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Lucy P.O.V.
I knew this feeling, it caused me more nightmares over the last few years that I cared to count. The drugged state was so familiar, I swear I could feel hands on my side and the burn of the tattoo gun diving into my skin over and over again.
There were some new sensations I realized. The table beneath me was metal, not wood. The temperature was freezing cold, not the desert’s dry heat. Thick level straps were all over me, two on each limb and two around my torso. My body felt, the drug that my body was trying to fight off felt familiar to whatever Caleb had used all those years ago, but different… perhaps the IM injection caused my body to process it differently.
The ring that was still around my finger was also new.
I took a deep breath and immediately regretted it as my head lolled to the left side, my muscular control too weak to stop the action. Hair cast across my face as I sighed, a bit embarrassed at my lack of control.
“Tim?” I whisper out- my voice crackling from disuse as it rasped out my throat. He had been taken, my heart rate started to pound as I remembered the fear I felt for him. “Tim,” I try again and started to cough, my body thrashing involuntarily against my restraints.
“Luce,” Tim called from my other side. His voice sounded from my other side, his voice was both a relief and jarring all at once. He was here, I wasn’t alone, he wasn’t dead… but he was here, he was in as much danger as me.
“Tim,” my voice cracked as I strained to turn my head in his direction. It felt so heavy, my vision swimming with the effort and my eyes fluttering- a head rush had my whole body going limp for a moment.
“Luce!” Tim clocked my momentary lapse, I heard a clatter as he fought against what I assumed were his restraints.
“I’m good,” I wheezed weakly, doing very little to convince him there was any truth behind my words. But I took a deep breath and conjured a steady strength, pulling a strength from my braced core I strained again and flopped my neck to Tim’s direction.
I blink a few times at the wave of dizziness that overtakes me from that small movement. His eyes scanned over every inch of me, it was then that I realized that I only had on a bra and my panties. I felt exposed, bare, and incredibly cold. He tried to give me an encouraging smile, “you okay?” He asked, straining against the ropes that bound him to a chair.
Despite the strange tingling in every one of my neurons, I try to muster what I hope is a convincing smile, “I’m fine, you?” I give him the same treatment he had just given me, my eyes scanning over every inch of him and making sure that I don’t see any injuries. His wrists and ankles are a bit rubbed raw, I can imagine that he’s been straining against his restraints for a bit while I was still fighting off the drug in our system.
He huffed a laugh that had no humor, “I’m a bit tied up at the moment,” he tried to joke. I know it’s for me, he’s trying to put on a brave face and keep me distracted.
I laugh for his sake, but even in that small movement I can feel how tired my body still is. There are so many words that I want to say but I just don’t have the energy to. I want to tell him that we’ll be okay, or maybe I want to be honest and just tell him I’m scared. Tell him that some part of my brain is screaming that Caleb is going to walk in here again, beat me and tattoo the renewed date of my death on my ribs. Logically I know he is dead, but my brain isn’t exactly in the mood to process logical thoughts.
“I hope… that you aren’t referring… to our engagement,” I pant at the effort the sentence cost me.
It takes Tim a moment to process my joke, but I see his eyes light up just a bit when he gets it. He laughs, this one closer to a normal Tim laugh, not a sarcastic huff or something he is faking for my sake. “Hell of a proposal, right?”
I chuckle, “it was really good,” I smile at the memory. The warm beach, the calm waves, the bright sun, and Tim’s safe arms. The feelings are so at odds with what I feel right now. The cold metal of the table, the darkness of the room, the fear emanating off of Tim and myself despite how hard we’re both trying to conceal it.
“I’m sorry,” Tim’s head drops as his shoulders slouch, he curls forward like there is a weight on his back.
I blink back a bit as I try to process why he is apologizing, “Tim, this isn’t your fault. We were abducted,” I state like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. How is he blaming himself for this when we were both caught unawares, both drugged into oblivion, both the victims in this awful situation?
“D- did you hear what she said when we went down?” His eyes come back to mine now, guilt piercing his irises into a cold, icy blue. They’re normally the color of crystal clear waters, of the sky on a cloudless day- but now they’re so clouded it’s like a blizzard is swirling behind in his mind. The ice cutting him from the inside out.
I shake my head, “no.” I scramble to remember anything, but all I can come up with was the pain of the needle, then the ringing in my own ears as my body went limp, like a heavy blanket was thrown over my senses and I crumpled under the weight.
Tim seems pained by my answer, he sighs as he braces every muscle in his body. “Heath Everett,” he spits the name, “he did this because I didn’t take his bribe. She said that ‘payback is a bitch’.”
I nod as I process that information, “okay, that’s good, that means we know why we were taken,” I hum as a million thoughts process into my head at once. This isn’t random, we know who has us and why, and now I’m trying to calculate how we can leverage that information to our advantage.
Tim is looking at me like I’ve grown a third arm when my gaze falls back to him, “Tim, what is it?”
“You’re not at all mad about this?”
It’s my turn to laugh a bit, to stare at him in slight disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You’re worried I’ll be upset with you because you arrested a guy, and that guy is seeking revenge on you?”
He shrugs and nods his head like I’ve said the most obvious thing. Like he expects me to suddenly see the logic in his point of view now that I’ve stated out the facts.
I make a strange sound as a strangled laugh leaves me. Tim’s eyes pop out of his head until he realizes I’m snickering and not actively dying, “what?!” He cries incredulously as I continue to chuckle.
“Tim,” I stop my laughter enough to give him an encouraging smile, “Honey, I don’t blame you in the slightest. I’m just sorry you’d think I could be mad at you.” I want nothing more in this moment then to break out of these restraints and wipe the tear away that has started to fall down his cheek. “This is not your fault, okay? You don’t get to blame yourself for this.”
He nods and I can tell it’s going to take awhile- and a lot of therapy- for him to stop blaming himself, but we don’t have the time for that right now.
“I love you,” I smile. The need to touch him right now is still overwhelming, to make him believe that he is innocent in all this, but my words seem to do a good enough job in the moment as I watch some of the tension leave his body. Hard lines softening just a bit.
“I love you, too,” he smiles. It’s clear that he’s feeling the same way, that desire to get to each other, to be so close and yet so far away.
I give my restraints a little tug, the thick leather bits into my skin a bit as I use my recovering strength to pull against them. I grit my teeth as I try to slip my wrists through the cuff- but with my upper arm also being secured to the table, I barely have two inches of wiggle room.
My body starts to shake with the effort I’m expending to get out of these restraints, and I fall limp with a huff and frustrated grunt.
“They’ve got you tied down good, unless one of them is loose, you can’t slip it,” Tim states as if he has been staring at my restraints the whole time I’ve been out.
I try again, not letting the truth of his statement deter my resolve. He’s right, I can’t slip out, I’ll have to brute force it- I start to pull and trash against it with more force. Writhing and bucking my legs, arms, torso, anything to try and get these straps to give an inch.
“Luce,” Tim’s voice is stronger but I barely hear it. I- I can’t move, and the more I fight it the more it feels like the restraints are getting tighter, like they’re pulling me down and getting heavier even though logically I know they’re not.
I can’t move. I can’t fight. I can’t breathe. I am at the mercy of someone else and I know what is to come will hurt. I can’t stop the growl that escapes me as I start to push and fight harder, panic taking over and activating muscles that don’t usually get to fire so hard without the adrenaline that is now flooding my every cell. My movements aren’t strategic anymore, I’m trying everything and just hoping that something works, like scrabble when you don’t know the words. I’m trying anything to get out. Get out. Get out.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t bre-
“LUCE!” Tim’s shout cuts clean through the panic. It slices enough reprieve through my mental spiral that I freeze, and I grab onto Tim’s words like a lifeline. I realize I’m trembling as I stare into Tim’s eyes, I let myself get lost in his gaze as I pant and try to let myself relax again. “Easy,” he encourages, “take it easy, follow my breaths,” he exaggerates his inhales and exhales for me to follow along with.
I slowly come out of my panic and back into my right mind, feeling my body’s whole new level of fatigue and raw skin around the cuffs. I’m covered in a sweat that is quickly causing me to shiver just a bit now that the anxiety has ebbed away. The metal table bites into my back, and despite how scared I should be of it, I use it as a grounding sensation.
“S- sorry,” I mutter.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he mimics the same face I’m sure I gave him earlier when I said as much to him.
I sigh softly, “have you ever been kidnapped before?”
Tim blinks a bit at my question, but then responds. “Not like this,” he gives the ropes around his wrist a small tug in emphasis. “When I was serving, I was held at gunpoint for a few hours. They didn’t restrain us, just locked us in some random cell for… gosh, what was it, two days? They didn’t really interact with us, just threw us some food every once in a while until our extraction team came and got us.”
I nod, letting his words sink in and trying to fight the images my mind wants to play of Tim hurting. I’m really trying to fight the intrusive thoughts where I see Tim in my place with Caleb, him getting beaten, tattooed, and put in the barrel- those thoughts alone have my heart rate quickening and I’m fighting to keep my breathing steady.
“This is similar to when I got kidnapped,” I speak softly. I’m not sure he wants to hear this, but he was brave and confessed something for me, so I let myself be just as vulnerable for him. “I was drugged on the table while he tattooed me… I don’t think he restrained me then, he didn’t need to with how far gone I was. H- he tied me to the chair though, and I broke it.”
Despite not telling anyone this part of the story, I look Tim in the eyes as I confess it to the only person who I trust like this. “I escaped, I smacked him with the broken arm of the chair and I got out the door.”
He’s on the edge of his seat, I’m not sure he is breathing as I continue. “I realized I was in the middle of nowhere, so all my screaming was in vain. So I started to run, and I didn’t see… I didn’t see the fucking tripwire.” Shame courses through me in a hot wave. I break eye contact as I speak the next part, “I fucking tripped a- and that’s how he found me. He maced me when I kept trying to fight, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground and he kicked the shit out of me… then dragged my limp ass across the desert by my foot.”
Tim and I are both breathing hard as I let that truth sit between us. “A trip wire,” I shake my head, “got the best of me.” A tear ran down my cheek and on impulse I tried to bring my hand up to my face to wipe it away, but I just pulled the restraint futilely, “I don’t know why I just said that.”
Tim shakes his head, but the smile on his face is one of awe and so full of love, “you know you’re amazing, right?”
I turn my head to really look at him, to see if he’s just faking to make me feel strong right now. But when I look into his eyes, they’re their normal ocean blue. His grin is genuine, the one I fought for years to see from him. A small blossom of hope sprouted in my chest as his pride in me, despite the situation.
“You don’t ever stop fighting, that’s incredible,” he continues. “You told that story because that is hope. It’s proof that you don’t take this shit lying down- no pun intended- and that we’re getting the hell out of here, okay?”
I know I’m blushing and the lack of clothes I have on probably gives Tim a full view as the blush crawls down my chest from my scarlet cheeks. I looked back up to his eyes after a moment and hope he can see every ounce of love I have for him right now, “you didn’t stop either, you never gave up on me.”
“And I’m never going to,” he gives a strong, certain nod. “We’re getting out of this one too, okay?”
“I know,” I smile and let a little mischief slide into my grin, “and when we get home, we are going to finish where we started.”
He cocks his head in question.
“There are a lot of things I wanted to do as an engaged couple,” I wink as he finally gets what I’m hinting at, a blush creeping up his own skin, “a lot of things in the bedroom, in the shower, in the kitchen,”
“Luce,” he cuts me off with a low voice, I know he’s thinking about the same things I am based on the way his eyes darken. His lip tilts in a dangerous challenge and I want nothing more than to break out of these restraints (escape) and kiss him.
“But, we have to get out of here first,” I sigh and look around now, my neck moving much more freely without that pesky drug coursing through my system. It’s dark but I strain to see around the edges of the room, a table on wheels is in the corner. I can see glinting, metallic objects on top and feel the pit in my stomach grow. I try not to focus on that as I continue to sweep my gaze around.
There are a few chairs against the far wall, a large refrigerator, a water trough, and various cabinets that I really loathe to know what is inside. It’s evident that they’re planning on torturing us, and I’m already feeling nauseous at the thought of any of these devices being used on Tim.
“Everett is a military man, he never did any time with the FBI or CIA. Crossed over a bit, sure, but he never had formal training in information extraction,” I mutter as I take stock.
“Information extraction? You mean torture,” Tim corrects.
“Torture is illegal,” I remind him sweetly. Despite the only use for most of the objects I am seeing would definitely fall under the torture category…
“He’s a wealthy man who had access to hundreds of prisoners of war. He absolutely had time and resources to learn this stuff,” Tim’s tone is pure disgust as he follows my gaze.
“Why would he want to lea- oh wait, rich dude who needs to feel powerful by harming others. Sorry, forgot about the ego complex,” I sigh. Why do people with money feel the need to hurt everyone they possibly can?
Tim snickers, probably for my sake. I hear him inhale a breath like he is about to say something, but a door opens behind him and a man walks through the frame. He’s got to be seven feet tall, three hundred pounds of hulking muscle- he’s somehow bigger than the hammer.
I feel my whole body tense in anticipation, I watch Tim strain his neck to try and look over his shoulder at this guy as the man saunters into the room. “What the hell do you want with us?” Tim growls, his voice is so far from his own, I’ve never heard him like this.
The man starts to walk the edges of the room, casually dragging his finger over all the instruments and objects as he goes, acting like he didn’t hear Tim say a damn thing. I watch as far as I can, but I can’t see as he walks out of my view and my gaze flicks to Tim.
Tim is straining quietly against the restraints, fighting against the chair and watching this man like he can kill him with looks alone. His eyes flick to mine and that composure changes, his gaze softens into one of encouragement laced with panic. He wants to protect me, but he can’t. He wants to tell me it will all be okay, when it so obviously won’t be.
I still can’t see the man when he speaks for the first time, “Heath Everett sends his regards, wishes he could be here for the first session with you two.” His voice is a slow and deep drawl, a small irish accent he’s failing to mask.
I’m calculating every angle of the room, any quick escape to get Tim out of here. The chair he’s strapped to won’t break, it’s thick metal rods are expertly welded, and the thick ropes aren’t budging besides the friction burns they are causing against his own flesh.
I hear a hum take over the quiet room and don’t need to visually confirm that something eclectic has been turned on. A shiver runs down my body as I remember the absolute agony a taser causes- that day at the academy had been no fun whatsoever… besides Jackson’s reaction to the taser.
“I’m in no rush, we can wait for him to get here,” I try for a joke. Tim looks at me once again like I’ve lost my mind. I adjust a bit under his gaze, maybe that wasn’t how he had wanted to play this, the bravado going against his own plans.
I shrug so only he can see, offering to let him take the reins of this if he has a better idea. Tim flicks his chin in a gesture, and I flip my neck to follow what he is trying to get me to look at. At the same time a dark laugh creeps from behind me, closer and closer. He’s hands are empty as he stalks up to me, like a lion eyeing a feast.
“Leave her out of this,” Tim growls and I hear him begin to struggle again. I don’t break eye contact with the new man, his eyes are dark as they bore into mine with a hunger and anticipation that has my flight or fight response rearing it’s head. I’m not sure which one is winning, I’d run if I could and I’d fight if I could… but the only option I have is to sit here and take it.
The man only then breaks his stare with me, looking over me to Tim. “You brought her into this when you put that ring on her finger,” he gives a sarcastic smile as he leans over me to gaze at the ring. “A lovely piece, isn’t it?”
I’m so tense I swear my muscles are going to pull. He hasn’t touched me yet, but the way he looms over my body is terrifying. He is grinning at Tim like the cheshire cat, and I just throw my head back a bit so I don’t have to watch.
“She had nothing to do with his arrest, okay? His problems are with me, and if he’s a man of integrity like he thinks he is, then he should resolve the issues with just me.”
The man’s smile only grows. “Everett isn’t like you, no, he believes that everything has a price. Do you think your integrity is still priceless?” His question is pointed as he draws a single finger over my exposed abdomen, up towards my breasts where he trails over the bra, over the center of my throat, and finally flicks off at my chin.
“No,” Tim’s eyes track the man’s finger in horror as he shakes his head, “it’s not priceless, okay? It’s not worth her, and I’m willing to make whatever trade Everett wants to get her out, o-”
“Tim,” I cut him off and throw him a warning look. I shake my head and nonverbally express my thoughts, ‘it’s not worth is, we get out of this together.’
Tim flashes the saddest smile I’ve seen from him, one that has already made peace with the fact he will trade away whatever he can to get me off this table. He shakes his head softly, ‘you’re worth everything.’
A tear slips down my cheek that has nothing to do with the fear I feel and everything to do with how much I love him.
“You two are adorable,” he mutters, and then reaches for something under the table. I freeze as all my senses try to figure out what he is grabbing, and I watch as he places to leather straps over me, one over my forehead and the other across my neck. “No, Everett sent me down here with a few directions that I intend to follow,” his gaze goes to Tim with a vindictive grin, “I was smart and took him up on his ten million dollar offer.”
I toss my head to the side and try to get the strap off of me, the man guffaws deep in his chest, “they didn’t lie when they said you were a fighter.”
He rounds the table, his hands now fully on me and dragging down my right leg, then up my left. He pauses at my waist, staring at Tim as his hand hovers over my center, “should I?” He asks, hand hovering millimeters from me.
Tim’s eyes burn, his every muscle is tensed and sweat drips down his forehead, “I’m going to kill you,” he grunts.
The man over me simply shrugs, “Everett said nothing sexual… today,” he winks with a promise to me, he wants that. It’s not a no, it’s just not today. Dread coils in my soul as I fight the urge to fight the restraints again, fight the blind panic that wants to take over. I breathe out slowly, that instinct won’t help me here, I need to stay sharp and keep my whits about me.
He draws his hands up my abdomen once more and pulls out the other two straps from this side of the bed, pulling the leather through the metal buckle and down towards my head to tighten it. I watch him closely, watching his fingers as the start to secure the restraint and his eyes are distracted with that- and then I strike.
I know exactly how far I can reach and I know his fingers are far too close to me, he should have calculated that. I grab his flesh between my teeth and bite down with all the strength I can muster to my jaw, shaking my head like a dog to inflict as much damage as I can.
He screams loud, but I only bite down harder, his blood filling into my mouth as I clamp and lock my jaw. He’s pulling away but I won’t let up, the tension only further sinking my teeth into his fucking finger. I can feel the hard scrap of his bone against my teeth and grin against his skin.
He comes to his senses enough to send his free fist flying into my eye, a direct hit that makes me finally relinquish him. My vision flashes white and goes black, my head reeling back into the table from the impact. I snarl at him, at the pain, and the metallic taste of warm blood.
“You fucking bitch!!” He seethes, his Irish accent on full display as he goes through a series of curses.
With my still functioning eye I look at Tim, whose expression is one of shock, pride, and fear. He’ss proud I did it, fucking glowing with it. But I can see the fear because I just made this incredibly strong mad, incredibly mad.
The man recovers and surges forward, his good hand is around my throat and squeezing the air right out of me. I gasp and choke, the sounds quickly drown out by my complete lack of oxygen- my heart is hammering in my chest as his grip slowly tightens, “you’re going to regret that, cunt,” he smiles.
I take my second opportunity. Before this choke hold goes on too long, while I still have enough strength, I spit. I spit my mucus and a fair amount of his blood back at him, I hit him right in the damn eye (Mid-Wilshire shooting champ!) with a fair amount of gusto given the lack of air.
He jumps back from me quickly, and I drink down the air greedily. I’m gasping it down and my body fights the restraints as my instincts scream at me to get on my side. I look to Tim, more shock on his face and more fear. He’s looking at me in a way that tells me the black eye is forming and there are marks on my neck. I give him a winning smile, one I know is dripping with blood that isn’t mine.
If they’re going to try and break me, I’m going to fight with everything I have. They think I’m a pawn to hurt Tim, but I will prove to them that I am a force to be reckoned with, I will not go down easily.
The man has recovered, any trace of his shit eating grin is long gone and only a scowl remains on his face, along with smeared blood. “Okay, I see how this is,” he wipes his bleeding finger on his shirt before he walks to the head of the bed, not taking any more chances with my mouth.
I feel his fingers run along my scalp before he fists my hair in a vice, the pain immediately pulling as a headache forms. He holds me down to the table with such force that there is no wiggle room, not even an inch to glance over at Tim.
The strap comes over my forehead again, he buckles it tightly with one hand, the other still pinning me down as he copies the move with the strap across my neck without releasing my hair. It’s not choking, the pressure on my windpipe is enough to make me panic just a bit, but I can breathe.
Now I’m strapped in, the only range of motion I can get it is a few inches around my wrists, and my ankles that can still flex. The rest is locked down tight, holding me captive to this table, completely at the mercy of this man.
I want to look at Tim again, I should have focused more on memorizing every detail of him because I can’t see him. I push one more time against the restraints, but it’s futile. He had been my source of comfort, I hadn’t realized how painful it would be having that taken away.
“Alright you fucker,” our torturer leans down close, his head hovering inches from mine, “wanna try that little bitey move again?” He brings his bloody finger up and lets it hover inches from my mouth, blood dripping on my face as he wiggles it about, “come on, Sharky, want to bite?”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response, not even a sneer as he tries to goad me into one.
When he realizes that I’m not breaking, he stands back up to his full height and I can’t see him anymore. The only thing I can look at is the ceiling. I strain my eyes to try and see Tim, to try and see any part of this room, but I can’t.
“Now, I’ve got to go clean myself up after the little mess your fiancé made of my hand,” I hear his voice more distally, I echolocate that he is near Tim. Panic seizes me then, images of his meaty hands on Tim make me fight the restraints one more time. I can’t see, I don’t know what’s happening, is Tim okay? I hear Tim grumble something and the now familiar sound of him fighting the restraints, the groan of thick rope against metal and flesh.
“I’ll be back in a bit, don’t worry,” he calls from even further off. I hear the door open and then slam shut.
“Luce,” he pants, “tell me you’re okay.”
I huff, “a bit tied up,” I repeat his previous words as I stare up at the ceiling. It’s a cement ceiling that has a fluorescent light a few meters to my left, and that is the only remarkable feature. No cracks, bumps, or blemishes. I realize that boredom might be another form of torture.
“You pissed him the fuck off,” Tim’s voice is tired now, like he must have sagged back and relaxed. I’m happy he is doing that because we only have a little bit of reprieve, if the man’s words are anything to go by.
“That was the goal.”
I hear Tim laugh and I can picture the smile he has every time he makes that sound. He did it a few times towards the end of my rookie year, more and more as we got closer and closer. It’s the sound he makes when he’s proud, impressed, and happily surprised with me. “Bit his damn finger down to the bone,” he beams.
I preen under the praise and know I’m blushing, but I don’t care. “Hopefully that keeps him busy for a bit,” I grin.
The silence stretches on for a bit, only punctuated by the sounds of Tim trying to get any wiggle room in his chair, or his toes scraping the ground as he tries to tip the thing- it’s bolted down or something to stop him from doing that.
I swallow and loathe the feeling of the strap coming into more contact with my throat. Panic starts to rise again and I school my breathing into a calming patter and close my eyes, fighting to stay in my right mind.
“Luce, you okay?” The sounds of Tim’s escape attempts halt as he quietly asks me.
I want to nod but stop the instinct, “ya… I, uh, I just don’t like being this restrained,” I whisper, my voice cracking and betraying the rising tide of anxiety in my bones.
“I know,” Tim’s voice is calm and steady now. No desperation, no fear, just a deep tenor that I know he is schooling into neutrality so I have a grounding sensation. He ‘shhhs’ and whispers a few things to me, I don’t really process the words I’m hearing but just focus on his calm, on his energy, on his steady presence.
“Easy… I’m getting you out… okay… strong… free,” are just a few of words I pick up and focus on from him. I commit them to memory and tuck them right next to my heart. Because despite his words and what I’ve said as well, I know how the next few hours, days, or weeks are going to go. It’s going to be a painful and bloody mess, it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse before there is any hope of it getting better. We have to wait for them to make a mistake, at this point that seems to be the only way we’re getting out of here. But until then, it’s going to make hell look like a walk in the park.
I just pray that Tim and I can make it out.