Cleo awakens to find herself tied up

Cleo Capone wakes with a soft groan and a sharp pull at her shoulders. The velvet beneath her feels too smooth, too familiar, and the chill in the air tells her she’s no longer in charge.

She tries to sit up—only to find her wrists tied behind the very same chaise where she’d bound Velvet Vixen hours ago.

“What the—?!”

Her legs are stretched out and secured at the ankles, sashes wound expertly around the frame. Her robe’s been adjusted to keep her decent… but only just. Her hair is tousled, makeup smudged, and the sharp edge in her voice is dulled by sheer disbelief.

“You little—”

“Language,” Velvet Vixen purrs, stepping into view.

Cleo’s jaw locks as she sees the heroine—fully dressed, hair back in place, mask perfectly straight—looking every bit the victorious vigilante, though with just enough smugness in her smirk to betray exactly what went down.

Kendrick leans over her captive, resting one knee on the edge of the chaise, arms crossed beneath her cape.

“Look at you,” she coos. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play with fire?”

Cleo growls. “Untie me.”

Velvet Vixen just laughs.

She reaches down, trails her gloved fingers through Cleo’s tangled hair, brushing it out of her face with a surprising tenderness. Then, she leans in.

“I will admit though…” she whispers, lips grazing Cleo’s cheek, “it was fun.”

She kisses her—softly, like punctuation. Cleo doesn't hesitate to return it, biting at her bottom lip just slightly, even as her body twists against the restraints.

“I hate you,” she breathes.

“Mhm,” Velvet Vixen replies, standing tall once again and tugging her gloves tight. “Tell me that when you’re out of prison.”

She turns on her heel with a dramatic swish of cape and hips, striding confidently toward the door.

“Maybe we’ll hook up again,” she calls over her shoulder. “Bring handcuffs next time. I won’t struggle.”

“You little traitorous—!”

SLAM.

The door shuts behind her.

Cleo thrashes on the chaise, ropes creaking, chest heaving, her curse words muffled now by sheer fury and a certain frustrated… heat.

Moments Later – Front Room of the Lair

Velvet Vixen taps her boot against the floor, phone pressed to her ear, a small satisfied smirk still tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah. Westville PD? I’ve got a gift-wrapped surprise for you at an abandoned speakeasy on the corner of Glen and 13th.”

A pause. Her grin grows wider.

“Yes, that Cleo Capone. No, she won’t be going anywhere.”

She hangs up.

Brushes her hair back.

And lets out a long, triumphant sigh.