perfection. His cup overflowed with compatible partners. While I was what he yearned for, Marisol had her pedestal deeply ingrained in his mind. The loves of his life, before there was love to be had, this sleazy woman couldn't compare to her or hold a candle to me. 

"I don't have to want for much more; you're practically giving it away with the display you currently have." Verando retorts, silently cursing himself. 

She wouldn't help him if he treated her that way, yet she smiled back at him.

"God, I missed you, you insufferable prick." With an apparent attempt to close the gap between them, Verando offers his arm to thwart her attempt.

"Dinner? I'm famished."

The Bijou, thankfully, isn't far away. It could almost be considered walking distance, if not for the busy streets and the high crime rate. He managed to get the woman to their private booth in the rear of the restaurant, where they'd be least likely to be disturbed. It was one of the few times he was hungry; with the mounting stress, at times, it was difficult to convince himself to eat.

Food was more disappointing than the humans; he felt starved even after consuming a full meal.  The wolf craved living prey; there was little to be found here. With an exhale, he settled for wine instead of bread while waiting for his steak. 

"So, how are you liking the future? Have to admit, I didn't plan on seeing you boys here."

"The better question is, why are you here, Red?" Verando asks her point-blank. 

She sighs, swirling her wine in her glass as she leans on the table, pressing her breasts together, presenting them like a prize to be won. "I bought you, remember?" She winks, tracing the edge of the glass with her tongue.

"You know what I meant." Averting his eyes, he wouldn't reward her with a second glance. It was nothing he hadn't seen before on dozens of other women, and frankly, his tastes had drifted from mere cleavage. 

"The future? Oh. You know. World domination, the works." 

Verando hesitates with a cocked eyebrow, and she giggles, shaking her head at him. "Why the hell would I tell you anything? You're working with them; you stick in the mud. I just hoped to see how you were doing. Do you know how hard it is to find a good submissive here?" 

She was eating him up, letting her desire to pull him back in get ahead of her need to play defense. Red was too experienced to fall so quickly into a trap, but she was still human; she could still be lured with an enticing enough piece of bait. 

"I brought you a present." She opened her purse and produced the riding crop, setting it on the table and making him choke on his drink.

A bold move. But, a telling one.

"Put that away immediately." She slips it back into her oversized bag with a large, feline-like grin.

The last she knew, he and I were on the rocks. We were struggling to come together; his brother had raped me, and we had barely revived our relationship. History dictated that I get married. Maybe he was upset about that, a bold move she was hedging her bets on.

Red shrugs, "I'm a whore, Daddy; I don't care what people see. We're dominant; people see what we want them to see. Well, you're almost dominant. Too bad you have that masochist side; how's that itch going, by the way?" 

It seemed like a playback from his youth; the mistresses he would guard when Kato requested it of him were much like this. Lure the young man in with sweet conversations and abundant drinks, then flash a show of dominance to catch him off guard. 

How many secrets had he learned this way? 

Yet how many beds had he been taken to when truly, he'd wanted anything but? 

It's enough to make him shudder, taking another slow, calculated drink while feigning discomfort.

"That's a smart boy." Red smirks, tilting her head to observe him. "You wanted to come alone today, didn't you? You're just like me. It's hard to be satisfied with just one lover."

"I've been struggling with it." Verando lies, swirling his drink. "Does it make you happy to see me squirm? To make me uncomfortable? You know how it is; everyone just wants to cuddle, no one wants to fuck anymore."

"Oh, honey, I crave it." She exhales, wetting her lips, jumping as they set her plate of pasta in front of her. 

Thanking the waiter, he takes a bite of his steak as she analyzes him. 

Eat your heart out, bitch.

"There are few people who know what we- what I.. need." He tells her carefully, catching her eyes with his own. "Nic got married, you know. To a woman. Gives me a lot of ammunition, at least."

"I saw. Poor boy, left to the sidelines, that's what you're used to, though. You've always been a side piece. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride."

Her words irked him, making him grit his teeth. Perhaps because it was true, before me, he'd flitted from bed to bed. But, for the sake of the role, he shrugs, taking another bite of the steak.

 Might as well enjoy the meal before Act Two begins, "I struggle to think you're any different, darling. You've been galavanting around for four hundred years. Are you sure you want to lower yourself to my level?"

"You'd be surprised how much I think about what I didn't get to do to you. Your loyalty to that man was always so interesting to me, given how he treated you. If you think Nic is powerful, you should see what a real woman can accomplish."

Exhaling, he runs a hand through his hair, feeling the heat rush to his face. It would take every ounce of practice to keep his face submissive, feigning drunken uncertainty as if she could steer him from me, as if he could be taken so easily.

"That was the problem with you, Red. I struggle to see these accomplishments you claim to have. Nic turned a hurricane; that's real power, and you know what that does to me." Verando loosens his tie, trying to cool down. "I'm into men, now. Women don't hold a candle to what I've tasted."

That seemed to get under her skin. Red stills, sitting up abruptly. "Ha! I haven't shown you an ounce of what I can do!"

With a chuckle, he pours himself more wine. "What would that be, deliver a good spanking...?" Watching her through his lashes, he scoffs, stretching to get some relief from the restricting jacket. "Nic can change the weather, you've got to give me something more than that if you're trying to tempt me from the best piece of ass I've ever had. He might like to cuddle but--"

"I messed with time; I came to the future." Red gapes as if he were daft. Making a face, he checks his watch, bored, intoxicated. "I have been influencing the weather to act in my favor, your boytoy can't compare to the effect I've had!" She retorts quickly, earning a slightly more curious look. 

"Sick bastard. You're just power-hungry, aren't you?" The smirk curls onto her lips, her chest fluttering as her breathing quickens with the excitement of the chase. "I bet you'd crawl back into my bed if I could give you a better deal, you're a whore, too. Just like me."

Verando shrugs one shoulder, licking some of the spilled wine off his thumb as he recorks the bottle. Her eyes drag over every inch of him. "Read your history books, love. I conquered a nation; some would say I would have taken the whole bloody continent if it weren't for Nic."

 Extending his fork, he spears a shrimp off her plate and takes a bite. She shakes her head at him as if she's figured him out. "I'm quite infamous," He chuckles. "Now go on, you were getting somewhere, I think. What was it... time something or another? I believe you only paid for an hour or two, by the way." he flicks his hand, unimpressed.

"Unbutton your shirt." She commands sharply as if she somehow needs to get control of the situation. "You've been rude to me, how dare you put me on the clock, considering I purchased you fair and square. Now do it."

Jaw hard, he struggles to make his fingers obey. Undoing two buttons, he raises a brow, and she accepts that. 

"I play a small part in the dealings with the 'experiments' as your people are calling them." 

Verando parts his lips, and she puts her fingers to her own. 

"Shh. No more on that; I'm not an idiot. Now you. Strip, please. Take off more clothes. I want everyone to see exactly what you are." 

People were so predictable; belittling a man was a more effective display of power. She needed to regain her confidence, to convince herself that she was still in control. Verando undid his belt and lifted it for her to see.

Red takes her foot, placing it in his lap firmly between his thighs. "That's a good boy. Someone's been slacking on your training, you're slow, like you think you have a choice."

"I think you're just stalling because I have something you want and you do very little for me." Verando retorts, making her frown.

"Is that right? Well, I think you'll be mad if I tell you my last secret. Maybe I'd like to see you get a little angry?" She purrs back. 

Verando pushes her foot away, leaning closer to her. At his wits' end, he needed something to conclude the night. There wasn't much more of this he could take; it was too close to his past, too close to what he'd endured for a lifetime when he was a slave under a different set of circumstances. 

"If you're going to piss me off, you better have something to back it up. Whisper it to me; maybe I can be motivated if it's good enough." He breathes with a boyish grin.

Grasping his tie, she pulled him closer, hovering her lips over his. "I'm the reason David Malcom sold you because I own you. I bought your contract. When I saw your name come up, when I realized that Nic had fucked you over again, I couldn't help myself. So, you're welcome, Mr.Mercer, for your freedom."  

Verando freezes, and she grins up at him, only to pout playfully. 

"Come now, Daddy, don't be mad. When Ron made the deal, I approved it, letting you repurchase yourself like a big boy. All this fame. All this money. It's thanks to me, so how did I do? Did I get under that ice-cold skin? Are you going to punish me?"

How would he thank her for six months of torture? 

For allowing Marisol to be forcefully impregnated? 

For being taken away from Nic, yet again? 

Settling back into his chair, he stares at her as if something in him had finally snapped. The careful composure falling away, the game is all but forgotten. 

Seeing the crack, she frowns, crossing her arms over her chest in frustration. "Oh, cut the shit. I had to do something! Verando, you were practically domestic with him, and bringing Marisol back didn't do the trick. Your best self is alone; look at you, commander of your world. Feared, respected, wealthy-" She laughs loudly, bewildered. "Verando, I just handed you the perfect life at minimal cost to you; a little gratitude would be nice."

All the pain, all the regret, fighting with himself over why the universe had cursed him and blessed him all at once. There was constant cleaning to try and wash off the filth of being harvested off of, and knowing the woman he cared about had been laid open on a machine at the mercy of men.

 To know that he would forever be soiled in the eyes of the one person he wished to belong to, to know that water would never be hot enough, and that no amount of time could erase the atrocities that occurred in that building over those long, torturous months. 

His chest heaves as he surfaces for air for the first time since he entered that wretched place. Something snapped; something had broken and would never be mended. "It's 8:45," He tells her almost cheerfully.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm supposed to be home at 9:30. That gives me very little time, so you'll have to excuse the haste." His tone becomes increasingly more sinister with each passing word.