CHURLISH | james b. barnes

[ 68 ]

She heard the Taskmaster's footsteps recede, holstering her gun.

Lucy let out a breath of relief, turning slightly to face Dreykov. He examined her for a moment, before turning back to Natasha.

"Is this your plan?" He asked.

Natasha clenched her jaw.

"My plan is to kill you." She replied smoothly.

"I'm alive." Dreykov said bluntly. "So, what do we do now?"

Lucy shifted slightly and Dreykov snapped.

"Don't." He clenched his jaw. "Move."

Lucy bit her tongue hard as Klause grabbed onto her arm. He shook his head.

"I'm useless." He muttered again. "Kill me."

Lucy scowled down at him, shaking her head firmly as she didn't move from her spot.

Natasha nodded slowly.

"What was my mother's name?" She asked.

Dreykov let out a soft breath.

"Where we buried her," he motioned with his hand, "there was a tree. Um. . .A pink blossom. Beautiful. And there was a tombstone, with her name engraved on it."

He chuckled.

Lucy could see Natasha's eyes water from where she sat.

"Unknown." He smirked.

Natasha shook her head.

"You don't feel anything?" She said quietly. "You feel anything when I killed your daughter?"

Dreykov waved a hand.

"Is this your haunted past?" He asked. "Really?"

He started to laugh, and Natasha looked at Lucy. She nodded her head imperceptibly towards the double doors. Lucy glanced at the Taskmaster. She looked away from Natasha, her shoulders dropping in defeat. There wasn't much she could do right now.

Dreykov stopped laughing.

"Thank you, Natasha." He chuckled as he stood, padding over towards the Taskmaster, patting her armored torso. "You gave me my greatest weapon."

Natasha stared at them with confusion.

"Say hello." Dreykov muttered.

He walked over towards Lucy and she flinched as he reached forwards, grabbing her by her hair without a single look. She had no choice but to let go of Klause, losing her grip on him as she turned, stumbling beside him with her hand wrapped around his wrist.

She grimaced from the fiery pain in her head, slamming onto her knees when he decided to sit down at his desk. He shoved her head down for good measure and she shielded herself from slamming into the side of his chair. She groaned in pain, her back roaring at her in protest.

She blinked blearily as she looked around the desk to see the Taskmaster.

Dreykov grabbed the nape of her neck–the chain around her neck bristled with energy, but didn't do anything.

Her breath fell short as the Taskmaster removed her helmet, revealing a heavily scarred girl, with two french braids lining her head. She clamped a hand over her mouth. There were so many burn scars. So many. This time, when Dreykov tugged her behind the desk, she voluntarily moved with him, hiding from the sight.

Oh god, had Natasha done that?

Natasha stepped towards the Taskmaster.

"When your bomb exploded," Dreykov ran a hand through her hair like she was some wounded dog, but Klause was all vulnerable in the corner, and if she pulled away he would probably shoot him again, "it nearly killed my Antonia. I had to put a chip in the back of her neck."