When the morning came, which, realistically, was only a couple of hours after the five guys had retired to their rooms, it didn't bring about much hope. The rain may have eased, but it was still overcast and drizzly, and moods were sombered from the night's dramatic events.

Tom, Joey, Brad and Joe were in the living room lounging on the two, well worn sofas and smoking the remainder of their stash of pot and cigarettes.

They'd eaten the scraps that were in the cupboards which consisted of a rationed portion of cereal without milk because that had run out a few days ago, and toast, after picking off the dots of mould, with a small amount of butter.

It was no wonder they had resorted to smoking whatever was left to gain the satisfaction with their practically empty stomachs.

The food situation was dire, as was their money situation but they had only themselves to blame for that. Still, it indicated they needed to move on but without a place to go to, they were stuck.

To worsen the glum mood, Steven's outburst had split the group like it so often did and no one really wanted to mention his name or talk about him in front of the other. Not to forget they also had a young woman held hostage in the room next to them.

Joey started to tap his foot on the carpet, uncomfortable with all the silence.

"For fuck sake, Joey. Would you stop that?"

It didn't take long for someone to moan. A whole six seconds to be exact. And there was no surprise that it was Joe either.

He was acting like some king on the couch, slouched in one corner, spreading one arm behind the back and resting his other on the armrest with a cigarette dancing between his fingers. If Tom wasn't sitting next to him, he'd probably have taken up the whole thing.

Joey fidgeted, but stopped his foot nervously tapping. He looked between his friends, as if to emphasise his distress.

"No one is saying anything, and I don't like that no one is mentioning our...issues."

"We've all got issues," Brad mumbled unhelpfully from beside him.

"But her," Joey retaliated confidently, keeping up the importance of the conversation they had yet to have. "We don't do this sort of thing. This isn't what we do. I mean, kidnapping? There's so much wrong with that! We don't even know her goddamn name! Or if she's still there. Or if-"

"I don't think she'll be running away in her current state." Brad was too calm, puffing out a cloud of smoke from his nose. "Plus, she's tied up. Can't move far."

"That's not the point." Joey sat forward so he was hunched over his knees, his hands moving between them as he spoke, "We can't just leave her there to die, that's completely out of the question! We're not...murderers!"

When he was satisfied he'd got his point across, he slumped into the seat cushion and bounced his knees instead, eyes darting between the three guys around him.

On the other piece of furniture, Joe finished his cigarette, addressing Joey directly through a final puff of smoke.

"Are you done?"

There was a brief nod, and a silence of shame.

"I'll go find some food if we haven't already eaten it all," Tom offered, waving his wrist in some sort of gesture towards the kitchen.

At least someone agreed with Joey.

"Woah, LG. Not so fast." Joe quickly reached out for the blonde's arm and pulled him back down.

Tom scrunched up his brow in confusion. "Why not?"

"Well, she's goin' to ask questions and we don't want to be spilling something unnecessary that would make this all a lot worse. If it can get worse from here..." Joe explained. "So we should all agree that we ignore whatever she says, and tell her nothing."

"Shouldn't...Steven be deciding what we do?"

Joe flexed one of his hands into a fist, subtly so it wouldn't be noticed. He would be lying if he wasn't a bit pissed that the others still looked at Steven as a 'leader' figure. He was loud and obnoxious, and hadn't put a foot right in weeks, probably months. The two of them had slowly been growing apart, and now Steven had just fucked them all over. Big time.

"Steven has got us in enough shit already and he hasn't even made an appearance yet. So no, he won't get a say," Joe cleared up sternly.

No one had anything to add after that.

<>

Leah, though her name was unknown to the five Americans, woke up with a pounding headache. Her instinct was to feel the back of her head, but her restraints on her wrists held her back, just like they had done all through the night.

A groan escaped her, both from pain and despair, and she stared at the ceiling.

In the daylight, there were some suspicious stains up there and the damp crawled over all of the walls which made sitting in such a room, quite a gross prospect.

She was stiff and sore and now her stomach was starting to churn both from the place she was being kept in, and from emptiness, but she heard voices that were enough to act as a distraction.

Muffled by the walls, she had to tune in hard to listen, especially as she couldn't move any closer. There were definitely a few, though she could hardly distinguish between them, and the volume constantly fluctuated.

Time passed as it often did, and Leah's eyes had drifted close from boredom and to counteract the pain. In her doze, she saw flashes, bright white beams of light before she found herself sitting in the passenger seat of someone's car. When she looked towards the blurred figure of the driver, she could only see the back of his head. A man with brown hair which was short on the sides and slightly longer and tousled on top and flopped down with curls in a fringe. Then the flicker of images stopped, and she was nowhere, but her nose was twitching with an unmistakable scent of toast.

Leah snapped awake when she heard the lock click. Her breathing quickened, alertness peaking her senses, because she might not have been killed yet, but there was every possibility that her life was still in danger even if she could smell...toast.

A guy stepped in.

It was difficult to tell as Leah was on the floor, but he seemed tall, maybe even over six feet. He had straight, shoulder length blonde hair with a fuzzy sort of fringe. She couldn't be sure with his eye colour, but his mouth was drawn in a thin line of which was surrounded with a dark shadow of stubble, and since he was the first American she had seen in daylight, she was doing her best to memorise his face.

Dressed mostly in black and heavy style boots like Joe and Brad had been, he gave the impression that he was intimidating, but Leah registered the plate and the water he was holding and decided against the idea. However, she would not let him deceive her into a false sense of security just because he had brought her food and drink.

The man pushed the door closed with the back of his heel.

"H-Hi?"

For a brief second he looked like he was about to say something back, but then Leah saw his cheek twitch, and that moment passed. He didn't really look at her as he placed the things down, inconveniently well out of her reach, and didn't say a word when he turned to leave.

"Hey, wait," Leah called out weakly, instinctively trying to coax him back. She was, of course, jolted by the restraint. "How am I supposed to eat?"

The man hesitated, broad shoulders tense. A hand disappeared into a pocket on his jacket and retrieved a switchblade which he flipped open with ease.

The sound of the sharp blade in her ears made Leah suddenly swallow.

Switchblade in hand, she watched him step over the plate and water and crouch before her just like Brad had done a few hours ago. He looked right at her, face expressionless, eyes a murky sort of blue now that he was up close, and the blade hovered over her wrists. It didn't touch her skin, but Leah was fairly certain discomfort and fear was written all over her face.

"Stay still."

The blonde's voice was hushed, with plenty of warning that Leah didn't need to be told twice.

One section of the electric blue rope was cut in a few back and forth motions and then the switchblade collapsed neatly and was re-pocketed. The rest of the rope was untied manually, presumably so it could be re-used

Leah watched his hands work efficiently at untying the knots and unlooping them back through the pipe, and he too was careful with the way he handled her, which was yet another confusing sign of safety.

When her wrists were free, they presented pink marks with rope indentations that weren't quite hidden by her sleeves. They weren't deep and blistered since she hadn't fought with the tension, but they were still sore.

Leah watched him, this unfamiliar male still crouched in front of her, as he remained fixed on the rope that he gripped in his hand. It was a few strange seconds before it was stuffed into his pocket, and when the switchblade knife reappeared to cut the rope on her ankles with no chance of being reused again, Leah was a little stunned.

"Thanks...?"

He gave a nod without making eye contact and rose to his feet. He looked away, out the window, and placed a hand behind his head as if for comfort. He was hesitating to leave, and it would have been a mistake to not take a chance.

"Before you go-"

"I'm not supposed to be talking to you."

Leah continued anyway, "Can I at least use the bathroom?"

That got his attention.

"Oh..." He dropped his hand to his side, just about meeting her asking gaze. "Yeah, yeah sure."

Request accepted, Leah got to her feet, but it was far too quickly because of the severe head rush she received that almost caused her to topple over. She was actually grateful when a large hand wrapped around her upper arm to steady her.

"Just don't try and make a run for it. You won't get very far," the man said quietly, with plenty of punch and warning.

The chance was indeed to find an escape. Leah was untied and was about to be led out. She'd find the front door soon enough and could make a run for it, but there were a few major flaws to her plan.

She knew there were other guys in the house and she'd already been given a clear warning by one. She had no idea where she was, she had a head injury, no phone and no shoes on her feet which would make running just that little bit more reliant on the adrenaline.

So, with her chances slim, she stayed put.

The man kept a firm grip on her arm and guided her left, conveniently blocking the view to the right, to somewhere situated under the stairs, judging by the slant of the ceiling.

There was a strong confirmation of weed and cigarette smoke which made her nose scrunch up at the pungent smell, and Leah was fairly certain she had smelled it last night, possibly even waking her up at one point, but then she had been dozing on and off the whole night, and it was hard to keep track of what was real and what wasn't.

The toilet was small, grimy and made her skin crawl, but she'd been given a minute of privacy to consider her options again. Successful chances of escaping were practically non-existent because she didn't fancy trying to outrun five athletic Americans, and trying it in the first place might make her situation worse.

There was a knock.

Leah finished up and washed her hands with a lot of soap (the only hint of hygiene she'd seen so far) and opened the door.

The blonde was definitely around six feet now that she was standing in front of him. She had to lift her chin a tad to see his face.

"Why am I here?" she asked, trying to sound as brave as possible.

When his hand found its way to her arm again, she didn't fight against it. She let him take her back, silent and with no answers for her.

"Who are you guys?"

He couldn't look at her, pausing with the door pulled almost closed. Something was amiss, Leah knew it just from the way he was acting.

"I can't say anything...I'm sorry."

She was locked in before she had the chance to reply. This man, regretful- sorry as the exact word he used, may not have tied her back up, but evidently he wasn't stupid.

Accepting her lack of memory and lack of answers, Leah settled for the toast, which was a touch burned and on the cold side, but the main thing was, it was edible.

There was food and water, and she couldn't have been more confused if she tried.

<>

Steven appeared in the living room with the fumes of pot already tickling a new crave.

He hadn't slept a wink because he had been high, but he hadn't consumed enough to pass out and get sleep that way.

"You took your time," Joe spat at him, the very second he walked in.

Steven hummed curiously and perched on the arm of the sofa Joey and Brad occupied. He had his innocence all planned out, faking a sincere voice which would make his accent slip into that of a royally posh Briton.

"I had a very relieving shower. Thank you so much for asking."

Joe elected to ignore him. It must have been the palm Steven pressed so delicately to his chest.

"We've run out of food," Tom informed, changing the subject quickly.

"We're about to run out of weed," Joey added.

"And we don't have any more changes of clean clothes."

Brad must have seen the dried up blood on Steven's trouser leg, though he was probably speaking on behalf of them all.

The fun, if it could have been classed as such, disappeared.

Steven had checked his burner again this morning, but there were no new messages which meant they were still not moving yet. It was beginning to worry him now, and their problems were just stacking up and up.

"Have you checked?" Joe asked, civility returning.

Steven shook his head, back to his own voice. "Nothing."

Stating the obvious wasn't needed. They were in the shit, and they were well and truly stuck.

<>