Misfortune (Bucky Barnes)

40• Strike

' What did you think I'd say to that?
Does a scorpion sting when fighting back?
They strike to kill and you know I will. '
-Taylor Swift, "mad women"
~

I woke up alone. My head is pounding and I can feel the dried blood on my face beginning to itch.

You're doing this for Bucky. You're doing this for Louise. I remind myself as I stare down at my lap.

Part of me hopes that Bucky is in Wakanda right now getting the help he deserves.. but the selfish part of me hopes he's thinking of me.

I've grown tired of waiting around, covered in my own blood so I start tugging at the ropes around my wrists. It must be luck that I can't feel any pain in my left hand. It's easy to twist, distort, bend the fingers to my liking till I hear a pop. If I had any hopes of properly healing that thing, it has now gone down the drain. My damaged hand is out of the restraints so I take the time to reach into my bra, attempting to pull out the box cutter. My hand can't properly grasp the handle so I use my teeth to push it into the lining of my glove pulling the straps tight with my teeth.

When the blade is secured I blindly cut away at the other rope on my wrist. Both hands are out now, I could run. Rumlow has given me the perfect opportunity to do just that. But I'm in no mood to run and hide.

I suspect the idiot is out right now looking for a torture device that will do great damage but won't kill. He needs me alive after all if I'm to be the perfect Hydra weapon he hopes for. He will surely use me to get to Barnes, but I will fight like a rapid animal if it comes down to that.

I've been to New York before, I know all the ins and outs. I know which buildings have laid empty. I can tell by the one broken window in the corner that this room is in the bottom of one of the old New York factories. If I climb through one of the floor boards I will be closer to the streets, and closer to getting my ass out of here.

With the knowledge of that pricking at my brain, I listen for footsteps above. I hear 2 sets. One by the main entrance (supposedly blocking the one exit in case I do escape) the other heavy set I can tell belongs to Rumlow. So two dudes think they will successfully keep me in this building? I'm amused.

Rumlow's footsteps stomp down a flight of stairs. Sounds like it's coming from the right side of the building, meaning I will have an easier time getting out of here.

I let my head droop back down, keeping my hands behind my back with the rope still loosely attached. I won't ruin my plan because of my eagerness to escape. I will play the part until the opportunity for answers arises.

Brock Rumlow is in front of me now, so I lift my head slowly as if it weighs more than I can bear. He smiles smugly (probably at the blood coating every inch of my face).

"Morning Sunshine," he says stepping closer, "are we feeling up to talking today?"

"I did enough talking yesterday, don't you think? I think I'd like it better if you talked to me."

My voice is innocent, I can tell he's more at ease today than he was yesterday. Good, let him believe he's safe.

"Have you ever asked what I think Rumlow? What I want to do with my powers?"

I guess today he decides letting me yap is in his best interests because he doesn't make a move to cut me off. He does let out a grunt as if my voice agitates him.

"I wasn't made to be an angel, in case you haven't noticed. I couldn't care less about saving the world or being a good person," I lick my lips immediately regretting it when blood hits my tongue.

"I only killed your men because they came after me. They didn't let me speak or let me explain a thing. No, they chose to attack and I chose to respond."

His eyes are filled with hatred I can almost see the faces of every person he has killed within them. But I hold my temper and spit some lies at him to hold his attention.

"I don't wanna kill you Brock, In fact I admire your resilience to pick up where Hydra left off."

He's curious now, which is exactly where I want him. Here's the thing about men like Rumlow, they simply hear what they want to hear, believe what they want to believe. Right now he is believing I am the perfect little weapon for him.

"Come here," I say softly, "I want to see what a true hero looks like."

The idiot obeys pulling up a stray chair to sit in front of me. His knee bumps into mine hitting a bare spot of my flesh that has been ripped open. I smile, letting myself into his mind.

"Perfect," I say almost seductively, "now let's get started."