Chapter Text
Sometimes the most epic loves of all time begin in a place of fear and danger. This is one of those times.
It was a rainy Sunday in London when they realized things were changing. There was a shift in the crowd outside their hotel, and sure, that was normal. They didn't mind the grabby hands on their coats. In fact, they'd become somewhat used to the way the various sizes of hands clawed their fingers across their stomachs desperately. They'd learned to wear clothes that weren't so easy to get a hold on, especially on these days when they had to shuffle through crowds, resisting the urge to elbow and shove their ways to the other end.
And when they collapsed into the car, and it smelt a bit more like smoke and less like air fresheners and energy drinks, they might've been surprised, but didn't think much of it. Maybe somebody forgot to roll down a window-- that happened sometimes. But, when Niall went to shut the door behind him, and instead a tall man with thin limbs and a beer belly shut it forcefully before he could even reach the handle-- yeah, that was weird. Maybe Harry glanced fearfully at Liam, because Liam was the kind of person you could share your irrational fears with, and expect a serious and thoughtful response.
"Um," Louis had questioned, sounding already impatient. "Are we going to drive or what?"
The man in the driver's seat simply cleared his throat, adjusting his shades on his nose. He glanced at the boys in his rear view mirror, expression blank and impossible to read. It made Liam's skin crawl, the way the air seemed to shift as the man with the beer belly entered the passenger's seat and promptly locked the doors after him. He didn't even bother with his seat belt before he gave a curt nod, sending them off at an alarming speed.
Niall cleared his throat. "Uh, actually, I think the venue is east from here."
No reply.
Harry tried next, sparing Liam a wary glance. "Excuse me, I thought Angela and Patty were driving us today?"
The men shifted in their seats, but still did not reply.
Obviously uncomfortable, Louis reached forward to turn on the radio, but the man in the passenger seat swatted his hand away with a slap that sounded genuinely painful. Louis hissed, but didn't spare any words for the man, obviously aware of something the other boys hadn't yet put together.
Zayn could feel it too, Liam noticed, noting the way his shoulders were tensed up, arms crossed as he looked out the window apprehensively. Liam's first instinct was take out his phone and check for a text from Angela or Patty about the change of plans-- but oh that was weird. Liam's phone wouldn't even turn on. Wordlessly, he reached into Harry's pocket and pulled out his phone. Although Harry eyed him curiously, he barely reacted to Liam's hand being so close to his crotch.
As Liam feared, Harry's phone also wouldn't turn on. A lump formed in his throat, his stomach dropping with what he thought must've been an audible thud. Harry noticed Liam's reaction and reached slowly to his left, to unlock his door. The lock wouldn't even budge, so Harry rubbed his palms across his jeans and then folded his hands in his lap, looking desperately at Liam, as if to ask, what now?
"I have to use the toilet," Niall said, less keen on staying calm. He seemed to just choke out the words, as though he was about ready to chunder all over Louis and Zayn, who moved away, as though they could sense the sick rising in his throat.
Again, no response from the men. Louis, apparently unable to take it anymore, reached over and tugged senselessly at his door as the car rumbled towards the highway. Liam felt his breath becoming shallow, unsure of what to do next. What was he supposed to even say or do in this situation?
Louis next attempted to roll down his window, but those too were locked, and in frustration he began kicking at the back of the passenger's seat. The man occupying it turned around calmly and promptly stuck a needle straight into his leg. Louis hissed and let out a few rude exclamations, but more rapidly than expected he was drifting into what the boys assumed and hoped was merely a slumber.
The rest of the ride was silent.
--
Simply put, it was not what Liam expected. From the movies he'd seen, he was awaiting their arrival at an abandoned warehouse in the bad part of town. Instead, they pulled into the drive of a two-story pastel blue house in the middle of a quaint suburban neighbourhood. He dared himself to be scared of the building as the men climbed out of the car and chatted quietly at the front of the vehicle, during which time Niall squirmed his way into the front seat and opened the door. He made it to the door right next to Zayn and threw it open before the men grabbed him on either side and slammed him against the side of the car, Zayn climbed out, throwing a well-placed kick towards the crotch of one of the men, screaming bloody murder as he ran towards the street, trying to fight off the man's grip. Harry and Liam took the opportunity to climb over the seat and out the door. Harry tossed Louis over his shoulder with only slight difficulty.
Liam busied himself helping Niall defend himself, placing a few hard strikes of the elbow to the man's ribs, commanding Niall to run away, to no avail. The other residents of the neighbourhood were nowhere to be seen. After a pause in the screaming Zayn was doing, Liam realized there was a celebration of some kind going on a few blocks over, which was obviously where everyone was. It was blocking out all the noise they were making, and he realized, glumly, that the fighting was no use. In fact, he let his guard down, in his pondering, allowing the man to grab the back of his head and slam it roughly against the car door.
He crumpled to the ground instantly, eyes fluttering into blackness, just slow enough that he saw feet coming out of the pastel blue house towards them. As he drifted off, he mumbled a phrase he thought a million times each day (although it was usually laced with a different emotion): "Why me?"
--
When he opened them again, he was cold. His jumper, belt, and watch were all gone, leaving him in his cotton t-shirt and slightly baggy trousers. He was placed gently against a damp concrete wall, one window to the outside world just out of reach, too small to crawl through. With any luck, a neighbourhood kid would come along and he'd somehow reach up and ask for help. His instinct was to scream, but he wasn't sure how much help that would be.
"You're awake," an unfamiliar voice said simply. "Saved your dinner for you; slept clear through it."
Liam nodded softly, his gaze catching on the plate of food near the man's feet. He stood, leaning in a dark doorway. Liam figured, judging by the window and the damp concrete, that he was in a basement, perhaps a closet or something. The man in the doorway shrugged a bit and turned, poised to leave.
"Where are the others?" Liam asked, cursing the way his voice creaked and squeaked on its way out.
The man smiled a genuine smile, sad and watery around the edges, and for a moment Liam assumed the apologetic nature of it was because they were hurt, or worse. When the man turned back around to face him, though, arms crossed defensively, Liam realized he was apologizing for the day's events. "They asked the same thing, straight away."
"You knocked them out too?" Liam asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the man, who seemed too human to do this sort of thing to a person. Too human, with his uneven skin and his rather large nose and hands. His shave wasn't even all over, flecked with bits of gray and black like salt and pepper. There was a warmth radiating off of him, and Liam decided he must be somebody's father, with that kind of smile. How could anybody so human do something like this?
The man hummed in reply. "Sedatives, not a whack on the head. One of them insisted on fixing up that cut you've got when he woke up." Liam's hand flew to the bloodied up cut on his forehead. "Surprised you don't even want to know why you're here."
Before Liam could correct the man-- he did want to know; he has priorities is all-- the door was shut, and he was alone again. In fact, the moment he was left alone, all the questions presented themselves, flooding his head and throwing him into an absolute panic. He pulled himself onto his feet unsteadily, dragging his hands across the walls as he paced, struggling to keep upright.
"God," he breathed, "this is all my fault; we're going to die here. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my mum or-- where are... I..." he clutched his chest, feeling the panic escalate until it was too hard to even breathe properly.
"Liam?" a small voice-- Zayn's voice-- asked. It was muffled, soft, and scared. Less panicked and more terrified. Liam could just see Zayn's face as he continued speaking, "Li, you've got to breathe... it's not your fault. Everyone is going crazy looking for us and you know it. Somebody must've seen something, we were out in the open." Liam felt along the wall until he was crouching just next to where Zayn's voice was coming from.
"You're next door," Liam breathed, feeling a bit of the fear evaporate with every word Zayn spoke. "Thin walls, then."
"Yes," Zayn agreed. And Liam flopped back onto the floor, his back pressed against the wall. "I-- uh, I'm scared too. But I think we'll be okay."
"Yeah?" Liam asked, hands raking gently over his legs, gaze focused on his untouched dinner as he thought about breathing and Zayn's voice.
Zayn took in a loud breath. "Yeah, Li."
Yes, Liam thought, we're scared, and I don't know how to fix it this time.
--
There was a schedule, Liam realized, when he was awoken in the morning by several pairs of feet thumping down the stairs. He startled awake, hands fisted in his own shirt. He was covered in a thin layer of chilled sweat, and he wasn't sure if it was sweat at all, when he gripped the cold, wet wall and got to his feet.
He stared at the door, thought about using his dinner plate to try and break the window and why hadn't he thought of that sooner? The door flew open before he could act on it, though, and the man from last night, with the salt and pepper beard and paternal aura, walked calmly over with a pair of handcuffs ready.
"Come on, then," he grumbled, in decidedly worse spirits than he had been the previous day. Liam obliged, knowing very well from experience that there was no way he could take on this guy, and even if he could, there was no escape-- especially without the lads. He wasn't sure he could even get himself to leave without them. He turned his back, offering up his wrists to the man, who roughly snapped them into place.
Liam's curiosity got the best of him and he cleared the sleep from his voice before asking, "What's your name?"
"Jim," the man said, a reluctant edge to his voice, but there was no bite or sarcasm there. Again, Liam noted, it was sympathy.
"I'm Liam," he replied, because it seemed like the right thing to say, even if Jim certainly already knew that. Jim nodded in reply, leading Liam out into the dimly lit hallway-- if it even classified as that. Zayn was already waiting out there, but without handcuffs. He had his arms crossed, leaning against the wall with that moody look of his, complete with a glazed over gaze and two harsh bruises stamped onto his forearms, one the distinct shape of a hand. He looked to Liam with what could only be described as a grimace, mouth twitching like he wanted to say something.
It was Jim that cut the silence, commanding Liam to keep walking, a rough shove to his shoulders, and they were shuffling along towards a new room straight across from the stairs. He half expected it to be a laundry room or something else domestic like that, but then realized that there was a chance they weren't even in the pastel blue house. In fact, they could very well be in an abandoned warehouse now, for all any of them knew.
Jim shoved him roughly into one of two unoccupied chairs in the room, and then stood back like the other men did, all with their arms crossed defensively. Zayn was led in next, placed into the last chair, and the door was locked behind them.
Liam took a moment to really take in the scene. Apart from the boys, all hunched over with bruises and a lack of sleep, there was nothing the least bit familiar about the room. He didn't even see the men that had driven them originally, which both worried him and confused him; how many men were in on this? There were at least eight crammed into this little room, including one with an ugly goatee setting up a camera, which was facing the boys, slumping against the backs of their chairs.
Liam noted that Niall's ankle was handcuffed to his chair and Louis' mouth was taped shut, but otherwise, the boys were just as they'd come, if not with fewer accessories, like Liam was. He missed the stability and maturity the watch made him feel, replaced by the cool discomfort of these handcuffs, forcing him to sit leaning forward slightly.
Harry shifted uncomfortably as the men made sure to move out of the shot. The walls were covered in the same sort of foam Liam often saw in recording studios, and the wall the men had chosen as a backdrop was entirely blank; no windows, no doors, nothing. Liam began to mirror Harry's shifting in his seat, suddenly unable to get his body to keep still. Every instinct in his body was shouting for him to make a mad dash for that door, even if there was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't make it.
He realized, after a moment, that Harry was crying softly. Eyes trained on the floor, but there was no shame in his tears. Hearing the quiet whimpers, Liam felt like crying too. Everything just felt wrong. Surely this was all one big sick joke somebody was playing on them. Perhaps it was Louis taking things to an insane level-- he always did know how to truly test the boundaries. But in his heart, Liam knew this wasn't a dream he was going to snap awake from. And despite the sense of comfort there was in being in the same room with his lads, there was an even more overwhelming sense of claustrophobia making him restless and frustrated straight to his core. He could punch a wall-- he could snap a neck! He was scared, he was worried.
"Proof of life," Jim said quietly, once again cutting the silence. Liam realized he was explaining what they were doing. A man Liam had never seen before instructed them to just sit there and not say anything. They set up the camera, which was connected to a computer, and then they all huddled around a phone set up on a table, talking with somebody on the other end.
"Liam," Zayn whispered, reaching over to touch his shoulder. "We have to do something."
Liam shook his head. "Not you. I'll do something, but none of you lot."
Zayn rolled his eyes, but in the least serious possible way. That was something never ceased to amaze Liam; everything Zayn did was so pure in whatever emotion he felt. Liam could hardly convey his sadness without it seeming goofy, whereas Zayn could smile at you, all loose and watery and you'd just know he was upset. "Don't be a hero, Liam. We don't need that right now. Teamwork, yeah? We'll make a plan."
Liam tried his best not to raise his voice or let the true worry he was feeling show. "I just don't want any of you to get hurt."
"There's only so many beatings even Superman can take before he cracks, Liam," Zayn said gently, thumb rubbing gently across the arrows on his forearm. Liam breathed deep, nodded, savoured the familiar amber of Zayn's eyes while he could-- soft, genuine, and contemplative as ever-- now coated in worry and fear that looked a lot like the tears that were daring to spill down Liam's own cheeks.
Louis, on Liam's other side, reached up and slowly peeled the tape off his mouth. He didn't say anything, just folded it in half and shoved it into his pocket, eyes trained on the camera lense, and Liam had never seen such little life in his expression. Even when he was sick or tired or upset, Louis brought this level of energy to any room. His mood influenced everyone else's, no matter if he was feeling chatty or cuddly or moody or goofy. But now? With the knees of his jeans ripped to reveal bloodied up knees, an ugly bruise on his left elbow, a cut across his eyebrow? He was eerily calm, eyes vacant, upper lip twitching ever so slightly.
Liam wanted to say something, but the words didn't come as easily with Louis, someone who wasted no time in speaking his mind and comforting his boys when they needed it; but this was his breaking point, Liam assumed. He didn't blame Louis at all for it, either. Louis was everyone's rock, everyone's older brother, everyone's best friend. He did enough working and comforting for a lifetime, and Liam thought it best that he gather his wits for once, instead of trying to put everyone else ahead of him. A hypocritical thought, but a smart one.
"I don't know what to do," Liam croaked out, looking desperately at Zayn, whose expression softened, even through his nervous glance towards the men, still huddled together acros the room. The first tear spilled over, warm and too wet-- everything was wet and Liam hated it-- and he wanted to wipe it away, but his head was too sensitive to move his neck too quickly, in order to rub his cheek against his shoulder. So, as Zayn used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the stray tear, Liam busied himself blinking back any new ones and cursing his handcuffs for making him less than self-sufficient.
Zayn nodded empathetically, the kind of expression that shows how genuinely he did get it. Although that could've been distressing, what with neither of them knowing what to do, it was more comforting, feeling the shared emotion with his best friend. "I don't either. We'll figure it out."
And although his mind was screaming all sorts of nonsense about escaping or breaking the window in "his" room or finding a way to pick the lock and sneak out in the night... his heart was screaming that it was going to be okay, in the end.
When the men broke apart from their huddle, reminding them not to talk once again as Jim reached over and pressed a button on the camera. The red light on the side lit up, and another man Liam hadn't seen before held up a cue card. Niall seemed to know what to do, reading the script they'd written for him with what was probably the least sarcasm or fear he could muster. Liam didn't know why they'd picked Niall, but he seemed to have come to terms with the situation more gracefully than Louis or Harry or Liam-- or even possibly Zayn, who was comforting Liam somehow, even when Liam's Hero Complex insisted it should be the other way around.
He tried his best to look determined, rather than wounded, but with each passing word, he felt the tears welling up in his eyes again, the lump forming in his throat, and he had to try and tune it all out. Look anywhere but at the camera or the men. His eyes ended up in his own leg, staring at the blood stain on his left thigh. He wondered if that blood was his own, or someboy else's.
After their "proof of life" video was done and overwith, Jim escorted Liam back to his room. Liam's questions were burning his throat, sitting on the tip of his tongue and getting swallowed back, but there was something about the situation that made him reluctant to ask any real questions. Then, though, as Jim collected Liam's plate and cup, Liam felt brave.
He situated himself with his back against the spot where he and Zayn had fallen asleep, Zayn mentioning every few minutes that things were going to be okay until he drifted off, and then Liam nodding off soon after. It was still dripping with the imaginary warmth that the conversation had brought to the pit of Liam's stomach.
"Can I have these off?" Liam asked, referring to the handcuffs.
"When I come with your lunch," Jim shrugged, avoiding eye contact.
Liam wanted to make a snarky comment about the lack of breakfast, but then remembered that the teasing thing only worked that well for Peter Parker, and he had an easy escape route and a secret identity. "Why are we here?"
Jim frowned a bit, scowled, as he leaned stiffly against the doorframe. "You heard that script your friend read, right? 'S nothing personal, kid. Ransom. You're the Billion Dollar Boy Band or something."
Liam nodded. "Right. Ransom. How much do you want? I'll pay you."
"Goes a bit deeper than that. After it's all over, you and I can grab a cup of coffee and I'll tell you the whole story. But, for now, don't slam your head against anything. Proof of life is only valid if you're alive."
With that, he shut the door, leaving Liam to his thoughts-- and to.. Zayn.
"Zee?" Liam asked, head turned towards the wall.
"Hey," Zayn replied. "Mysterious."
"Says his name is Jim," Liam said, shutting his eyes. He pretended, with the real scenery blocked out, that things were normal. He and Zayn, having a chat like always. "Not sure if he really strikes me as a Jim."
"Reminds me of a vampire, almost."
"Hmm," Liam said, thoughtful and questioning, but not unkind. Never unkind. "I can see that. Wonder why they're keeping us apart."
"Don't want us pooling our knowledge and planning an escape on them, I reckon. Probably smart, innit? Proper group of geniuses, when we're together."
A hummed response and a deep breath. Liam let his body slump against the wall. "I think I have a concussion or something."
"First stop when we're out will be the hospital."
"What do you think Jim meant?" Liam asked. "About it being deeper than just ransom, I mean."
"Not everything is just-so Liam. Things are complicated and... it sucks that people feel like this sort of thing is the only way to solve their problems. But it's our responsibility to inspire people to be the best versions of themselves, right? That's what being an artist is. So if we can show the assholes that they maybe don't have to be assholes, we can be on our merry way."
"You'd think if the whole 'deeper' thing had much to do with us, they'd have done more than some sedatives and uncomfortable living quarters," Liam joked, a lame attempt to lighten the mood a bit.
Zayn chuckled a bit, although Liam could barely hear it. "Yeah. With them treating us so nicely, they could at least bring in some mattresses and deodorant. I'm already starting to smell, since it's fucking humid down here all day and then cold and sticky all night."
"Maybe a few space heaters, too. Some paint on the walls. I feel like a mistreated animal right now."
"That's your claustrophobia talking," Zayn advised. "Not a tight spaces sort of thing, but an inability to leave. Just close your eyes and pretend you're in you're very favourite place."
Liam imagined he was in his mum's kitchen, the time Zayn and Niall came to stay for the weekend and they made an apple pie. He could almost smell the cinnamon.
--
It was almost like transferring to a new school. When Zayn and Liam were brought their lunch, and Liam's handcuffs were unlocked and taken away, they were also handed new clothes. Zayn described his as old and baggy, but Liam's were a bit small around his shoulders and short on his legs. He wished they could switch. For dinner, Jim allowed them all to eat together in the Proof of Life Room, but the meals were silent, due to the men standing on either side of the door, staring at them. When nature called, Jim or another man named Charlie would escort him down the hall to a room that was only a faucet on the wall and a toilet. No mirror, no proper sink. He sometimes rinsed himself off and ran wet fingers through his hair in order to look a bit more presentable for group dinner in the Proof of Life Room.
By the fourth day, Liam declared to Zayn through the wall that he'd gone crazy. He had a schedule and everything. He knew the layout of the entire downstairs. He and Zayn were on one side of the hall, the side with the toilet. The other lads were on the other side, with the Proof of Life Room. The men stayed upstairs, apart from the men on either end of the hall, in shifts. Usually Jim and Charlie whenever Liam needed the toilet. At lunch, "clean" clothes were delivered. No breakfast. Water as requested. One video filmed each morning, with fewer and fewer words each passing day. And the part that Liam decided made him crazy; he became used to it.
"It's like boarding school... but in hell," Liam muttered. And Zayn laughed. An actual, genuine laugh that send a warm pulse over Liam's skin. There was something so normal about it.
"So, you adjust easily. Not a big deal, just means you're tough."
A pause, an end to the discussion questioning Liam's sanity. Liam was running out of things to talk about with Zayn, after four days of doing nothing but-- avoiding sore subjects or anything to do with the proper outside world, limited them to talking about books and movies and playing silly games, singing dumb songs. He decided it was time to break down a barrier. "Louis has a new scar every day at dinner," he stated simply.
"He fights them," Zayn agreed. "I can hear it at night, after you're asleep. Wants to check on us."
"Yeah," Liam agrees, thinking fondly of the way he's greeted with a warm hug from each of his friends every evening. Even through the silence, there is a bond between the five of them that goes unspoken, words unsaid that don't need to be vocalized.
"Thought I might ask if they'd let us have mattresses-- or uh blankets? Something. My back is killing me."
"Think I'm losing my bulk," Liam said glumly. "Really all I had going for me." He kept his tone light, but Zayn scoffed as though he were personally offended.
"As if, Liam. There's a lot more to love about you than your muscles," Zayn said.
There was a long pause, in which Liam tried to figure out why the kind, genuine tone Zayn was using made him feel the way a blanket fresh from the dryer felt on your skin. "Really?"
"Yes, really," Zayn said, chuckling slightly. "Wouldn't be best mates with anybody who was nothing but a pair of nice arms."
Liam paused, unsure of what to say next. This was the kind of thing that would've usually warranted some dramatic fake tears and a bear hug, complete with sobs that were laced with laughter. Now, though, nobody was messing about. There was only sincerity and fondness swirling in Zayn's words and Liam bit his lip to keep from saying something lame in reply.
Finally, he settled on, "There's a lot to love about you too."
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but was full of an unspoken emotion. Liam realized, as he settled in with his right arm pressed against the wall, that they were never going to be the same people. Maybe there was less to love about him now; Liam's mind was previously undirtied for the most part. But this? This was traumatic. He wasn't sure what sort of "real world" problems would stem from it-- he could be somebody virtually un-lovable. He could lose touch of himself-- he could lose the people closest to him.
He could lose Zayn. Zayn, who was always exactly what Liam needed him to be, without need for discussion. What if Zayn couldn't be that anymore? More importantly, what if he didn't want to be? Liam began to panic again, just thinking about it. Everything was ruined. Things were never going to be the same. He almost wished to be locked up next door to Zayn forever, as to not have to face the aftermath. That was a silly wish.
________
Liam wasn't awoken until lunch the next day, and Jim didn't wake him up. His plate was handed to him, the door shut swiftly after. Confused and thrown off, Liam settled himself with his back against the wall and began to eat.
"Zee?" he wondered.
"I think whoever is in charge of this operation is here," Zayn said, skipping the greetings altogether. Previously, he'd made a point out of always saying hello. This was for Liam's benefit, he assumed, trying to maintain a sense of normality. While Zayn was level-headed and allowed himself to think rationally, Liam was impulssive and easily swayed in his emotions; it didn't take much to throw him off.
Liam let Zayn's statement sink in before he replied. "What do you think that means? D'you think they got paid?"
"I don't think so," Zayn said. There was something wary, off, dangerous about his tone.
"What aren't you telling me?" Liam demanded, setting his plate aside.
Zayn tapped lightly on the wall, the rhythm of a song he might've been writing or singing in his head. Liam couldn't even tell these days. "I can almost hear into Niall's room," Zayn explained. "It didn't sound good."
Liam stiffened a bit. Not only were two of his friends now being beaten by their captors, but if the number was only going to keep increasing, eventually Harry and Zayn would be beaten too. None of his lads deserved it; if any of them were going to last through the beatings, it certainly wouldn't be Zayn or Niall. Liam had always viewed them as breakable, with their thin, wiry limbs and their lean muscle.
"Zee, we can't just let it happen," Liam rushed out, getting to his feet. He cursed himself for his inability to help anybody-- not even himself. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his wrists, where the handcuffs had once been. They slapped them on him whenever he left "his room" but for now, his wrists were bare. "We didn't film a video today."
Zayn cleared his throat, and Liam knew that was signal he was trying to remain calm. "Do you think that's a good sign? They need to prove we're alive if they want to get paid, right?"
"Or it's bad. What if Niall and Louis are too bloodied up for a video?" Liam asked, his scowl turning into a grimace with each word.
Moments passed before Zayn finally replied, leaving Liam suspended in his own worry. "Li, you don't think they'd...?"
Suddenly, Liam found himself in a position he'd never been in before. Zayn, his best friend, was always the one that didn't let Liam's imagination run too wild. But now, as he crouched back onto the ground, back against the wall, he found that it was his turn. "Zee, no. The boys are okay. We're okay. They'd have to be pretty dumb to hurt us that bad anyway, right? I mean, I know it's a bit cynical to think their payup could be the only reason not to kill us... but they won't kill anybody if means no money, okay? That much we can assume."
"Li, I'm scared," Zayn admitted. "What's keeping them from getting their money and then putting a few bullets through our heads and leaving us down here to rot?"
Liam was scared too. He was more scared than he'd ever been before. Feeling defenseless, like his life was in somebody else's hands entirely, it was an awful feeling. Liam couldn't even kill himself-- not conventionally anyway-- because any potential weapons were taken away from him. He'd admitted to Zayn that he'd contemplated starving himself or slamming his head against the wall until it split open, but that was always met with Zayn saying, 'If you go, I'm coming with you.'
Beside that, Liam didn't want any added trauma for Zayn. At least if they'd left him his belt, he could hang himself, nice and quiet. Zayn would have to listen to him bang his head on the wall, he'd have to watch Liam wither away into nothingness via starvation. There was no way to do it without Zayn essentially witnessing his death. It wasn't worth it.
"There's nothing stopping them," Liam admitted, "but if they kill us at the same time, at least I'll never have to live without my best friends."