C H A P T E R S I X T E E N

{Dr fucking feelgood...or the handsy stoner?}

The skin of her face was tight. Caked in the evidence of that now no longer running waterfall of grief pouring from her eyes for the mess–the nightmare her life had become in the form of long dried tears and flaked mascara.

She was fast asleep after David's harsh dumping of reality on her, and she was the damn most beautiful thing any of them had seen. There were girls on the boardwalk, sure: runaways, goths, hippies, punks, the typical bimbo skanks always throwing themselves at their feet and they were men with needs, they indulged those worthless women every once in a while.

They doubted, however, any would ever compare in the slightest to Hesperia. None could hold a candle to her. It was almost unfair to the rest of the men out there as it was lucky that such a beauty was theirs. Forever.

Even as she slept, she was hypnotizing. That was not to say this rest of hers was peaceful, but the well intended Paul had done his best to make it so. The nicest of the bunch, maybe second to Dwayne–as nice and dainty and fucking respectable as a ruthless killer could be.

He had tucked her in, shushed and cooed sweet words so unlike himself at her when she'd stirred, made sure the cuff stretching her bent arm at an awkward angle was propped up with pillows and wasn't tight enough to cut the delicate and paper thin skin of her wrist. She was snug, warm and wrapped up tight and he had made sure she was covered for her modesty.

It was the least of the pampering she deserved after the admittedly shameful way they'd treated her, but...it was their nature. What they were, it made no room for niceties. Not when you had to wake up every night and face the facts you were gonna go out and rip into a few people to sate the beast that demanded blood, so yeah. He didn't know any better after years of that being his normalcy.

Compassion was not his thing, and fuck–being some dapper gentleman practically bursting at the seems with chivalry wasn't his thing. Neither was it his brothers and love in all its delicate intricacy was sure to be a hard thing to navigate in the future.

The problem still remained, they would have to. She was here now. She was with them and instead of her hating them, they somehow were going to have to get her to love them.

His out of place care was kind of screwed up and pointless since the area he had made sure was hidden was one he'd paid special attention to earlier in front of a just as guilty audience who hadn't stopped him—all of it against her will, to boot, but Paul had been uncontainable.

She had looked so damn good and as fucked as it was, the sight of her trapped, amenable to their will, unable to escape or leave and Christ, that fierce scowl to show them all just how much she despised them? It had done something to him, roused something in him. Something odd and something he never normally experienced.

Feeling up girls when they didn't necessarily want it wasn't something any of them partook in, but she did bring out the worst parts that lay mostly dormant in them and she had been condemned the minute Paul had wheedled out the truth in her feelings. She tried to hate him, hate his brothers, hate her predicament.

They all knew the truth. Saw her deepest desires, her innermost thoughts and when he had felt she had wanted him too when he'd teased the idea of a kiss, how much the truth of it actually feeling good when he did give one to her disgusted her and made her loathe herself?

It had turned him on. Big time. To the point his passion for her, his aching fucking need had been concerning even to him because...he didn't know how far he would go, how much of it he could keep at bay and under his control.

It was her. Not her fault, that was to say, it was just...everything about her.

She'd all but tempted him like a siren with her veiled and hidden confliction she had no idea he could feel. How could he ignore the way her soul cried out for him even when she hadn't known or understood that it was?

And yeah, they could explain what she was to them. That it wasn't them doing this to her, that they didn't really enjoy it. That it was fate and that she was as meant and built and created for them as they were for her.

...Would she believe them? The risk of it eviscerating her already wilting mental health seemed too great a price to take the chance.

She knew of the supernatural living right under the stupid and oblivious mortals noses. It made it easier, for sure, but this was different. This was life changing and they hadn't been able to clue her in, in the end. Not even David had that kind of courage. Not yet. She wasn't ready.

Instead, they'd let her take in what she had learned and to try and make amends for the unscrupulous way they'd treated her, they coddled her. Fussed her. Doted on her like fucking servants and she wasn't even awake to see it. To see how good they could be to her, for her, if she gave them the chance.

He and Dwayne had made her hair up when she'd passed out, plaited in little parts thanks to Marko's efficient fingers, so it wouldn't become tangled and was splayed around her head in a raven halo on the plush pillows.

She ended up looking like some melancholically weary, harrowing and ethereal version of sleeping beauty waiting for her kiss, those strawberry tinted and bruised and beckoningly tempting lips; drawing Paul in to feel their sweet, soft warmth against his own again as he'd leant over her, drawing their contact out while Dwayne had been more respectful, not letting his touch linger like the uncontrollable Paul.

The wild blond wanted to acquiesce to her unknowing demands but, unlike earlier when she'd been awake to return it and show him she really did want it–even if she'd protested and assaulted him for it–touching her without her permission while she slept felt wrong.

They'd still all been able to admire her beauty without invading her privacy. She was stunning in her fear, in her defeat that kept her in its clutches even in unconsciousness.

But in her fight and her acidous hatred of them, she was even more gorgeous. Arresting in her fiery allure. Just totally...spellbinding.

They were lucky to have found her, to have had her make the mistake of wandering into their territory: placed right in their laps for the taking.

It was a Hell's send she had done so before someone else had realized just how special she was. How beautiful and selfless and witty and just...perfect she was. Before someone had stolen her away.

No one could now. Not even that sad sack of a brother who was soon to be stone cold dead. She was theirs, she was always meant to be theirs and now she always would be.

She had nowhere else to go, no way to get out and it...felt so fucking good to have her in their grasp with no hope of salvation for her. The only thing that could have lifted her from her hell was trapped right there with her. Immobilized to change it just as she was.

This way of having her was harsh. Point blank.

It was brutal and by society's standards– by mortal standards, it was an arrestable offense that would have left them locked up for an unlawful, short amount of time thanks to Santa Carla's corrupt justice system.

They knew how screwed it was and yet, Dwayne was the only one somewhat remorseful for it. It was all kinds of fucked up but it was what had to be done. Even he could admit that with all of his lack of involvement and diplomacy to stay neutral.

She was a drifter, as many who ended up in a place like Santa Carla were. The classical story, the blueprint that made up the town's inhabitants. The blood and heart that allowed the hedonic body of Santa Carla to thrive.

It didn't mean that she'd stay long and at the slow rate of their getting to know one another, by the time she would have wanted to move onto the next place, a new town far away from them, they wouldn't have even scratched the surface of what she was to them.

It would have been too much to have to wait for her to warm up to them and accept them naturally and it was David's classically cold and analytical thinking that this way, she would know just how brutal they were from the get go.

They wouldn't need to play up being dutiful or nice, because they weren't. At all–nice men, kind men. They were brutal and they loved it all. Fucking lived for it.

The chase. The kill. The destruction and chaos.

Every aspect of the undead curse that had infected them all, they had turned it into something greater. Embraced it, just like she someday would. She was built for it. Designed to be a killer. Designed for them. They'd show her and make her accept it.

Maybe...someone else who wasn't tainted by the malevolence of vampirism could have waited, could have done right by her: dated her appropriately, took their time, put in the effort to earn her love. Given her the life she thought she wanted with the kids, the big house in some sunny suburbia with the white picket fence meant to ward off all things unpleasant and evil.

All that cute shit.

Not them. They didn't have the patience for that.

They were the monsters that the white wall of mundane protection would have tried to keep out and sadly for her, the beasts in them wouldn't allow it. Couldn't give her that life she might have desired. No.

The simple facts were, they had a mate and the feral parts of them they often let get out of hand wanted no play or staged little show of civility.

They needed her with them, as part of the pack, filling the hole they hadn't noticed existed until she'd shown up. Just appeared in their lives out of the blue one night, making the aching chunk of incompleteness they hadn't even deigned to consider part of them glaringly apparent.

There was no waiting, not anymore. Not unless they wanted to suffer for months on end in pain and longing after her, which they did not.

In the end they had heeded Marko's suggestion.

He was a dark little fucker in spite of his Angelical appearance and they'd concluded to listen to and follow his plan. They'd decided they'd take her, trap her away from the rest of the world, do some emotional warfare and mental manipulation. They would make her love them and only them. Make her see it was them or no one but the stone walls as company.

With her brother out of the way, it would be easy. She'd have no other choice, no one else to turn to in her prison for comfort or love or reassurance.

None but them.

It was all going to be perfect because it was sure to work. A week, a month–hell, years from now. It didn't matter. Time was in abundance and they could wait it out. The reality was, at some point, she would give in.

They had left her, eventually. When the call of slumber blasted out as a warning from the rising sun had become too beckoning to ignore. She was dead to her surroundings, anyway, as was the effect of David's profane gifts.

It was from a mix of emotional exhaustion and from David foisting that restless fit of slumber upon her that's she was able to 'relax'; subduing her into that horrid sleep plagued by nightmares with his manipulating abilities. Forced it on her, like they'd forced their unsolicited touches.

There was no harm leaving her and they had done so after solidifying under David's demands that her restraints were tight and the door was wedged back into the crevice to secure her 'privacy.' The sun had forced them into the deepest recesses of the cave, pushed into an excited sleep.

Filled with the buzz of having everything going according to plan.

For Hesperia, when she awoke to find herself confined in bankents like some sort of mummy, excitement was anything but what she was feeling. Disgusted, sick to her stomach, just...generally unwell. It had been well over twenty four hours since she had last eaten, but food was the last thing on her mind.

She had spent minutes...hours...God, days? She hoped not, but she didn't know in her little slice of hell if it was even day or night beyond the walls of her prison.

In the beginning, instead of moping around like a useless sack of shit, she had used whatever time she had until the four psycho's returned to attempt to free her confined arm.

Pulling, yanking, pushing at the cool metal until her wrist had been screaming its complaints. It was aching and stinging from the cold air by the end, dripping with cherry red blood that stained her milky forearm and the edges of the sleeve of her dress; thick paths of her slowly drying life's essence only replaced by more and more.

Utterly hopeless and now with a cut up wrist pissing out blood, she resigned herself to sprawl on her back, her bleeding right arm held oddly in the air, and she just...stared. At the ceiling. At the condensation coming from somewhere, dropping torrents of water off of the uneven dark stone, the noise of the dew splatting against the ground eventually dulled into the background as her mind was consumed by nothing.

Just nothing. She hadn't the ability to think. She simply stared.

It was pitch black, but her eyes were keen and she could see a little, only due to the light creeping in from under the crack of the 'door.' And then her stale and unpleasant numb reflection was disrupted...

'Hesperia...'

She barely reacted. It hadn't been long in her nefarious limbo, but madness was a companion she soon expected would creep up on her and ensnare her mind. It was bound to happen if she was to spend so much time alone. Fearful, dying in her terror like a trapped, wounded animal with nothing to distract her.

It seemed the madness was already starting, but her head had always been fragile. Ghostly whispers tended to follow her anyway.

'Ria.'

Her brows furrowed, minutely, the barest of twitches. It sounded familiar, that voice. Too familiar.

'Ria! Would you fucking answer me, buttercup?!'

It was a sudden burst, the whisper now a stark yell like the volume had burst through a muffling barricade blocking it and she winced, both from the stab of pain to her temples and at the desperation in that familiar voice. Of home. Of salvation.

Cassius.

She sat up, her face bright and animated with positive emotion for the first time since waking up, since things had spiraled out of control, and when she started into that inky blackness she felt like she could finally see.

'Cas! Oh, thank fuck you're still alive!' Her relief, however, was quickly thwarted at remembering their predicament and slightly gloating, slightly mad, she frowned into the air and snapped, 'At the same time, you moron, that ain't good for you. If we get ouf of this I'm gonna fucking kill you!'

'Yeah...' She could just imagine the sheepish look on his face...wherever he was. 'I really have gone and dropped us in the shit. This is not one of my proudest moments.'

'Oh gee, you think?' She snarked and for a long moment that filled her with dread, he went radio silent.

'I'm so sorry, Ria. This is all my fault.' He whispered at last.

Downtrodden, she waited a moment to respond too. What was she supposed to say? No one but those four lunatics were really at fault.

As a collective and not just one individual, she and Cas had made a wrong choice, they'd done something they'd never normally do and it had left them trapped up shit creek without a paddle to save them: these were vampires, of all things. It was brand new territory.

Still, this was bound to happen one day. They had always been too gullible, too arrogant they'd be fine and too trusting that people–and creatures alike–were good.

Now, they had found a side to the world that wasn't.

'No.' She sighed and reluctantly sank back into the mattress and blankets, back to her hollow examination of all of the crevices and cracks in the ceiling to give her rattling mind something to do so she wouldn't succumb to the burgeoning sickness of psychosis. 'It's not your fault, or mine. I didn't see this coming and I know you didn't either.'

'I didn't.' He agreed. A beat, and then, 'They haven't hurt you, have they? Cause I swear to god, I'll fucking tie them up like witches on a stake in front of the rising sun and laugh at their demise as they're chargrilled if I ever get out of this...hole.'

There was a hard edge to his voice, cutting and deep and full of promises. If he ever got out, like he'd said, the four men responsible for this rushed and quite frankly botched kidnapping job would live only to see the beginnings of dawn, and then they'd be toast. Literally.

She took a while to answer...because, in a way, they had hurt her in the worst way a person–a woman, especially, could be hurt. It was mortifying, what they had done before she'd been forced to sleep.

How the hell was she supposed to tell her brother she'd been sexually assaulted? And that some...corrupted, miniscule and undignified part of her spirit she refused to accept as really belonging to her had enjoyed Paul's attention?

Cassius's voice was impossibly louder and deeper and commanding, more and more promises of death for the men piling into its smooth cadence when she took too long answering for everything to be considered fine and dandy. 'Ria? Tell me. Now. What have they done to you?"

'Nothing that bad, I-I promise. I'm sure it's nothing compared to what I've got coming.' It was a sick thought to have, but would she be a woman if she didn't think of it? Of an egregious fate most likely already bound to her and woven in her twisted future?

It was a fact that this wasn't like your average kidnapping, they were creatures of the undead for Heaven's sake. But they were still men, and men were beastly. Even the mortal ones.

It was worse for her, because these were men who already committed the worst of crimes every waking moment of their immortal lives. Who were already pushed past the reasonable point of no return when it came to humility and common decency.

They were clearly unwell in the brain and they had demonstrated that they would do what they wanted, take what they wanted, justify fucking asssualting her as some sort of 'punishment.'

These were men who had already shown just how debauched they were. Copping a feel, a forceful kiss, Paul fucking licking blood off of her from intimate places no one had ever touched like she was nothing better than a lollipop–a nice little treat for the taking.

There was no doubt in her mind that if they wanted it enough, in their own reprobate and sadistic and warped minds and reasonings, they'd have no issue taking their attention a step too far and vindicating doing the worst to her...and that petrified her.

'What you... what?' Even through speaking in their minds, Cassius sounded physically sick. As ill as she felt. 'Please, sister, tell me.'

A tear, alone just as she was, spilled and tracked down her temple into her hair. She was all cried out and to top it off, she was dehydrated. It was the only one she assumed would be shed that day because she just...didn't have the strength anymore.

He didn't understand that she was doing him a kindness.

'I won't tell you. Just know we're dealing with men who have literally no morals or code of ethics. No kindness. There's no chance of us talking our way out of this.'

'Shit.' He was close to being as defeated as she was.

She wanted the fight, like he had, but they had stolen it from her. At least until she saw them again when she'd put that bravado back on. Until then, in her solitude, it was okay not to have to pretend to be strong.

Cassius sighed, and she imagined him raking his hands down his face, pacing back and forth. 'Fuck. How the Heaven are we gonna get out of here?'

An idea was sparked in her brain. Cassius had many abilities and sure, he couldn't punch or kick his way through walls but he could basically walk through them. 'Cas, can't you just 'poof' to me?'

Poof might have sounded silly and somewhat juvenile and Cas hated it, but they didn't call it teleporting because he couldn't do it everywhere. Only to reach her and she often reflected that if he'd wanted it dubbed as something cooler, he shouldn't have let her pick the name when she was sixteen.

He was defeated but soft in voice as he broke the bad news, and she felt that spark become snuffed out, waning away until it was just the destitute wretchedness of her misery left in her mind once more. 'No, buttercup. I'm sorry. They...they gave me something. Some liquid that's diminished my strength and my powers. It's like some kind of poison, I...I barely have enough energy left to talk to you and I'm sure pretty soon, I won't even be able to do that.'

There was the urge to cry, but...no tears. It wasn't possible and the only way to lament her sadness and despair was to scrunch her face up like she was. She had to do something to try and lessen the bested and conquered ache of loss in her heart and soul.

They hadn't lied. They really were trying to kill her brother and by the sounds of it, they were succeeding. Nothing, from her experience with him, had ever made Cas sick. He was anything but human. He wasn't from Earth. He was from somewhere better, somewhere ascended, celestial and essentially, nothing 'mortal' could hurt him. Not their food, not being stabbed or shot or beat up.

He was impenetrable. A veritable superman–minus the mundane looks and superhuman strength of Clark Kent.

Whatever they had given him, it wasn't anything human. It couldn't be but, she had to remember, she was dealing with the supernatural now, after all...and these men were smart. Smarter than she gave them credit for.

'Then we're fucked.' She concluded dismally.

Cassius disagreed immediately. She didn't know how he could when faced with the truth right in front of them. 'No. Don't say that, we're not. Is...' It was hard for either of them to think straight, to formulate a plan but he tried his damndest. He wasn't letting his sister stay here for eternity as some human blood bag. Even if he had to die to save her. 'Is there nothing you can do? Where are you?'

'In some sort of back room, I think. It's cold and damp and there's no natural light.' She replied, but he noted she was still bleak and lacking any optimism. Not a good sign and when her whisper traversed through his mind again, he officially joined her in those feelings. 'Don't get your hopes up, brother. I may not be holed up somewhere like you but I'm just as trapped.'

'What? How?' He all but shouted the words and the intensity made her head throb.

'Handcuffed to a bed.' She clarified and she had already prepared herself for the tidal wave of curses and obscenities he listed off. In tandem with her concerningly throbbing wrist, her head did so too and when he was done trying to destroy her sanity even more than it already was, she cleared things up further so he had the full picture. 'I can't get out of them. I tried but I've fucked up my hand.'

'Okay...alright. We're gonna have to...and then you will need to act... a possibility that David's the...' Like a failing radio connection, Cassius's voice dipped in and out, in and out, making absolutely no sense.

'What? Cas?' Nothing.

'Cas! Cassius?' Ria tried desperately, but it was no use.

With some final jumbled words he was gone.

He was still alive, she could feel it, but their connection was lost. What was worse than not hearing him, was the fact that she didn't know if it was for good. If she'd ever speak to him again.

"No, no, no!" Ria hissed, curling into herself for protection, yanking at her already injured arm, crying those same tearless sobs. She was in denial. This just couldn't be real. "It's not real. Not real...not real...not real..." She kept repeating the lie, like a broken record but hearing her voice was the only thing that saved her from giving up because now, she really was alone and unknowingly in her woe, she'd made her cut on her wrist worse. Much, much worse.

Alone she stayed. Until the universe wanted another round of laughter and made her the brunt of its sick joke. Heartbroken at her brother's absence, someone soon came to fill it.

She heard them.

It sounded like just two people and of them all, she prayed for Dwayne more than anyone else. Silent, brooding, caring, sweet, multilayered Dwayne who had not yet actively inserted himself into this sycophantic experience.

As she'd been finding out, her luck was nonexistent. She layed on her back with her head pointed at the door, unmoving, doing a great imitation of a statue as the wood was yanked away and to her horror, the ones to parade their way into her 'room' were Paul and Marko. The terror twins.

"Good Night, my precious Pumpkin!" Paul chirped like things were right as fucking rain between them, carrying a plastic bag with an aroma wafting from it that would normally make her mouth water but instead turned her stomach.

Marko was behind him, creeping in lithely. Silent but lethal. Acting as Paul's less exuberant shadow, choosing to observe for now rather than engage. His hands were full, too, with what looked like sanitary products? Christ on a stick. That solidified how long they were planning on keeping her.

She didn't respond, obviously, but that was okay to Paul who continued like she had. He was so jubilant. So vivacious and carefree and Hesperia didn't find it hard to believe that Paul could even find a way to have a conversation with a brick wall.

Having taken the things from Marko he skipped over to the bed, coin sash jangling, with carefree peppiness while his brother went to shove the door back in place. "How are you tonight, my sexy little Angel? Been dreaming of me like I have you, huh?"

She didn't respond.

He tried again to win a reaction, bouncing on his heels with a grin big enough to split the skin of his cheeks. Very reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. "Were they dirty dreams, baby girl? That why your gettin' all shy on me?"

She wanted to say, 'I'm not shy. I just don't like you.' But she'd probably earn herself a torn out jugular for such behavior. It was easy to forget with Paul that he had done the worst things to her out of them all. That he was a monster.

His charisma, his genuinely likable personality was repugnant because it made it so conveniently easy to blind her to past events. Like right now.

He was annoying and she wanted him gone so she'd stop fucking loathing herself for liking him.

"No need to be ashamed. That just means we have something in common!" He said brightly, an eager, light and happy–go–lucky attitude to him that was dusked by some sadness at the cold shoulder from her.   

He put the stuff down and was suddenly, worryingly rigid in countenance and body language, a pinch formed between his brows. He stopped, lifted his head, scenting the air like a dog, his wild mane bouncing with the movement in an odd grace and then his amber tinged eyes honed in on her bound wrist.

Her gut churned with nausea at the look of contempt slipping over his annoyingly perfect face.

She'd forgotten with his dramatic arrival that she was bleeding–or had bled. She hadn't looked at her arm in a while.

He'd gone motionless. Completely.

Betwixt between acting on the hunger incited by the heavenly scent and substance too close to him just begging him to take a little drink, a small bite: or being angry and panicked and helpful. In the end his instincts told him to protect over feed. Save rather than condemn.

She could just hear the sirens screaming 'Danger! Danger!' going off in his head.

"Fuck, baby, what did you do?!" He shouted when he started up again and stopped glitching, uncharacteristically angry with her through his concern and he very nearly sent her food spilling everywhere when he took her dainty wrist in his large hands.

At his tone, Marko was moved to bound over, involving himself when he'd just wanted to stay back for a minute to admire her before she ruined the mirage he'd built in his mind. Before he was reminded of how much she despised them.

"Ria–no, babydoll! Why'd you do that, huh? Fuck! David's gonna shit bricks." The exact same sequence of emotions fell over the curly haired sprite at the sight of her profusely bleeding wrist.

She was sort of shocked they weren't sent into a frenzy at the sight and smell of her blood but...they weren't. They were just worried, as if that had overridden any animalistic instinct to harm her or something.

Their care made her sick.

"Marko. I'm, uh, kinda out of my depth here, man–shit!" Paul was starting to sound frantic and was bumbling as he tried to stop the bleeding around the cuff with his careful hands, but with hope she saw it in his body language as he realized he was going to have to remove it if he wanted to stem the flow that started to seep through the cracks of space between his fingers.

Marko nodded urgently, knowing what Paul was conveying in that simple sentence. "On it. Hang tight."

Then, he was gone. In one lazy blink. Paul was all who remained and not able to comfort her proficiently with her being tied up, he opted to distract her with stupid jokes and funny faces from the sight of the mangled skin of her arm when Ria seemed to realize how bad it was.

He failed. She was looking right at the wound even as he danced around like a loon and horror was quickly blooming on her face.

Shit, when had it gotten that bad? She hadn't meant to do that.

"Oh, God." She whimpered in distress, flopping to sit up on her knees as her head began to spin from the prefuse blood loss. The bed covers were splattered and it all looked like a murder scene and her wrist...her wrist. Horrifically, it resembled a much less severe version of Jessie's from Gerald's game.

"S'okay, girl, don't freak–" Paul said. Hasty, frantic, trying his best to soothe her.

Her breath was erratic, speeding up and she could have thrown up if her stomach had anything to give. He was too late. She was in full on panic mode. "Oh God! Oh no. Shit, fuck, shitting shitty fuck–"

"Hey. Hey!"

After he'd made sure to wipe her blood coating his palms on his black jacket, Paul's ring covered fingers dug into the skin of her cheeks, a cool distraction from the panic attack settling to make its home in her chest when he cupped both of her cheeks in his hands and forced her eyes to meet his pretty baby blues.

Contrary to her dedication earlier, that fight she had vowed to give was nowhere to be seen. She was injured. Hurt. Vulnerable and in need of assistance but more than that...around them, deep in her heart and to her own aversion, she always wanted to give in to them. That constant desire coupled with the dysphoria clouding her mind at the severity of her wound made it easy.

She'd be a bitch later. As of right now, she could use all the help she could get. She had to survive, after all. For her brother.

She appreciated Paul's slight solemnity, even if he still tried to make light of how grave her injury was with some enthusiasm and a stretched smile showing all of his perfect teeth. "You're fine, just look at me, alright? S'all good, baby! We're gonna help you. No need to panic, it's all gonna be alright. Doctor Feelgood's got ya now."

Clearly giving into the hysterics her panic had brought about, she actually giggled, her body trembling with the force of a person who was being electrocuted, her voice was just as tremulous.

"You're...such a jackass, Paul."

"I know. Now scoot on back for my unfairly sexy self, pretty lady. Come on!" He urged when she was too slow for his liking, feeling like he was itching in his own skin to be close to her now she was in danger, "Make some room for daddy, sugar."

That was an atrocious thing to call himself, but...it was just so Paul that in her delirious state she sort of found him cute. He was a big dork at heart. An evil, manic, jerkish dork.

She l̶i̶k̶e̶d̶ hated him.

Not knowing why, she listened easily when he clambered onto the bed and she let his reaching arms pull her into a hug, her legs curled under her so she was sat on them, her free arm crushed against his fishnet covered chest and her other stretched painfully–as far as the slippery, crimson coated cuff that dug excruciatingly into her open abrasion would allow her to go.

He seemed to be no good at the mushy crap and if this all wasn't fucked up beyond her wildest imagination, she would have laughed along with his nervous chuckles as he awkwardly petted the back of her head when he probably would have much rather made a dirty joke about their postition.

The dizzy, lightheaded but almost pleasant buzz quickly governing her mind nearly made her give in to her badly timed humor. Just as awkward as he was being physically, he was mumbling stuff to calm her down while they waited for Marko to return, her breathing understandably labored from the pain.

Despite her better judgment, she allowed his whispered sweet nothings that aimed to pull laughter from her to calm her into a blissless but slightly less frantic state. "Daddy's got you, pumpkin. It's all gonna be okay. Just think about that greasy, delicious carnival food I got you that you'll get to chow down on after this, huh? Not the, uh...fountain of blood making this look like you just got the shittiest period of your goddamn life."

"Nice, Paul. This...is...r–really helping me feel better. Just, p-please never...call yourself...daddy again..." She slurred sarcastically, weightier against him by the second, her cheek plastered to his chest.

"Done deal, baby." He said with his usual easy breezy attitude on the outside, but on the inside he was freaking the hell out.

Before his panic could be blown out of proportion, his cherubic brother was back in no time and, as promised via mental connection, an oddly anxiety riddled David and Dwayne were on his heels.

The former cursed aloud when he saw the damage. The candles had been lit, she didn't know when that had happened and who the hell by, but it was the only thing allowing her to see the glinting of something in David's gloved hand...the key to her restraints. Perhaps this little mishap had been a blessing. She just prayed she wasn't going to die before her soon to be unshackled state could be put to use.

He stormed towards her and Paul who had moved her in one fluid motion so she sat on his lap and so she was leaning her back fully against his chest, holding her arm up for her so some of the pressure was lifted off it.

She flinched, even though Paul was steady as a rock. A pillar of support in the face of the oncoming storm.

David was pissed. How could Paul bear to face him and not want to scuttle away like she did, especially when David snarled as he and all of his irascible outrage flooded into her space, "What the hell have you done, Hesperia?"

For some reason, his disappointment and anger felt bitter. Cold, as it surrounded her and she didn't like it.

Even for all of his supposed fury, when his hands replaced Paul's he was exceedingly gentle, treating her with all the delicacy a priceless gem deserved.

She whimpered when he prodded at the wound and though in expression he remained steely, his voice was soft and washed a wave of tranquility over her, his mind tricks for once being used to do something good. Tongue in cheek, he was reluctant when he said, "I'm sorry, darlin'."

Apologizing was something he hardly ever did, but her muscles, her body, they all revealed in their slackness that they were getting heavier by the minute and they were going to help her, but he needed to do something first. Being kind was a sure fire way to get the necessary reactions he needed from her.

A finger under her chin, he lifted and supported her lilting head, pale face blank but azure eyes speaking volumes of the jumbled bag of mixed concern and anger commanding his thoughts and cold edged affection for her. "I need you to cooperate with me here, Ria. I don't want to put you under but I will if you force my hand by making a scene. Do you understand? Just listen, sweetheart, and it'll be over soon."

"We'll fix you up real good, little bird. It won't hurt." Marko chimed in with that honey slicked, melodious timbre that deceitfully promised everything would be okay in the end.

He was trying to help her feel better with his lie. It was going to hurt like a bitch. They both knew that.

She could stall them later when they put the cuff back on to figure out a way to escape. As of right now, this was a rock–and–a–hard–place situation.

She was bleeding out and she did grudgingly need their help. Her kidnappers help. God, it was all so fucked up.

Defeated for what felt like the hundredth time that day, her lip trembled as she nodded and accepted their demands. "Okay. I understand, David. P–please just make it stop."

He said nothing more, simply stroking his leather clothed thumb against her quivering lips in gratitude for her compliance.

His coat that he never seemed to be without billowed with his abrupt turn on his heels and his sights fell to Dwayne and Marko, each man perking up like soldiers under the watchful gaze of their commander at his thorough attention. He really was the leader. "Marko, you're going to help Paul hold her down and Dwayne, I need–"

"H...hold me down?!" She interjected, quite shrill in the pitch of it when she practically screeched and now she was panicking again, even more so when Paul's hands slid around her waist and his chin propped on her shoulder in the worst timed display of affection since, like, ever.

"I don't mind this arrangement." He smirked against the skin of her neck and just as it had earlier, his stubble felt strangely good when it scratched against her sensitive flesh–but then again most touches would feel good when compared to the aching of her wrist making her feel like her hand was going to drop off.

"Can you not be a horny bastard for even a second, Paul? She's literally turning as pale as fucking Casper the longer we wait to do this. She needs medical attention, not a hickey." Dwayne deadpanned as he and Marko approached the bed to assume their roles.

"You'd be a sexy ghost, Ria. I'd let you haunt me." The stoner told her quietly in her ear as he swayed her from side to side, still trying to lighten the mood.

Using her last shred of strength, she sneered at him over her shoulder, their noses practically touching. "I just might if this goes south, Whitesnake. Be careful what you wish for."

"Ow! Damn girl," Simultaneously, he shivered and wiggled his eyebrows, biting his lip with a groan. He bopped her nose with his and there was a sly twinkle in his eyes as he laughed. "That a promise?"

Marko, who was hovering and feeling kinda useless–sort of like a fifth wheel with nothing to do, rolled his eyes at Paul's unrelenting antics.

Dwayne ignored their little exchange all together.

He replied directly to David who had a hand over his eyes in dipleating patience, carrying on like they hadn't been interrupted. Setting the first aid kit he'd brought down, next to her discarded food that had gone cold by now, he got to work inspecting what would be of use in the perilous situation. "I'll stitch it and bandage it, I got it. Unlock her. We've gotta do this now. She's losing too much blood to be healthy and at this rate we'll have to take her to a hospital whether we like it or not."

Stitch it?! Hell no! Why couldn't they just take her to the hospital from the get go like he'd just said? Where they had the drugs that would help her feel nothing?

She needed a real doctor, not the overly touchy Doctor fucking Feelgood clinging to her like a baby sloth.

"No–hold on! Wait a minute!" She was getting hysterical again which was no small feat considering Dwayne was right about how sick she was becoming, scrambling her numb and almost jellified legs along the bed to push back into Paul's arms, to his beaming pleasure.

While he gloated to his brothers in their minds at his and Hesperia's intimacy–much to their annoyance at the shitty timing and their displeasure that she was basically letting him latch onto her like a vacuous parasite–Paul smiled to himself at the feel of her in his arms.

She wasn't so ecstatic. No. She was starting to feel cold. All over; like she was trapped in a snowstorm, barely clothed and with no escape as the icy temperatures promising death seeped into her bones.

"Woah, l–let's just think about this. Be reasonable, gents." Her laugh was fluttery, unstable, her nerves audible and she tried anything to hold off the agony soon to come.

David's jaw was set. Unwavering. Resolute, hands crossed over his chest and his heavy boot tapping along the floor in false endurance. He wasn't going to budge. It didn't hurt to try, anyway.

"I really think we're all overreacting, I mean, it's not...is it really that bad?"

Incredulous, they all looked at the damage, her fingers having gone blue at the tips. She cursed in her mind. It very much was that bad. If they didn't act soon she was going to have nerve damage or a creepy stump instead of a hand.

"Hesperia, I can almost see the tissue in your arm. This is no longer up for discussion." David informed dryly and his satisfied smirk when she retched aggravated the hell out of her. What she wouldn't give to punch him for such superiority. Just once. "We're doing this. Now. End of debate." His tone was rueful, not to be disobeyed and with her making no move to try he very, very carefully slotted in the key and unlocked the cuffs.

Her hand was a deadweight, attacked with thousands upon thousands of pins and needles-biting, burrowing, trying to sightlessly destroy her skin. Flaccid, her hand dropped and he caught it before she could fuck it up further.

Now unrestrained, the blood seemed to be coming out at alarming rates and queasy was an understatement to how she felt at the gory sight.

Paul shimmied out from under her and knelt to be by her side on the bed; he laid her on her back when she didn't put up a fight. The sight of it in all of its bloody glory had stunned her, left her petrified and while she was in shock, they were gonna use it to their advantage.

Marko sidled past David and crawled to be on Hesperia's other side, copying Paul and holding her down at her shoulder and bicep. David moved out the way so Dwayne could take his place by her hand lay limp on the bed and knowing how she'd react–from obvious experience of seeing and causing humans to be in excruciating pain–David held down her legs that were hanging over the side of the bed at the thighs so she couldn't thrash around.

Dwayne started with cleaning the leaking gash and the slightest touch of the alcohol doused wipe, in spite of his extra care to be delicate, had her letting out a symphony of agonized, riotous screams. Truly, she was hollering like a mad woman.

"Shit-" Paul and Marko and even David, they were shocked at the strength suddenly possessing her thrashing body when she'd been dead to the world moments before, and it was Paul, as always, who tried to placate her.

"You're alright, baby. You're alright–Jesus, it's okay!" Amazingly, his soothing appeared to be working and her pain caused fit relaxed somewhat. "Shhhh. You're okay. It'll be done soon and then Paulie will give you some lovin' to make you feel all better."

Until that.

He repeated the mantra to calm her, but always he had to be a little less serious than everyone else. Always, he had to bring some joy to the sad and stressed masses. This was no different.

Though he did pick his fucking moments.

"Gross, man. Don't be such a sleazeball." Marko simpered in disgust, grunting when Ria nearly headbutted him, her head bobbing around madly as she tried her damndest to dislodge them. "This really ain't the time for your creepily unsaciated labido to make an appearance."

"Would you both shut up? How the fuck am I supposed to help her if you're gonna constantly talk?" Dwayne rumbled, impressively managing not to react anymore than that as he discarded the blood soaked wipes and got to work prepping the necessary equipment while Hesperia squirmed and uttered a string of denials that went ignored.

"He's right. Focus, idiots." David snarled, the only one on the bed that was level headed. They listened to the subtle tone of command he'd used on them.

Hesperia's pain reached new heights when Dwayne, who'd silently been threading the needle after scolding their youngest members, pierced her skin with it with absolutely no warning and started to pull her ripped flesh back together.

They were neat stitches. Simple stitches and he was patching her up like she was Frankenstein's wife. It was over in minutes, Dwayne acute and focused and not even Paul's running commentary starting up again to distract her when she stared in shock at Dwayne working, a bit too long for the stoners liking, ruined the dark man's dedication to help her.

"You're so strong, sugar. Look at you. Taking it like a fucking champ. Makes me wonder what else you can take like a champ, if you know what I mean-" Pauls ludicrous suggestive undertones were too much for her. As was the sight of him grinning with salacious intent down at her, wiggling his eyebrows.

She was in fucking agony. Agony. Why the hell was he joking like this? Was it one of those things where he just didn't know how to react in serious situations? A shock response? Or did he not care at all?

"Shut up, Paul!" Hesperia, Marko and David chorused with varying aggression, perfectly in sync.

Marko burst into sordid laughter he just couldn't contain when Ria's uninjured arm broke free from an offended Paul's grip at the verbal onslaught against him and with deadly precision, she whacked him square in the center of his face.

The blow was clean. She'd aimed a shot at his nose with her balled fist. There was a crunch, his screech, the flailing of her uninjured arm in its freedom when Paul yelled "Ow!" and fell back with his hands covering his nose.

Ria was even more incensed at his dramatics because look at her...and then look at him.

She had it so much fucking worse and here he was, crying like a whiny baby over a 'broken' nose that would be fixed in the next ten seconds? With everything happening to her—the torn up wrist, the fact she'd been cuffed in the first place, the fact her brother was going to die, that her purpose to them was ambiguous, that she was trapped...forever—She was done.

When David wrangled her free limb under his control and pressed it back against the soft covers of the bed with a single placement of a strong hand, she screamed bloody fucking murder and writhed around with renewed vigor she shoudln't even have, disrupting the covers in some terrifying resemblance to Regan from the Exorcist.

Thank Hell they lived in the middle of nowhere or they'd have a damn cavalcade of police officers banging their proverbial door down.

"Damn it, Ria, what did I fucking say?!" David roared.

He possessed only a limited amount of patience and the two clowns doing nothing to help him chill her out were the ones who often soaked up any calmness he had. They crushed it. On the daily.

He wasn't a Saint and this was too fucking much to deal with. Paul and Marko had quickly achieved the easy task of exhausting his marginal supply of kindness and she was still crying as he tried to repress his aggression back under his control—still wailing, but her eyes were on him and that was all he needed as he admonished her, "I warned you. I fucking warned you. Consider this your chance ruined."

His inflexion changed, still angry–furious with the entire ordeal but he added the necessary lulling effects that were needed to stun a mortal, his face so deadly serious that Marko and Paul silently got back to holding her down so they didn't incur his wrath like she had.

"Calm down."

She did, stilling immediately and seeing it was safe, Marko and Paul let her go. She didn't so much as move an inch. She couldn't anymore, but she seemed almost grateful for it because with the paralyzation came relief. There was no more physical pain, just the stab of its emotional side left in her heart.

David carried on, letting his face and his drawling voice truly be a comfort to her when he saw just how scared she was in those pretty golden windows to her soul. "You're fine now, it's finished. It's done, sweetheart. Relax and let it out, doll."

And she did. Those tears she had thought had abandoned her returned with brutal force as Dwayne got back to bandaging the stitched wound, kissing the knuckles of her balled fist gently with his warm lips to show how well she had done, that it really was over and when she cut a quick tear blinded gaze to him, he smiled ruggedly. It was small and he still kept that stoicism.

"You did well, baby. So well."

She didn't object when he kept holding her hand. He was the only one who'd been nice to her since the start. The only one who was constantly the same with her.

"Well, that was fucking horrible." Marko voiced what they were all thinking, his heart for the first time since he became a monster actually hurting and breaking for someone.

She was sobbing, shivering, scared out of her fucking wits and he wasn't a comforting man. Never had been.

Of all of them, it was he who enjoyed the most making his victims wail with the same terror and despair as she just was. It was he who revelled in torturing both their minds and bodies before he granted them the sweet release of death.

He had no idea how to be selflessly caring, but they should try to be for her, so he did his best and stroked her hair with nimble fingers, admiring the plaits he'd left in it. A little bit of him to be left with her when he couldn't be there.

Spaced out and under David's control, she responded well to his touch, appearing to appreciate his comforting when she leaned her head further into his palm and he felt his long dead, stagnantly unbeating heart swell with such care for her–for this one woman. A mortal woman. A human who was lucky to be what she was to them, even if she wouldn't accept that fact or was even aware of how special she was.

Humans were food, cattle. Toys. That was all they were and yet, she was so much more and she had so much control over him with that simple returning of affection. In anything she did.

Fuck. There really was no letting her go now at the reality of how much he–how much they needed her. He almost felt sorry for her at such an inescapable fate. Almost.

'....David.'

It was abrupt. The echo. The whisper of doom. They'd just escaped one emotional rollercoaster of a situation just to be shoved into another, worse one.

The duress filled air in the cave dropped to frigid, ridiculous amounts of distress when a gnarled voice, the low depth of it hinting at brewing anger, echoed in their heads through the out of place, peaceful silence.

They all froze and passed weary, dreaded glimpses around.

'David...David, David.' The voice tutted, chided him like he was a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar and the platinum blond scowled into the cold air, carefully letting Ria go so she could curl up into a ball and cry to her heart's content under Marko and Dwayne's affectionate care. 'You've certainly been busy in my absence, son.'

Not Max. Not now. Fuck's sake, in all of the excitement of finding their mate, of hunting their mate, of finally catching her the way a starving cat does the hopeless mouse, they'd completely forgotten their brow beaten and austere sire.

Max was no fool, and there was much to be gleaned from his knowing tone of voice.

'I think we have a lot to discuss, my sons, don't you? Come to see me–and bring that poor, doomed girl along with you.'

Shit. This was gonna be a fucking parade of a disaster.