19 Chapter 19

She relished in the comfort and warmth of Sarah's arms and bed. It was a completely new experience for her, one that she found she liked, as evinced by the leather armor discarded on the floor.

For once, everything felt perfect in that blissful night. No worries of enslavement, of plaguing past memories she had no recollection of.

But in the small hours before dawn, she was ripped from that moment of bliss. She had heard Sarah get up to go to the bathroom. Once the bathroom door closed with a soft hiss of the pressurized valves, she was ripped from the bed, an iron grip on her arm.

She struggled in the darkness, wildly wondering how she had not heard another person in the room. Before she could scream, they clamped a hand firmly over her mouth. All of her vocalizations were muffled as she was dragged out of the room.

Her abductor finally stopped in another hotel room, the one next door, and threw her to the ground in order to shut the door. By the time she had picked herself up from the floor, her assailant grabbed her again, throwing her against the wall and pinning her there.

"What do you think you're doing?" he grunted through her struggling.

It was Vulpes. She could barely see the outline of his face through the darkness. And he was angry. Beyond angry. He was enraged.

"Get your hands off of me," she barked through clenched teeth.

"What. Are. You. Doing," he repeated in his fury, sounding strangely muted. "I have half a mind to punish you. I should bring your little girl in here and beat her to an inch of her life. And then I would take you for myself, willing or no, to make up for the wrong you've done me tonight." She squirmed, and he only tightened his grip. "Did you so easily forget what I told you the night before our wedding?"

"Did you?" she demanded, throwing it back in his face.

"What are you talking about?" He continued as if he had committed no wrong. She felt bruises forming on her wrists and upper arms.

"Don't play the fool, Vulpes," she hissed. "I know about Martina Groesbeck."

That seemed to surprise him. He stopped pushing against her. "Martina Groesbeck is irrelevant."

She shoved against him, eliciting nothing of a response since he was much stronger than she was. "Don't you dare lie to me, Vulpes. I saw the two of you at Gomorrah. I've heard the talk of Mr. Fox and Martina Goresbeck."

"You should not be so willing to listen to such slanderous rumors about me."

"Rumors?" she spat. "I am not blind. I know what I saw. So much for all of your talk of fidelity. God knows how many times you've come here for her. So much for all of your talk of the debased hungers of the degenerates, the carnal sins of the profligates. You, Vulpes Inculta, are no better than the rest of them."

He had been watching her carefully, much calmer now, allowing her to finish her anguished rant, oblivious or indifferent to her pain. "It is not what you think. Martina and I have been involved in a business contract of sorts, long before you even came to the Legion. She feeds me inside information of the Strip families and the NCR."

"In exchange for what? Your body? How are you any better than the prostitutes you executed at Nipton?"

He went to push some hair behind her ear, his other grip still taut around her arm. Much calmer now indeed. "It's a bit more intricate than that, my queen."

"I am not your queen," she said in a low voice.

He ignored her. "Martina isn't aware of the exchange. As Frumentarius, I am an agent of stealth and disguise. I am able to separate myself from the profligates once the disguise has run its course. The man who engages in intercourse with Martina is not Vulpes Inculta or Vulpes Inculta's desires. Vulpes still remains faithful to you alone, while the sins of Mr. Fox are a necessary evil."

She was shaking. His reasons did not console her anguish. "You cannot deny that Mr. Fox and Vulpes Inculta are of the same body. You cannot deny that my lord husband," she mocked the title, "has secretly bedded another woman without my knowledge."

"Maria—" he tried crooning.

"You have betrayed me," she swore to him in a dangerously low voice.

"And your romp with that girl was some feeble attempt at revenge?" he asked, becoming annoyed. "You should not partake in such dangerous activities."

"You should not tempt my anger," she told him, face blazing. He didn't realize the power at her mercy—the very future of the Mojave. "It is no wonder you do not trust me. How could I be trusted when you are so untrustworthy yourself, when you lack such integrity?"

His thumb caressed her cheek. "Maria—"

She turned her face away. "I am not Martina. You cannot persuade the words you want from me. You have betrayed me," she repeated. "Be sure that it does not happen again."

He finally released her, his face now more visible through the darkness since her eyes had adjusted. It wore the signature placid mask while his eyes were hard and sharp as freshly-cut diamonds. "Have you completed your task at the Lucky 38?" he asked shortly.

She rubbed the smarting bruises on her arm. "Not yet. I will finish tomorrow."

He nodded and turned to leave the room.

The rage and jealously still boiled beneath her skin, thrumming loudly in her ears. She would not be dismissed so easily. She would be allowed one victory. She called out to him before he stepped through the door. "I want her dead, Vulpes."

"As much as I would love to obey your command, I'm afraid Martina Groesbeck is far too valuable to Caesar."

"And who is more valuable to Caesar? Martina Groesbeck or the Courier Reborn?"

Vulpes smirked. "Why don't you prove it?"

And she did. The unreachable Mr. House had been infiltrated. The immortal man had been slain. His ubiquitous obituary was passed around for many days after his reported death.

And with Mr. House gone, other forces began mobilizing to take his place. With one pawn out of the picture, the player—the Courier Reborn—found her game choices narrowed as the incurring events began unfolding.