Match, point... game

Chapter three:
Reason to fear the dark

Georgina dodged an attack from a fellow inmate with ease, stepping to the side with a flurry of her feet and wearing a bored expression on her face. She stepped backwards when he lunged at her, reaching out to grab and pin her down, her steps moving fluidly while her body was completely relaxed from the void threat. Ducking her head she avoided a punch only to land one hard to the man’s side, causing him to splutter and fall back a few feet, gripping between his ribs where a dark bruise would now form in the shape of the handle of her shiv. Her brown eyes narrowed darkly and her fingers were flexing idly, watching the idiot that had come against her in this place when she was already having a bad day.


The male charged her again and she once again dodged to the side, pulling herself flat against the dingy wall. When he was before her, bent over from the sudden lack of a second figure to attack, she brought her knee up hard and her elbow deep into the cavern of his neck, causing a sickening crack to fill the air around her. She span around, kicking his form from off of her, and watched as he rolled away with an indifferent look, her red hair having been ripped from its ponytail and falling around her face in unruly curls. She stepped forwards, her shank in her hands and her head shaking from side to side in disappointment.

“I told you not to mess with me? Did you listen? No,” she shrugged and brought her knife to under her lip, tapping it there, confident in the sharp blade. She put her hands up in a sign of exasperation as the guy that had attacked her spluttered from a broken vertebrae, trying to move but only succeeding in pulling himself with his arms a good inch. She raised her eyebrows at his attempt to escape then scoffed and snickered, a strange sneer coming to her lips. “I suppose it’s only logical, that a man’s libido in a place like this will override any and all sense, but c’mon. I’m obviously out of your league, even without the killer,” she flicked her shank to where it glittered dangerously and promisingly in the air, “instinct. So why bother dude? Lemme guess, you thought you could overpower me because I’m a woman and, yes, I am physically weaker than you. The only problem with your plan was the fact that I am trained at what I do, you my friend,” with that she knelt down to his height among the cords and rusting mounts of metal that surrounded her. Other convicts had been watching at the edges but had started to recede from the scene, their eyes wide as they watched this girl now put her knife to the man back and start to cut at the fabric with a bored look in her eyes.

“Please, please, I’m sorry!” he pleaded with her.

George’s eyes hardened and she spat at him, grabbing his chin and making him look at her with a growl. Then she smiled gently, her shoulders relaxing and her entire demeanor returning to that of the woman that had arrived, one that was bored and only waiting for a way out. “No you’re not… you wanted action and you supposed that I would provide it. When I didn’t you got angry like the rapist you are in here for,” she mused and once again tapped her knife to her chin, looking deep in thought. “Now, as I was saying. I’m trained at what I do but you my friend… you are just a blundering idiot that managed to get some girls and a few little boys that were too weak to defend themselves, giving you an overconfident sense in your abilities. However, now that I’ve paralyzed you from the waist down… including your pecker,” George said with a small leer pulling at her lips. The man stared up at her with wide, desperate eyes, his orifice hanging open. She turned back to him with a blank look and raised her shank above her head.

In a flash it was all over. The knife was buried between the fifth and fourth lumbar vertebrae, causing the scream that would have lifted from his body to halt in his rapidly filling throat and his structure to go cold all over with alarm and coming death. He slumped forwards as red seeped from the wound upon his back, leaving this world as violently has he had come into it. The prisoners around her all started to whisper as George pulled out her weapon and stared at its blood slicked surface ponderingly, her jaws in a firm line. Shrugging and swinging it a few times to get the red stuff off of her hard work she stood and flipped her hair from off of her shoulder and turned to the others. “Anyone else wanna try to get some?” she said with a content smile.
With a rush the others were all gone, leaving her and her cell alone. Looking somewhat disappointed, yet again, she sauntered over to her chamber and plopped down in it, cleaning it of blood on her now red stained tank top. She had gone for another walk to stretch her legs, doing her now routine of jumping, balancing, and walking around on the other rings. However, when she had come back to her room there was someone waiting for her within its confinements. He had come towards her like a blithering fool, trying to pin her to her room’s wall, when she had punched him in the jaw, making him stumble out of it and had started this fight by continuing to try to get upon her and violate her. She had warned him, but he had been too blind by lust to even listen to her, so she had done what she was trained to do, or rather, compelled. She’d taken his life. No big deal, the universe was filled with them, what was one more? And a rapist on top of that.

“Geez, George,” Ave murmured as she popped her head into the booth, holding onto the bars and staring at the fellow murderer with wide eyes. There was terror there, fright of what the red haired woman could do.

George raised her eyes towards the blond woman, the twinkle of blood lust and adrenaline still pumping in her figure violently. “He deserved it…” she whispered, resting her head against the wall.

“I know, but that was excessive! You’re insane,” Ave concluded, not venturing into the woman’s area but instead hanging before the door where she could get some room to run should the older decide that the blond knew too much.

Georgina smirked darkly at her, just enough to show her incisors, brown eyes mocking. “Insane, eh? Well, I’ve certainly been called much worse, I suppose; monster, murderer, bitch, whore… I think I like insane the best,” she murmured and put her shank into the hem of her pants yet again, not minding that a small edge caught her hip and caused a small drop of red to stain her pants. Then she shifted and stated sardonically, “I did warn him, Ave. It seems no one listens in here, why do I bother?”

Ave mouthed her shock at her ramblings then lowered her head. She thought for a moment and George wondered if she was seriously thinking if her murder was justified instead of just a sudden need to get her shank another try. Sometimes she worried for the girl that she was going to turn into something as crazy and hardened as herself. The other woman finally leaned heavily against the bars, pressing her body against it and holding her arms against the tops. “You really are crazy.”

“I already told you that,” George grinned brightly and put her hands behind her head. “With the word insane you can get away with so much and people just blame it on the fact that you’re supposedly crazy! I love it. People make assumptions, make stupid decisions just because they think that you don’t know what you’re doing, when in reality you are fully aware and fully conscious, the only thing that you can’t really detect is whether or not the person feels a lot of pain. Then again, I’ve heard that when you are dying that the pain leaves and all that’s there is the most beautiful feeling of pleasure and numbness. Could be a lie though… a lie to calm the masses for worrying over people like me,” she stopped her self musings and glanced to the confused blond who was staring at her like she had thrown a second head.

She sighed and waved a dismissive hand, rolling her eyes. Note to self, no interesting conversations with the blond girl, she murmured to herself. “Look, if it makes you feel better,” George’s lips once again turned into a sarcastic smile that was mocking and dull, “I’ve never thought about killing you. Or anyone else really, its just when the moment comes. I rarely plan something out,” she commented.

Having heard enough of the clearly more battle ready convict Ave nodded her head dumbly and turned, walking away and leaving George once again to her silence. The red head raised her head and glanced the corpse laying in the middle of her territory with a frown, her mind working in over time. If the guards found that cadaver then she would get stunned again, and then worse, and considering that she didn’t particularly enjoy the shocks she stood and kicked her boots against the floor to get her feet where she liked them. Shrugging her jacket off to not get any excess blood on it she walked over to the dead man and crouched once again, sighing heavily. “It was your own fault you know,” she affirmed and started to roll him over towards the edge where it would fall into the pits and then become a sacrifice to the monsters that lived bellow.

When it fell and landed just a mile below with a very faint, sickening thud, she nodded to a job well done when the screaming of whatever lived down there started up and began to rip into their food for the day. Turning on her heel she gazed into her chamber and was going to pick up her jacket when… it was gone.

Rage. Unbridled, unheeded, unhindered, pure blinding white hot rage filled her body at that moment and her fingers tingled, blood lust filled her structure again and her ears were thrumming with the rushing of crimson. Her vision became tunnel at someone taking her precious jacket and she turned left and right with a snarl, her gripping her shank threateningly. Whoever had taken it would become the second man she murdered today, no questions asked! That coat was hers, had been hers, for years!

Turning this way and that she finally decided on one direction to storm into and terrorize the other inmates, a scream bubbling at the back of her throat. Her jacket was her jacket was her jacket, no one else’s!

When she had gone a heavy thud sounded in the middle of the area where the girl had been standing. There, crouching like a cat, was the powerful form of Riddick. Glancing after her for a split second he turned to where a blood pool where her latest victim had been before turning to the coat gripped in his hand. Bringing the leather up to his nose cautiously he took a big whiff of the scent that was still lingering on it. Her scent was ground into the fibers, he could tell, it was between ever single thread, every single stitch, and it would stay there for the rest of the garments natural life. Her scent was heady, strong, and inert, the constant tinge of blood was covering the coat but he managed to lock that way and focus only on the dark scent of oleanders mixing with that musky smell that could only be a female.

He was caught off guard at how good it felt to swiftly be basking in her smell. Pulling away abruptly he stared down at it with a slight growl in his throat, his fingers closing in tightly around the already abused coat of many years. Just who was this girl? She could obviously handle herself in a fight; she had dodged that man like a pro and then had toyed with his final moments as if they were nothing to her. Hardened and distant from others suffering, a trained killer, one that didn’t even so much as think before her dagger was into someone’s back or throat. She was obviously different form the rest of the convicts here, mere sociopaths and homicidal maniacs that couldn’t control themselves and had gotten caught within weeks of their crimes.

Standing up and straightening his hulking form he threw the jacket over his shoulder and leaned against the bars of the cubicle door, waiting patiently like the predator he was. Down here it was dark enough to where his goggles were not needed, meaning that his vision of purple and blue was everywhere, piercing the gloom around him and giving away every single little thing that was before his silver gaze. He pondered on how long it would take her to make the loop back to her cell then decide that the thief was on another ring. Either way he could wait.

It had now been three months since they had both arrived. Those months were going by taxingly slow, he was bored and that was all there was to it. And when he was bored bad things started to happen. He would start to pick fights, would fuck with other people’s minds, and would even start to kill if he was in that deeply, all because he wasn’t being entertained. Being alone for long periods of time had given him the gift of brooding within his own mind, but when his plans were at a stalemate and there was nothing he could but twiddle his thumbs about it, that’s when things started to get as they were. And so he had focused on something other than the looming drudgery in his mind. Riddick instead focused on finding out who the girl he had arrived with was, what was her back story, and if she really was, ‘insane’. Stalking was his favorite hobby after all, he loved to come behind someone in the dark, follow them around silently, and watch the hairs all over their body stand up with the sudden sensation of being watched. It was thrilling, it was something he lived for, and it would provide him with adequate diversion.

Finally, finding his train of thought on the red haired woman becoming strained, since he didn’t know enough to truly brood over it, he turned around to the idea of Jack and Imam, the people he had left behind. Well… the people that had been killed. All by the necromongers, the idiots that had bowed to him when he had killed their leader. Riddick had thumbed with the thought of staying. Free food, free rooms, an army to command, and all the women he could stomach, and even better, knew weapons that were the highest grade he’d ever seen. The only issue had been that he had been bored stiff there. That and he was now the leader of the people that had killed his race, and that train of thought had not gone over well for him. So he’d killed a few high ranking Necro’s and had gotten the hell out of dodge, fleeing away from his ‘empire’ and escaping to the Tramius system. Just in time to hear the word that the necromongers wanted him imprisoned or dead for what he had done and he had a twenty million credits bounty on his head. Just as well, he didn’t’ want to go back onto the ship where Jack had perished or to hear them constantly whine about the Underverse and how he should convert.

He liked to be free. He liked to be able to go where he wanted, to do what he wanted, and to have to constantly look over his shoulder for mercs and hunters that were after the bounty on his head. It had become ingrained in him to love that fight, to love constantly being on edge, to have paranoia gripping him in varying degrees throughout his life, and it had been impossible to ask him to give that up. There was nothing he liked more than to lead a bunch of mercs through a cave, ice planet, dessert, whatever, only to kill them all and continue on his way, aware that the next wave was just right behind them. It was his version of heaven and hell. He hated it but needed it at the same time. There was no way he had been able to just lay back and enjoy the good life when he was so used to the bad.

Riddick was not a man for inaction. He needed constant stimulation, need for life and death struggle, and the feel of his heart pounding in his ears when he was lost in the thrill of a fight. He wondered if that was the reason he kept ending up in Slam’s… His mind then wandered to Jack, or rather, Kyra.

She had made it in the Slam all right, more than he could have ever expected from the likes of the once tomboy that he had run into on that damn planet. She had even gotten to the point where survival wasn’t that big of a deal and that she could live in the place without being under constant threat. But she’d been scared, he could smell it on her from a mile away, and he had known that she was not the type that could have made it in there for the rest of her life, or one that could think of her own way out. Fear was often the most paralyzing sensation in the entire universe, it stopped you from thinking clearly, and a plan to get out like his own that day from Crematoria should have been obvious to someone as clever and intelligent as Jack.

A pang shot through Riddick at the memory of how she had died. The only person in this universe that he had allowed himself to care about had been killed by the leader of the necromongers… and his name to. It was stupid, pathetic really, but Jack had saved his life that day with her own, and that made it all the worse. He hadn’t been able to protect her, like he should have, and he hadn’t been able to even say that he cared about her more than he had ever cared about anything in his twisted life before she was cold and gone. Yet another reason why he had run from being the Lord Marshall of the Necro’s. Because he hated them for taking his girl away from him, a girl he had cared about like a daughter.

So here he was. Back to being addicted to the games he had thought were wearing thin on him. Jack had helped him become more human, had helped keep the animal at bay, just knowing that’s he was near was enough to make the roaring in his ears and need for battle to quail to a mere murmur. He had become Richard during those times with Kyra, but now, with her death, he was back to being Riddick. Richard was gone forever.

Imam he supposed was all right. Riddick had never really cared all that much about him. However, he had heeded enough that when he died he had felt bad for a few days, longer than he had ever mourned anyone in his life. He couldn’t forget the night when the holy man’s life had been snuffed out, just like when Fry had been taken and when Jack had sacrificed herself. He rapidly wrinkled his nose and looked to the center of the prison, pushing back his thoughts and determined not to think on these things anymore. It wouldn’t’ do any good to think on things he couldn’t change, like death.

Riddick blinked then glanced over to his right, narrowing his silver eyes. He slowly stepped back into the dark around the unit, melding into the shadows, crossing his arms deftly. Her scent was back, and now that she was getting closer he could hear her loud and angry footfalls, stomping on the metal of the platform and causing some of the fallen cords to shiver with the motion. It had taken a shorter amount of time than he had thought… then again from the scene she had just made the inmates would have been exceptionally cooperative.

George came storming into sight, muttering curses under her breath while holding a newly bloodied shiv. She stopped before her cell and once more glanced into the room to find it as empty as she had left it, wondering where the hell it could have gone in such a short amount of time. He could hear the wheels in her head turning again, thinking it over. He knew now that she was thinking about how she hadn’t heard a foot step or anything like that when she’d been shoving that carcass to the pits beneath and he also knew that she was going through all possibilities in her mind. He had learned much from following her just over the last two days that when she was in deep thought her brows furrowed to where a small line appeared between them and her lips would purse into an almost nonexistent line.

“Well shit,” she breathed and put her hands behind her head. Now that Riddick could see her from the shelter of her jacket he was allowed to see that as she stretched her tank top showed off her flat and toned stomach, showing off a sloping version of a six pack. Her arms were toned to perfection but also had scars littering up and down them, as did her chest, some circular from gun shots, and some from blades, and one particularly nasty one at the base of her back that looked like she had been hit by a plasma gun. Her dark green tank top had become dingy and disgusting looking, her skin was smeared with drying blood of others and dirt from sleeping on the ground of this place, and her hair had once again been tied back into a firm ponytail.

Riddick took a small step towards her, stalking forwards with all of his ability of keeping silent, until he was almost right behind her.

“Looking for something, Red?” Riddick’s voice broke through her tense, thinking silence. She started harshly to where she flew back from him, had her shiv ready to throw and was in a defensive position while gripping at her heart through her tank. Brown eyes flared at him in first insult then in recognition, then finally the familiar fright that he was used to. Her eyes swept over his face, his revealed eyes, and even his stronger body, before settling back on his face, licking her lips anxiously.

Then her gaze snapped onto his shoulder where her jacket was draping off like some kind of cape and instantly her scent changed from surprise and panic to that of anger and indignation. “That’s mine,” she breathed calmly and straightened herself, pointing at the leather coat with a deathly cold stare.

Riddick raised an eyebrow and glanced to the jacket then back to her. He lifted it off his shoulder and began to turn it around and inside out, looking all over it, and when he didn’t find it he merely shook his head. “Doesn’t have your name anywhere, it’s mine now. Nice jacket too, I could use it for scrap leather,” he shrugged it back onto his back and watched her reaction.

George snarled and rolled her shoulders, seeing that there was no choice but a confrontation with this man that could snap her like a twig. She glance back and forth from him to her property, her heart hammering in her chest uncomfortably. She had hoped she might never see this guy again, something about being in his company made her shudder and her blood run cold. She shifted to where her dagger was twirling around in her fingers lazily. “It’s mine, give it back, you had no right to take it,” she snarled and took a small step towards the bald behemoth of a man.

“Way I see it,” he murmured in his deep voice that made George stop in her angry steps, his silver eyes locking firmly and icily upon hers. She shrank back slightly at that stare that pierced right into her core and made her entire organization stand on high alert, ultra-sensitive to everything around her and every noise seemed to be multiplied a thousand times. He thumbed his goggles for a brief second before continuing in the purposeful silence, “since we’re in the Slam, everything is up for grabs. Nothing belongs to just you when you’re down here, Red.”

“Stop calling me that, my name is George,” she snapped and put her hands on her hips, eyeing her coat then Riddick and gauging her chances of winning in a fight against this guy. She had heard rumors, sure, but they could be just that, rumors. She had run into legendary hunters that had turned out to be nothing more than pathetic little weaklings that had spread their own fame, this guy, Richard B. Riddick could be the same. There was no proof that he took out the Lord Marshall, that he’s killed thousands, none that she had heard at least. She felt inclined to believe that this guy was nothing more than a phony. But… if he was the real deal then she was playing a dangerous game of Russian roulette here, where her life was nothing more than a flick of this guys pinky finger.

Riddick sneered slightly at her and then it was promptly put back under his calm and stoic exterior, taking a step towards her. She took an instinctual one back, her stare trained on him while her hands were into tight fists, ready for anything. Another step forwards and she took another sliding one back, bringing her make shift shank up to her thigh, her nostrils flaring in anxiety. Silence choked around them once again, as it had on the ship, as Riddick took another drawn out, eerily silent step towards his prey. Surprisingly she didn’t move but instead her mouth came down in an intense frown. “George, huh? You a guy under all that cleavage or are you a little girl playing at a man’s game?” he goaded, crossing his thick arms.

George flared at that, her back straightening and her anger coming out in wonderfully powerful waves. She pointed her shiv at him accusingly, “What I want to call myself is my business, ass hole. And that is my jacket, and I want it back, or else!”

Riddick raised his eyebrows at that, a mocking sneer spreading over his face. He took another step forwards, unlocking his arms and cracking his neck. “Is that a threat, Georgie?” he breathed.

The red haired woman before him scoffed but none the less went back into a more self-protective pose, her chest heaving with the oncoming fight. There was a thick anticipation in the air, seeming almost visible in a haze of red, mixing with the smells around him and assailing Riddick’s sensitive noise. He watched her finger her wicked little shank for reassurance… even though they both knew she was out matched here. He started to circle her, masking his footsteps again, making her have to look at him to keep him in her senses, and watched as she began to get more and more worked up. Circling her like a wolf and a cornered prey, and for all the worlds Georgina did feel like a trapped animal while this man was circling her, sizing her up blatantly.

Gritting her teeth she couldn’t take it anymore and lashed out with a growl, anticipating his current pattering of walking around her, only to have her shank meet with air and a hand gripping at the back of her tank top. Her brown eyes widened considerably and she was pulled back before she could even think, thrown against a wall, and to be mocked with him standing in the middle of the space, his head cocked to the side. George swallowed her broken pride and got off of the pillar she’d been hit against and rolled her slightly sore shoulder. He had moved so fast! She hadn’t even seen or felt him before it was too late! So the rumors were true… that meant she was in serious trouble.

“Just give it back,” George said with irritation in her voice.

“Come and get it,” he stated simply and held it out with one hand, his face ever stony. She stared at him skeptically before making a grab for it only to have thrown from her reach and have him push her towards another pillar. She grumbled and pushed against it, turning quickly, and moved to kick where he had last been only to have her ankle caught under his arm and have herself pulled forwards gruffly.

She hoped and balanced on one foot, refusing to let herself be thrown go the ground and sliced her shiv to where his arms were holding her, forcing him to release her cargo clad leg and giving her enough time to swing around with a punch. He avoided it, the bastard, and pushed her arm aside, grabbing her hair, and spinning her around to where her front hit against the bars of her chamber, causing her to grunt with pain. Rolling her eyes she span around and kicked in a wide arch, barely missing him by an inch and jumping at him, her shank in her hand her frustration at her inability to hit this man evident in her face.

She was kicked back after a few missed shots and gripped her side, glaring darkly at this ass hole who had her only real possession. She charged him again in a blind rage, swiping and kicking, punching at him in rapid succession. Riddick continued to dodge, bending at almost impossible angles to get away. When he moved from her shank, however, she managed to get an accidentally swipe with her fingers, her nails sharp and uneven from their lack of care, and caused violent red marks to appear on his muscled arms.

Riddick paused in his dodging, and George paused in her one sided fighting, and both stared at the wound with perplexed looks. He shot her a gaze that she wasn’t sure of, a mixture of amusement and something else she couldn’t define before he was on the assault. It was all she could do to move out of the way as he punched at her, moving out of the way of a particularly strong one only to have her tank grabbed and have her slammed into a wall along with it. She gasped, arching her back in distress and pain, before opening her brown eyes to see the famed murderer a mere inch from her face, his breath hitting against her nose and cheeks.

She wasn’t phased by it. She threw her shank up and just barely missed hitting his neck, causing a very small gust of wind between them with the force at she had attacked. He jumped back in time before trying another attack, slamming his clawed palm forwards, but she narrowed her eyes and threw herself around the corner of the pillar. It hit the metal and the entire structure shook with the force, her eyes widening in surprise of this guys strength. Her heart was officially throbbing in her head and throat and her fright was now overwhelming her. She moved but just barely and got clipped in the arm from a devastating punch, causing her to grunt and grip at it in pain.

He was too strong. She may have been a match for anyone else in this prison but compared to Riddick she was nothing! She glanced upwards in time to see him move in a blur of motion, in time to be shoved against a wall again and be pinned there on both sides of her shoulders. She growled at him dangerously, moving to cut him with her weapon when he grabbed her wrists and slammed them above her head harshly.

George snarled to the point where her teeth were visibly bared. She moved to rack him with her knee but he abruptly stood on her feet, forcing their hips together in a rather uncomfortable position. “What do you fucking want, shit head?” she snapped, blowing a stray strand of her hair from her face.

He craned his head forwards to where his face was mere centimeters from hers causing the red head to suck in a confused breath, her brown eyes flashing with distrust. “What do you want?” he fired the question back at her though in a quiet, and deathly disturbing way that made goose bumps break out on her skin.

Swearing under her breath at her apparent weakness she stared him right into his radiant orbs, her feet shifting under his feebly. It was then that she realized just how close Riddick was, his feet atop of hers making him tower even more above her, his nose grazing hers just slightly, and his chest pushing on hers unapologetically. She swallowed hard and tried to pry her hands from his impossibly hard grasp but it failed and so she resorted to glaring at him again, finding that her tongue was swollen and her orifice was dry. She had no retort to that; he had caught her off guard when her mind was still mulling over what the hell that question meant. There was no possible way that someone like the Riddick, the mass murderer, would be doing this for any other purpose than for some kind of strategic hand… only problem was with his breathing against her lips and face, warming them to where she could feel the blood rushing to the surface, she was having a hard time concentrating. Oh God was she twisted if she was actually enjoying being inches away from death!

For all she knew he could try and snap her neck because she accidentally scratched him! Without thinking, without processing it with her logic, the words spilled from her lips recklessly, “Freedom.”

Riddick chuckled at that, a mocking laugh that reverberated deep in his chest and thus into her own. She felt her cheeks flame at his ridicule but merely jutted out her lower jaw in pride and looked away from him. It was a reasonable wish. She wanted freedom from the prison, from the people pursuing her, and even more so right now, freedom from him. She was about to try thrashing around like a wild animal, like she had on the ship, when he did something unexpected.

Riddick lowered his mouth to her ear that was revealed thanks to her hair pulled back in its unruly bindings and breathed against it. He could feel her stiffen, smell her hasty confused arousal, and it made his head swim momentarily. Instead of acting on his abrupt want to bite at her neck, hard, until it drew blood and listen to this wild cat of a woman whimper and submit to him, he focused on the fact that he was here for a reason. He had not come here simply to anger her and steal her jacket, though that would be interesting, he was here because he had need for someone like her in his escape plans. “Then we share that want,” he grumbled into her ear, his lips almost on the shell. She once again shivered under him and let out a frustrated noise. Her puzzlement was mounting and it was almost as addicting as panic…

Her head curved to where they were almost eye to eye, her brows creased. The wheels were working again and then a leer worked its way over her features, her fingers flexing against his hold. “Well, well, seems the rumors are true in a lot of aspects. You are planning a way out of this hell hole, ain’t ya?” she murmured, shifting to where her chest was not pressed to his, settling into a somewhat more relaxed pose. Then again it was hard to get comfy when there was a crazed killer standing on your feet…

Riddick returned her sneer for a second, taking a moment to drive his nose into her hair and take in a large inhale of her odor. She once again shivered and he could once more smell the rising bafflement at why he was acting this way when by all facts she should be dead by getting into a fight with him. Bringing his mouth slowly from her neck, barely missing the skin by mere millimeters, he was back up to her face, staring down at her with a smug look, as he nodded. George grinned at him and cocked her head to the side, her shoulders moving to where they weren’t pressed so hard into the damnable wall.
“What’s the catch?” she asked cynically.

“No catch, Red,” he stated simply. He took a moment to study her face. He couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in over six months now; he couldn’t deny himself the lips that were a mere breaths width away. So in an instant his orifice had claimed hers possessively, causing the woman under him to truly go rigid, her eyes wide, but he didn’t care. It was a quick kiss by his standards, more like a violent peck, where his mouth covered hers and his lips dragged against the valley where hers met, and then he had pulled away just as quickly as he had attacked.

George sat in astonish as he pulled away and off of her, releasing her arms. He gave her one penetrating look with those mesmerizing eyes before turning and walking away silently, melding into the shadows and then disappearing from her sight or senses. She was still shaking from the fright of the experience the sudden excitement of the brash and forward kiss. She could still feel his mouth on hers, scrapping against it hard, and then leaving as quickly as it had brought that scorching heat. She glanced to where he had disappeared to before chucking her shank angrily at a corner, hissing that it wasn’t any good, before storming into her cell. She pushed the image of the enigmatic and now painfully attractive killer, focusing only on the fact that she had just gotten her ass handed to her, molested, and was now being offered a way out of here.

She bit the edge of her thumb questioningly. What would he get out of this deal? She knew as well as anyone that criminals such as herself and Riddick didn’t do anything unless there was something of value up for them, something they could claim at the end of a job. She wasn’t stupid. Then why did she feel like a complete and total idiot!?