Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

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Decomposition, 2/4

[(Anonymous)]

Years ago, the man who owned the building, the butcher whose name was printed in faded letters on the awning that had once hung over the wide window, had died in that basement. He died with a pistol in one hand and a photograph of his wife and daughter clenched in the other. His blood drained from his body and ran into the grate while his body began decomposition.

Adoración did not know this. She had rolled the bones into the corner and covered them with a tarp, and she had taken stock of the rusted cleavers and knives in their bin underneath the elevated table with the gutters. There was nothing worth anything to her, so she left the butcher's artifacts as they were and settled down to sleep in a corner far away from the old man's bones.

She returned to the butcher's basement often enough that she began to leave things there for her comfort. She build up a stash of food, armor, and ammunition, along with other essentials for survival, a lamp and a bedroll and a few lengths of rope. It wasn't comfortable, but it was a good safe house, and the door had a sturdy lock.

And though she would never admit it, she liked its proximity to Camp McCarran and Corporal Betsy. It made it easier to claim she had been 'in the neighborhood' and stopped in for a visit.

She had been visiting Betsy for several months, and what had started out as purely physical had gained complexity and emotional heft. It changed from a fling to a serial hook-up to something else entirely, and Adoración didn't know why she was still making excuses to herself. She loved Betsy, though she was reluctant to say those words out loud.

And when Betsy confessed, unexpectedly, that she had spent a night, almost a year earlier, as Cook-Cook's captive and unwilling toy, Adoración almost cried from rage. It was ironic that she was the one being soothed when Betsy had been the victim, but the shock that someone she cared about had fallen prey to one of the most notorious hunters in the Mojave shut down her rational mind.

The next morning, she promised she wouldn't do anything rash, but the mercenary wasn't one for promises.

She spent a week planning. She decided to set her trap in her hideout in the basement of the abandoned butcher shop. She knew that what she was doing was incredibly dangerous, but there was no room in her mind for bloodlust and reason.

She would be the bait, a vulnerable young woman hiding out behind an unlocked door in Fiend territory, a mile and a half from anyone that would care if something happened to her.