OWEN's POV---

I collected Brinley's phone about two hours ago so the police could inspect it for any hints as to where she could've been taken. When none were found, it was given back to me to hold onto.

And right now, I'm sitting in the waiting area at the police department, holding the phone in my hands.

And it's ringing. Clarin's number shows up on the screen and anxiety creeps up on me. I feel sick. I feel guilty. I don't know what I could possibly say if I picked up that call.

I press ignore.

Joey walks over and sits in the chair beside me. I tap my fingers on the arm rest anxiously. I wish I could do something to help. I wish I could help them in some way. But I can't.

I couldn't protect her. I promised her I would, and I didn't. She is going to hate me forever... If I actually get her back. The thought makes me wince. I need to stop that. I'll get her back.

"Stop that," Joey shoves my hand of the armrest so the tapping doesn't resume. "It's making me all antsy."

"Sorry," I mutter.

Joey sighs, looking over at me. "We could go somewhere. Anywhere. I just... I need to get out of here. And I bet you do too."

I nod my head. "Yeah, that's be nice."

"Should we drive around downtown and search some more? Would that make you feel any better?" Joey asks, standing up from his spot.

I nod again. "Yeah... Yeah, I want to at least try."

We head out to the car and begin on our way without speaking. The tension is so thick, and so is the worry. The silence almost makes it worse, but at the same time it calms me not having to talk about anything.

"Hey," Joey says after about twenty minutes of driving through the downtown area. "Park there."

I slow myself into a pretty deserted part of town and park the car in an old and creepy parking lot that not contains three other cars.

"C'mon, let's walk through those alleys, the car won't fit there," Joey says, hopping out of the car.

Even though it's really dark outside, I don't feel afraid for my own wellbeing at all. The only thing I feel is desperation. I need to find Brinley. If I don't, I will never forgive myself.

The lights above the alleyways are dim and keep flickering. I keep getting a bad feeling in my chest, but I ignore it, assuming it's anxiety.

"Should we split up?" I suggest, looking at the two entrances.

"Sure."

He goes one way and I go another.

And then I turn a corner to find three suspicious looking men. One punches the other's shoulder to get their attention. They whisper some things to each other before starting towards us.

|•|•|•|

BRINLEY's POV---

By the time in dragged back to the cement room, Jonathan looks furious. He chucks me onto the dirty couch and two men's hand clasp my arms so I can't escape again.

Jonathan grabs his knife off the table, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. He turns to me, then saunters over, obviously agitated.

"You know," he says, "I don't think I'll be killing you just yet. I want to give you one chance. Just one. I want you to make the right choices this time."

He has an incredibly dangerous look in his eye. I feel all my adrenaline sweeping away, and pure terror takes its place. What is he planning on doing?

"I hope this'll permanently remind you not to defy me," he says.

He gets too close with the knife in his hand, and I try to squirm out of the other men's grips, but I don't succeed.

"If you move, it'll make this much, much more painful," Jonathan tells me.

And then the tip of the knife touches my arm. I feel is slowly stick into me. I bite my lip trying to keep my calm and not scream. When it actually break my skin, I squeeze my eyes shut, a grimace on my face. I can feel dripping blood down my arm.

And then he drags it, so, so slowly. My eyes fly open and I let out a very loud scream. My eyes fill with tears and white hot pain flies through my limb. I try to move, to do something, anything to stop this. Please, anything.

"Please," I cry. "Please, don't!"

The knife is pulled away. I spare one small glance down to my arm and feel nauseous. It's covered with thick blood, a deep five inch cut visible through it all. It stings terribly, and it has a strong pulse now.

"I didn't want to do that, Brinley. I hate to see you in pain," Jonathan says, staring down at me with no emotion visible at all.

"You threatened to kill me," I say, trying to catch a full breath. "You don't want to hurt me?"

"I don't. But sometimes we need it," he says.

There is a hard knock on the door now, and Jonathan looks annoyed. He walks over and yanks it open after switching the lock. Three men are trying to contain one other, who is struggling against them and then I see who it is-

"Owen," my voice cracks. "No."

Jonathan grabs my chin and pulls my focus violently to him. "Don't you utter so much as a word or there'll be consequences."

But I don't pay attention to the threats. I'm paying attention to the dark haired boy.

The men drag him inside and throw him down on the ground where they grab hold of his hands and handcuff them behind his back. Where did they even get those...?

"Brinley," Owen sounds winded.

His eyes travel over my face, which must be red and blotchy from my tears, then travels down to my neck that is all red with fingerprints from them hauling me back here when I tried to run. And when his focus reaches my bloody arm, a scary look finds its way onto his face.

"Did you do that to her?" Owen shouts at Jonathan. "Tell me! Did you do that?!"

Jonathan simply laughs, holding up the bloody knife in reply.

"You find this funny?" Owen demands. "You find causing an innocent girl pain is funny?"

Jonathan walks over to Owen and punches him straight in the face. Owen winces, but can't retaliate since his hands are handcuffed. He gets punched again, this time in the jaw.

"You don't know anything, prettyboy," he says in a low voice. "That girl is not innocent. She ruined my life. She refuses to love me. She refuses to cooperate with me. She deserves everything she gets. She has to learn respect."

"She does not deserve this," Owen growls, looking furious.

"Hm," Jonathan hums. "Angry are we?"

He pulls back his fist again, looking ready to punch him once more.

"No!" I shout. "No, don't touch him!"

Jonathan slowly turns to me, eyes dangerous. He slowly makes his way over to me. I try to inch backwards on the couch, but I'm still held back and unable to do anything.

"I told you not to say anything," he says, only loud enough for me to hear.

And then he slaps me across the face with so much force that a cry escapes my lips and my neck cracks with the change in motion. My cheek feels numb, and I know it's red.

I see Owen struggling on the floor, trying to have a go at Jonathan. He's held back by the same three men who dragged him in.

"Don't... Touch... Her," he says.

Jonathan chuckles darkly again. "There's nothing you can do, huh? You can't protect her, can you?"

"You are an evil human being-" Owen begins, looking absolutely furious.

When Jonathan pulls out a gun, my voice stops in my throat. Everyone goes silent. He points it straight at Owen's head, looking at him in hatred. Owen is stopped, eyes wide, mouth open slightly, probably just as shocked as I am about this.

"No," I whisper. "No."

"Would you shut up?" Jonathan yells back at me.

The door flies open again just as he was raising the gun at Owen once more. All eyes turn towards it. The man I know as Tommy runs inside.

"We have a problem that doesn't want to be fixed," he says, chest heaving.

"What kind of problem?" Jonathan demands.

"Goes by the name of Joey," Tommy replies.

My eyes flicker to Owen now, and he's staring at me as well. He seems to be relieved at this news, but I don't. They have Joey too? Now we're all in danger.

"Throw them in the room. I'll take care of it," Jonathan says, then he storms out the door.

And then hands are on both Owen and I and we're forced into the same small cement room I was in last night. His handcuffs are taken off, I assume to use for Joey. I let out a groan as my face smacks the hard wall and I stumble onto the floor. The door slams shut, leaving us both here in the complete darkness.