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Wade Wilson pulled the blanket tighter around himself, shivering. The cold crept up from his toes with icy fingers, snaked along his calves, and settled in his stomach like a wet sack of laundry. He was always cold now, ever since his diagnosis. Right after he’d left Team X in Lagos, he’d hit the jackpot. Only he hadn’t gotten any money. That would’ve been nice — then he wouldn’t be living in a run-down rental apartment.
No, what he’d gotten was cancer. Terminal cancer. Tumors all over his body.
He should have paid attention to the signs back when he was still serving under Stryker. Migraines, constant fatigue, bloody coughing fits. Well, shoulda, woulda, coulda. The truth was Wade couldn’t afford to get sick. Not under the Colonel’s watchful eyes and the condescending looks from Zero and Victor. As someone with only a minor mutation, he’d been considered low-value anyway.
“Your useful intel and tactical skills are the only things keeping you from the death penalty, Wade. I can get a swordsman with a big mouth at any Japanese martial arts school.”
Wade could still hear Stryker’s words echoing in his head.
The bare bulb on the wall gave a frantic buzzing sound and flickered wildly like a drugged firefly before going out with a raspy pop. The room was now as dark as Wade’s future. The knock that followed almost made him piss himself. His heart stopped for a second before stumbling back into a shaky gallop.
He had no money for pizza, and he’d threatened his landlord recently, before remembering he couldn’t afford a police visit and apologizing as fast as humanly possible. So the rent demand would have to wait.
“If you’re here to sell me a Bible, I’ll have to disappoint you! I already worship Beyoncé!” he shouted, in a pitiful attempt to calm himself down.
A second knock followed, firmer, more insistent.
Shit, shit, shit! Whoever was at the door now knew he was home. And he couldn’t chase them off without getting himself into even bigger trouble.
Wade sighed and pushed himself upright with a groan. A coughing fit overtook him and he had to grab the armrest to keep from falling over. A warm, sticky liquid dribbled down his chin before he wiped it away with his sleeve. He didn’t need light to know it was blood.
Slowly, arms outstretched, he navigated the dark room toward the door. Empty cans crunched under his feet. The trash piling up in the apartment would probably end up on his bill. But by then he’d probably be long dead anyway.
Something hit his leg and he kicked it aside with a curse before yanking open the door.
“I told you already that I…”
The rest of the sentence died in his throat.
Because the sight before him made him wish it really had been Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Victor Creed stood in the doorway.
Wade was by no means short, but Victor’s six-foot-three frame still towered over him, enough that Creed had to duck slightly. Unlike Wade, Victor hadn’t changed at all, as far as he could tell in the dim hallway light. Close-cropped dark brown hair, grey catlike eyes, mutton chops. He wore a long black leather coat over a black trench coat over a black jacket over a black shirt.
Jeez, that’s a lot of layers.
The guy probably wanted to look even bigger than he already was, Wade thought, before remembering the actual situation.
Victor’s face was mostly cast in shadow, but Wade could make out the way his fang-filled mouth curled into a grin that promised pain.
Wade could’ve screamed. Kicked Victor in the balls and ran. It might’ve bought him a few seconds.
But unfortunately his brain chose something entirely stupid.
“Hey Victor! Pretty sure you’ve got the wrong building. The store for kitty litter is a few streets down!”
Instead of replying, Victor grabbed him by the throat. Razor-sharp claws dug into his skin. He lifted Wade close to his face. Wade saw his own terrified reflection in Victor’s pupils, now narrowed to slits. A wave of tuna breath washed over him. Well, if you had a healing factor, you probably didn’t need to invest in toothbrushes.
Then Wade saw cabinets and the table sliding past him. It took him a moment to understand that Victor had thrown him and he was currently flying through the air.
He crashed into a glass cabinet with an ear-splitting crack. Shards pierced his flesh and his ribs groaned under the impact. Stars danced in his vision and his lungs burned, threatening to collapse before painfully expanding again.
Coughing, Wade fought himself up onto his elbows. He couldn’t give up! He was not dying like this!
Blinking against the blood dripping from his hair, he looked up. Victor stood in the room, arms spread wide. A smug smile played on his lips.
“Your turn.”
Wade thought frantically. His revolver was in his nightstand drawer and his katanas under the couch. His gaze flicked to Victor. If he was fast enough, he could do this! He just needed to trust his reflexes.
Creed must have noticed his look, because he dropped to all fours. With his superhuman leg strength, he’d reach Wade in a single leap.
Wade drew a breath and rolled. His bruised ribs screamed, he felt a rush of air above him, and a shadow swept over him.
Ha! Victor had missed!
He shot his arm out. His fingers closed around the familiar grip. He yanked it back — sword now in hand — and thrust with all his strength.
Straight into Victor’s abdomen as the man launched himself at him.
The blade sank into his guts like butter and emerged from his back.
Victor let out an animalistic roar and staggered back. Still roaring, he grabbed the katana and pulled it free. Dark red blood sprayed over Wade like a fountain. A long pink sausage tumbled out of Victor’s abdominal wound and dangled cheerfully in the open air.
Probably his large intestine or something.
Creed grunted and flexed as the organ slowly retreated back into the wound, the edges sealing instantly.
That was, by far, the most fucked-up thing Wade had ever seen.
“No more games!”
Wade had no time to enjoy how out of breath Victor sounded. Victor grabbed the back of his head and slammed his forehead into the edge of the coffee table. The pain was so intense Wade couldn’t even make a sound. His head hit the wood a second time. And a third.
At this point, Wade wanted nothing more than to pass out.
But Victor wasn’t going to allow that.
Instead, he forced Wade onto his hands and knees and fixated him with his own thighs. Not that Wade could have escaped in his condition. How much more could his cancer-ridden body endure before it gave out? The mercenary prepared for the final blow. But instead, Victor grabbed the waistband of Wade's sweatpants and yanked them down. Was he going to spank him now? The ripping of a zipper and the clink of a belt buckle made Wade perk up. No, this was much worse.
“Just kill me!” he croaked, as if that would change anything.
Victor leaned over him, his beard tickling Wade's earlobe. “Mmm, you smell like death, Wilson. But don't worry, I won't let you die. First, I want some fun!”
Victor's hands gripped Wade's bony hips. He had lost almost twice his weight in the last few weeks.
Wade gritted his teeth as Victor's erection pressed against his anus. Sure, he'd fantasized about ending up on a steamy night sandwiched between Logan and his wild brother, but not alone with Victor, and certainly not after Victor had nearly beaten him to a pulp!
Something large rammed violently inside him, and Wade gasped for air. No foreplay, no lube. There was nothing hot about this! Victor paused for a moment before abruptly withdrawing. It was as if nails were scraping against the walls of his rectum. His mucous membrane tore, and Wade shrieked. Victor seemed to like it, because he let out a satisfied purr. He thrust back in with full force, and Wade realized with horror that what he'd thought were nails were actually spikes. Male cats had spikes on the shaft of their penises. Victor began a fast, brutal rhythm. In and out. Over and over again, accompanied by Wade's shrill cries of pain. Just when Wade thought he couldn't take it anymore, he felt a warm liquid pour into his colon and flow into his stomach. His own penis, which must have somehow become hard at some point, spurted semen tremblingly.
"I'm taking you with me. Special delivery for Stryker," was the last thing Wade heard before a needle pierced his neck and the world went black.