The cold metal of the chair bit through Wanda's thin shirt, a memory of concrete and recycled chill. Her wrists burned where the ropes held them behind the steel back—tight enough to leave marks, loose enough to mock her. She flexed her fingers, felt the familiar thrum of chaos magic rise in her palms, and watched it die against her skin, swallowed by whatever dampening field they'd rigged in the room. The bare bulb above buzzed, a sickly yellow halo on her face.
"Aww, look at that." The voice came from her left—high, bright, laced with something that could have been affection or a threat. Harley Quinn's face swam into view, those red and blue pigtails swinging as she leaned in close. Her perfume hit first: something floral and cheap, layered over the copper tang of gunpowder. "She's still tryin', Selina. Got them little sparks and everything."
Wanda's jaw tightened. "Let me go, and I'll show you what my sparks can—"
The kiss landed on her nose. Wet. Lipstick-smeared. Ridiculous.
Harley pulled back, grinning, her blue eyes bright and too wide. "Lighten up, Red! You're always so 'doom and gloom' with the chaos magic. How 'bout we show ya some real chaos?"
Wanda's cheeks burned. She could smell Harley's lipstick—strawberry sweet, cheap, overwhelming. The absurdity of it, the sheer casual invasion of her space, made her chest tighten with a fury that had nowhere to go. The ropes creaked as she twisted her wrists.
A whisper of leather behind her. Then a touch so light she almost missed it—Felicia Hardy's claws, retracted, tracing up the line of Wanda's jaw. The barest pressure, a ghost of contact, trailing from her chin to her ear. Wanda's breath hitched. The goosebumps rose before she could stop them.
"Don't look so angry, witchy." Felicia's voice was a purr, her breath warm against Wanda's ear. "It makes me want to see what else you can do with those hands."
Wanda tried to turn her head, put space between them, but Felicia's claws followed her, a single sharp nail now dragging down the column of her throat—not hard enough to break skin. Just enough to leave a trail of heat. Wanda's pulse jumped under the touch.
Across the room, near the vault door, Selina Kyle stood with her arms crossed. She hadn't moved since they'd secured Wanda. Her green eyes were fixed on the scene, half-lidded, a flicker of something barely contained in the set of her mouth. She said nothing. The whip coiled at her hip caught the bare bulb light.
Harley bounced closer, her hands on her hips. "You know, Red, you're real pretty when you're mad. All those little lines in your forehead." She reached out and pressed a thumb between Wanda's eyebrows, hard. "Right there. Like a little angry bird."
Wanda jerked her head back. "Get off me."
Harley laughed—a bright, unhinged sound that echoed off the concrete walls. "Told ya she's got bite, Felicia."
Behind her, Felicia's claws had found the shell of Wanda's ear, tracing the curve with deliberate slowness. Wanda's body shivered despite herself. She couldn't control it—the way her skin responded to the tease, the way her thighs pressed together beneath the chair.
Traitor body.
Selina finally uncrossed her arms, took one step forward. The concrete floor seemed to absorb the sound of her boot. "Harley, stop playing with her face." Her voice was low, unhurried. "Felicia, the ropes. Check them."
Felicia's hand dropped from Wanda's ear, but her fingers trailed down Wanda's arm as she moved, a last, lingering brush that felt less like a check and more like a promise. She circled the chair, her silver hair catching the light, and crouched behind Wanda's bound wrists. "They're fine. She's not going anywhere."
Wanda's magic sparked at her fingertips again, a desperate pulse that died before it could form. She felt the loss in her chest, a hollow ache of power denied. The ropes were tight, the chair solid, the three of them moving around her like a unit that had done this before.
Harley leaned in again, this time so close that her breath painted Wanda's lips, sticky and sweet. "Relax, Red. We're just getting started."
Wanda's thighs pressed harder together. Already wet. Already theirs. She hated herself for it, hated the way her body answered before her mind could catch up. But the heat was there, low and stubborn, curling in her belly as Felicia's fingers found the nape of her neck and Harley's smile widened.