Leo has some doubts during a brutal torture session.
Title taken from the song Sick Thoughts by Lewis Blissett.
Prompt 1: Snitches Get Stitches for @amonthofwhump‘s March Madness challenge.
(tw torture, violence, blood, gore, emotional manipulation, flashbacks, sort-of past character death, implied mind control, blink-and-you’ll miss it CSA references)
Wickham didn’t realize he’d been kidnapped until day four of their vacation when Tyr is forced to put a gun to the head of the man his parents had sent to retrieve him. They’d worked really hard to keep him ignorant and comfortable and satisfied. Suggesting a vacation hadn’t been difficult. Keeping it from Malcolm and Charlotte has been easy. Wickham was more than happy to be out of the hustle of the glittering New York city skyline and away from the noise of its taxis and scam artists. He was even more excited to be out from under his parents’ thumbs.
Decided to put my Paul Higgs story on the backburner so I can have more fun with it, and wrote a wee little epilogue for this week’s Nanda and Jameson showcase instead!
CW: Pet whump, intimate whumper, internal injuries, injured whumpee, creepy comfort, some brief dubcon references, dehumanizing/degrading language, Nanda is kind of a possessive creep, but also this is pretty soft? They’re so weird. Just a little epilogue, of sorts.
-
The pet’s eyes narrow as he watches Nanda enter the room. He’s weighted down under heavy blankets, layers that keep the air around his body warm, working with the painkillers to keep him loose-limbed and languid, barely able to move.
Not that he wants to. Every slight shift sends a thrill of pain up his spine from somewhere deep inside of him. Even taking too deep a breath brings to brief, blurry life the aches and pains he’s littered with. It breaks through the wall constructed by the drugs that hold him, fuzzy and protected from the awful ache of his own body.
The odd, unpleasant medic is gone – with his businesslike invading fingers, his way of causing pain without any method of making it good,his flat stare as he worked. His pet is gone, too, the Platonic who had come out of shock only to cry until Arvid took him in his arms and whispered to him, the pet nodding and nodding like a puppet on a string, his sobs turning to sniffles and then to whispers in return.
He had never looked at the pet, not once. The other pet had treated him like he’s invisible, like the others always treat the Romantics, but at least it’s better than treating him like he’s a lying little snitch.
Eventually, they’d gone, with Arvid shoving a bottle of rattling pills into Nanda’s hand and giving him timing and dosage the pet couldn’t overhear. He doesn’t know if he’s being given too much or not enough.
CW: organized crime, referenced pet whump/BBU, referenced workplace sexual harrassment, threats
***
“I don’t want you to handle it like this.”
Donal checks over his shoulder, making sure no around. Rhys, his crazy bastard of a brother, would consider this to be an act of treason. “I told you. I’ll take care of it. He could come back for you. He hurt you. And I won’t let it happen again.” His throat catches. “No matter what the rest of our siblings say…you’re family.”
“They still don’t suspect you?” Her voice sounds so scared and weak.
Donal’s expression darkens. “They underestimate me. I play my part well, Eireann. They think I’ve shunned you, too.”
CW: Organized crime, self depricating thoughts, gun violence, mean words, murder, death, implied non con, non con kissing (non-sexual), and lady whump
~~~
‘Mykhailo, I am sorry, but I can’t stay anymore. I can’t take you with me or else they’ll kill both of us. Remember who you are and when you are 18, you can choose your own route in life. You can go to college. You got accepted before. You can do it again, even if you can’t play sports anymore. Be the better Kysil. I love you.’
Piercing Kysil blue eyes stared at themselves in the reflection of the wardrobe mirror, the man standing there adjusting his red tie, wearing his entirely black suit, from dress shirt, blazer, slacks, belt, shoes, and even his heart. Mykhailo knew he was staring at his greatest nightmare, but he raised his chin high, his confidence a sham.
Anything to appease the monster of a man his father was, but also to keep his insane body guard off his back. For two years, being alone with them, occasionally having Ivan around, drove him to this moment; the moment and the day he would have to prove his worth and take claim to the dark crown of being a Kysil.
He sneered at the man in the reflection. A crown fit for a bastard and a burden heavier than a real heart of gold. No one could ever know what he was truly like. No one could ever see the other side of him. He couldn’t love another. He wouldn’t ruin them like he ruined Ivan. He has to see the scar he gave him for the rest of his life ever since Ivan became his personal bodyguard, Vasyklo training him here and there.
Todd Welkman sat in his room, alone as always. He laid on his bed, looking to the side at the bulletin board scattered with photos of him and his family. He had collected every single photo of them all together, doing fun things, and the board was only halfway covered. He heaved a sigh, repeating the same wish he always had, as if maybe whatever force lived in the sky could hear his thoughts. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to project them into the universe. He just wanted to be normal. He wanted a normal family with a father that actually spent time with his son and a mother that wasn’t always in bed, too sick to get up.
This needed to happen. There’s no other way, Spencer Patel repeated to themself all throughout the drive to Dean Welkman’s house. They sat in the passenger’s seat, glancing at the driver every so often. The driver would glance back, giving the tiniest of encouraging smiles. They arrived at last and someone from the back seat got out, knocking on the front door of the house. He glanced back at the limousine everyone else waited in, giving a small nod. Spencer slipped the tranquilizer gun out from under their seat. The driver pressed a button on the earpiece in her ear.
Spencer watched in tense anticipation as the door opened, revealing Dean Welkman, just as was planned. He shook the hand of the man who knocked, following him to the limo. Spencer heard him thanking the man as he opened the door for Dean. Dean got in and sat down by the window. The man followed him in and shut the door. The driver started to drive.
Spencer glanced at the driver. The driver nodded at the tranquilizer gun in Spencer’s hands and immediately, Spencer sprang into action. They leaned out from the passenger seat, which signaled to the man to grab Dean’s arm and pull him into the center aisle. Swiftly, Spencer fired the tranquilizer, hitting Dean. Before he could comprehend what was happening, a blindfold was tied over his eyes and a gag was stuffed into his mouth. The driver slammed on the gas and the limo sped forward.
Spencer felt gleeful. They looked back at Dean just in time to see him fall against the body of the man he sat next to, unconscious. The drugs would keep him that way for a couple hours, but Spencer knew, as everyone else did, that he would not be waking up.
An hour or so passed before they reached their destination. They stopped in front of a barbed-wire gate, guarding a large, lakeside property they knew to be abandoned. Spencer got out, as did two of the men in the back, one of them with Dean slung over his shoulder. Spencer watched as the other man pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the gate, holding it open for Spencer and the other man. They went through and began trudging through the untamed underbrush until they reached a rickety dock reaching out onto the lake.
“Stop,” the man not holding Dean said. He pulled a knife out of his pocket. The second man saw and lowered Dean so he was somewhat in a standing position. The first man moved over and Spencer looked away just as he jabbed the knife into the man’s neck. Blood spurted out and Spencer squeezed their eyes shut. This was fine. This had to happen.
“He’s going to be crossing the street soon,” Aine says, leaning forward. Wisps of her dirty blonde hair escape her ponytail, framing her face.
Tiernan chuckles, still putting together the parts of his rifle from the case. “You didn’t have to come, dear.”
“I know. Rhys told me I had to be here.” She adjusts her glasses, looking down at the street below. She and Tiernan are on a rooftop waiting for today’s target, the matriarch of the Vasilyevich family.
The two found themselves back at their office desks, and Claw found himself starting to get a migraine.
“I already said no, Talon.”
“But, the case! Our client wanted us to- “
“Our client was that no good idiot who has no idea what he’s talking about.”
“He clearly did! That professor is clearly –“
“Talon, enough!”
Her lips purse, eyes glaring back at him.
“I’m not reopening the investigation and that’s that.”
Talon’s mouth opens for a retort and Claw was glad to hear the bell chime as the door of their office opens. He knew what accusations of him being a coward and other insults that would fall out of her mouth.
They weren’t inaccurate, but he’d rather not hear them.
“Good evening, detectives.”
The two jump to their feet, the insignia of the state government’s police force, a shield defending a parliamentary building, proudly presented on the chest of a man who was clearly an enforcer.
Talon’s eyes narrowed, “What are you doing here?”
The man chuckles, “Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone’s planning on wiping you twice.”
Talon snarls and Claw moves behind her, ready to stop any kind rabid attack on the armed official.
“She asked you a question.” Claw states quietly.
The man pulls out a tablet, usually kept for logging arrests and swipes up. A blue hue shines in the dark office as a recording is played as a 3D hologram.
“You have 3 days.”
Talon and Claw glance at each other before looking back at a person in a light-up mask of a cartoon character. They wore black clothes that clashed with the pink face of a cartoon character, Princess Poncy. Talon’s head starts to hurt, a familiar ache that came whenever memories of her past rose to the surface.
“I’m going to kill official Pewtree unless you load 6740000 credits into the account attached to this video.”
“Specific.” Claw muses.
“I know you have to make sure he’s alive. I know you can’t let him die. I know all your secrets.”
“How scary.” Talon deadpans.
The person pulls up a man by his grey hair so that he is visible to the screen. He is handcuffed and there’s a dark bruise on the side of his face as begs and pitiful attempts to offer money or other officials to kidnap fall out of his mouth.
“Three days.”
The blue hue leaves and the room returns to its rustic darkness. The enforcer who had remained silent this whole time sighs.
“I still don’t know why we’re letting designates in on this.” He mumbles to himself.
Talon huffs, “I don’t know why either. Pewtree can choke for all I care. After that designation zones policy he’s trying to enact, I mean I thought segregation – “
“Talon.” Claw commands, she rolls her eyes but falls silent.
“Thank you.” The enforcer sighs. “For reasons I’m not privy to, official Pewtree’s retrieval from the armed kidnappers is on a red alert. Enforcers from across the country are coming to this zone to aid in his rescue.”
Claw puts a hand to his chin. “Pewtree is a very local politician, the fact that there is a national response is intriguing to say the least.”
“A very local pain in the ass.”
The man sighs again, “I can’t argue with that. But we do as we’re ordered. My name is Enforcer Garrison and I’ve been ordered to bring you two in to help us investigate, by the Chief of Enforcement no less.”
Talon whistles, “Looks like we’ve made the big leagues, huh Claw?”
Claw frowns, “Why us?”
“We’ve managed to track down the location of the video. Seems like it was made in a now abandoned warehouse. But there was this – ”
Claw eyes widen at the paper in front of him. It’s some kind of invoice for various objects, rope, chains and such. But that’s not what Claw is focused on.
The invoice is signed by a set of initials.
T.P.
His calves start to itch, he resists the urge to scratch the brands on each leg. He swallows before looking up to the other man.
Luca pulled his hand through his hair as he worked on the papers on his desk. He rubbed his hand over his eyes.
A knocking sounded from the door and he lifted his head.
“Fuck off” he snapped annoyed.
The door opened and Henry came into the room. “Sir… the Boss is asking for you” he said.
Luca frowned as he looked at Henry. “Fuck…. Fine” he said, slowly getting up.
“Are you alright, Sir?” Henry asked.
“Fine” Luca said “Now start moving”
Henry shrugged before he started walking, leading Luca to where Huuga was waiting for him.
Huuga was waiting for him inside one of the back offices. The man sat behind a desk, looking at some images on a computer screen. He looked up as the two entered the room.
“Sir” Luca said, giving the man a slight bow.
“Ah…. Luca” the man said, as he picked up a piece of paper and pushed it over the table towards Luca.
“I’ve got a job for you” he said “Just a warning. They will try to take you out”
Luca took the piece of paper, looking it over with a raised eyebrow. “A meeting with Devin?” he asked, glancing at Huuga.
Huuga nodded. “Yes” he said “You need to finish the drug deal”
“But I had nothing to do with that deal” Luca said slowly.
“Are you refusing?” Huuga asked slowly.
Luca frowned. “No, Sir” he said, hearing Henry breath out behind him.
Huuga nodded. “Good… Now get going” he said “You have about twenty minutes to get to the meeting point”
“Yes, Sir” Luca said, with a nod as he turned and left the room.
Luca paused outside the room, taking a deep breath.
“Sir” Henry said “They will kill you”
Slowly a smirk formed on Luca’s face. “Yes they will” he said slowly as he started walking “Call them and let them know that we will be about half an hour late”
He sat at the desk in his little room, a white-walled, thin-carpeted square broken only by the locked door and the small, thickly-barred window. He was below ground, as best he could tell through the clouded glass, in a converted basement. He was delivered a tray of food each day good enough for three meals, and there was even an en suite with drinkable water in the tap. It was obvious that he wasn’t the first to live here. The bathroom had scratches in the doorframe from someone keeping count of the days. The mattress had a dip in the centre. In the middle of a sleepless night, it was like he could feel the ghosts of previous abductees breathing in the same air.
Most of his nights were sleepless now.
The desk was had recently been sanded down. It was obvious by the fresh, unblemished grain of the wood. Perhaps the person in here before him had left a message he wasn’t allowed to read.
On the desk was a stack of plain paper, and two wax crayons. It would have been funny, if it wasn’t obviously done to make sure he had nothing sharp to use as a weapon. Not that Bennett was stupid enough to try and stab Alfonse Dechart’s guards with a ballpoint pen, but there was no accounting for desperation.
Each day, he sat at the desk with the Crayola Black Stars in his hand and wrote as much as he could think of about work. They weren’t selective. On the first day he wrote about the layout of the headquarters. By the sixth day he was writing about what everyone ate for lunch and where they went if they wanted coffee.
All of it was treated the same. The more he wrote, the better things got.
Yes this exists, yes it will probably continue to exist. Sorryy.
He’s thrown back in the chair, water drips from wet strands of his black hair.
“Well, who was your informant?”
“Fuck you.” Zak seethes. “I’m not telling you shit.”
The team’s target, Kamal Vittal, sighs before making a gesture to his henchmen. Zak is pulled out of the chair again and his head is pushed into a tank filled with water.
Bubbles rise to the surface as he thrashes and fights to breathe. He’s kept down longer this time until it feels like his chest might explode.
Them he’s pulled out and he takes gasping breathes of air. Vittal forces him to his knees with a simple shove down.
“Who is it agent? You’re not really going to die for a traitor, are you?”
The image of Ash flashes in his mind, his stand-offish attitude that slowly made way for his inner charm and warmth. And slowly made its way into Zak’s heart.
He flushes at the thought, he’s not sappy like Isaac and Arthur. The two co-leaders were already starting to make comments about them being reminded of themselves. Like Layla said, he was running short of jokes that didn’t sound hypocritical as is.
The thoughts of his team make his eyes sting with tears. It’s been so long now. They were coming to get him soon. Right?
“Oh, is it all getting too much for you, boy?” Vittal sneers. “If you give me the name, I’ll let you go, how about that?”
Zak wipes his eyes angrily, “I’m not saying anything, how many times do I have to say it? Losing your hearing or something?”
Vittal growls before storming to the spy. He grabs Zak by his hair and drags him to the tank.
Zak struggles against the painful grip. Fear taking over him as he’s forced to face the water, his nose already getting wet.
“I’m not going to let you up this time. I will drown you if you do not give me the name right now.”
Zak watches his bloodied and beaten reflection, his skin starting to go pale from being kept in dark cells all day. A single tear drips, adding to the endlessly large trough.
“I said no. Kill me already. I’m not telling you anything.”
His head is plunged underwater, the world turns to a blue hue as he tries to hold his breath. His hands grip the edge of the tank and he tried to pull himself up, but the fist clenched in his hair stays, pushing him down into the water
He watches as bubbles of breath escape him and he knows that his time is limited. He tries to think of his team as his last thoughts. His lungs feel like they are going to burst.
His legs kick out in one last attempt to escape. Eventually, he can’t hold his breath anymore and large air bubbles burst at the surface of the water. The body underwater start to go limp, staying there even as the hand lets go, and a tear rolls down his cheek.
Suddenly, he’s pulled out in one quick motion. He feels his back land in another’s arms as he retches and coughs out water. Words fall out of the mouths of two blurry figures and he can’t make out either.
Zak can tell that some kind of fighting is happening around him, grunts and gunshots surround him. He starts to be able to understand the words someone is mumbling to him.
“It’s going to be okay, Zak. We’ve got you, I’m sorry we took so long.”
He looks up to find two people, Isaac and Ash, the latter with tears in his eyes.
“Zak! Are you okay?”
Zak pulls his lips into a shaky grin, “Never better.”
Isaac smiles back and the three are joined by Arthur and Layla who had managed to take down Vittal and his henchmen.
Arthur ruffles his hair and looks at him sadly.
“I’m sorry, Zak. We couldn’t find him. We didn’t stop looking, I swear.”
“I know, it’s okay, Arthur.”
The sniper of the team let out a huff of laughter. “You’re doing just fine, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, Layla. I wasn’t about to die or anything. You can all go back if you want.”
Ash huffs before picking Zak up in a bridal carry, much to the flustered protests of the other.
“I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
Zak sighs before leaning into him. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
They both share a look before laughing. Ash starts to walk out of the room, carrying Zak with him. Isaac and Arthur follow, leaning into each other as they talked. Layla sighs at the group’s romantic nonsense before walking out of the door behind them. She stops in the dark corridor as the others continue to make their way out of the base.
Her trained ears pick up a small sound. “Hey!” she calls out. The others stop. Arthur’s expression darkens.
“What is it? Did he have back-up?”
Layla just puts a finger to her lips and quiet whimpers could be heard.
She follows the noise, taking out her gun before entering another room.
There was a girl in the corner, a leather collar around her neck and a tag around her ankle.
Armani returns the next morning. He still hasn’t changed, though he’s discarded his jacket, and under the edge of his rolled-up sleeves, hidden so hospital workers won’t question, Cyril spots flecks of blood. Fresh.
“I brought one of the boys to sit outside your room,” he announces, folding into the chair by Cyril’s bed with a stifled sigh. “He’ll stay until you’re well enough to go home.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Esme cranes his head to peer out of the door. “Oh, hey Dan.”
Dan waves before turning back to watch nurses and doctors hurry by.
“I mean, they’re all dead but one. Right? And this is a hospital.”
Cyril exchanges a glance with Armani, surprised– and not, at the same time– at the way his expression mirrors their own thoughts. Esme was always the sunshine prince of his father’s shadowed kingdom. Even before their impromptu absence, Cyril often found they knew the darker underbelly of humanity better than the crime lord’s son.
CW/TW: drugged whumpee, aftermath of whump, discussion of killing and blackmail, lady whump, pet whump, BBU/WRU. For @amonthofwhump Mafia Madness: Vendetta
He isn’t the angry one. He doesn’t feel angry now, no fire quickening his blood. He is calm. He is cold.
“I want Maxim dead for this.”
Sasha isn’t the gentle one. Yet he strokes the girl’s dark hair with steady, soothing motions. Even in her drugged sleep, she trembles and whimpers.
They still haven’t named her, Kolya realizes.
“Forthis?” A mere Pet, the question implied. A trifle, not worth the price of vengeance.
He knew better.
“For stealing from us, for violating our home, for blackmailing us.”
CW: organized crime, explosives/house explosion, implied death of a family, fire/arson, blinding, the second half is from the POV of a minor and there is a young child that is unharmed. Please let me know if I missed anything!
“Isn’t it?” Anton turned around, flashing his smile. Dean scowled, slamming the briefcase shut.
“Yousigned on the amount. You can’t just take it all for yourself once everything is said and done.”
“Watch me.” Anton picked up the briefcase and turned to walk out the door of Dean’s office.
“Jakobsen,” Dean snapped.
Anton turned. “Yes?”
“You don’t want to do this.”
“What could you possibly do to stop me?”
Dean’s eyes were dark, his entire being trembling with rage. He didn’t speak, his expression communicating crystal clear threats.
Anton threw his head back and laughed, leaving with Dean’s portion of the pay, as well as his own. The door swung shut. Dean did nothing to stop it from slamming. He was seething, his blood boiling as he went to his window to see Anton walking to his car. Dean lifted a hand and punched the window, leaving a tiny crack.
The pain fueled him, sparking an idea in the back of his mind.
He knew where Anton lived. He knew that more often than not, he was home with his family. He knew exactly where to find the exact things that would prove his spite to be deadly, and he knew how to use them.
He pulled the curtain shut on the window, moved to lock the door, and sat down to make several phone calls.
CW: pet whump, interrogation-style whump, BBU, mouth whump, noncon kissing (nonsexual), very very vaguely implied noncon, derogatory language, organized crime
***
Nessa gives Rhys a long look, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Let me have my fun.”
He shakes his head. “No. Get off of him, Ness.”
She gives him the finger as she stands up off the lap of their captive. “You don’t let me enjoy myself ever. I try to have fun with your pet, I try to have fun with this asshole…”
The man tied to the chair, Rory Walsh, gives Nessa a filthy look. “I was having fun with ye.”
She slaps him in the face hard before gripping his jaw, her ruby red nails digging into his cheeks and drawing ruby red blood. “I’d think real careful about what comes out of your traitorous mouth next before my brother puts his gun somewhere you won’t like.”
CW: Implied non con, implied murder, bbu, mentioned pet whump, planning a kidnapping, NSFW, derogatory language, blunt force violence, and Vasyklo as a content warning
CW/TW: sick whumpee, noncon (with an object), pistol whipping, threats, blood, violence, lady whump, pet whump, BBU/WRU, cursing. For @amonthofwhump Mafia Madness: Family Business.
She’s fever-pliant by morning.
His master is enraged by what his computer shows him, after it’s had time to decrypt what came out of her head.
“Those bastard sons-of-whores! Fucking using their slut to fucking spy on us! On family!”
She can barely stand, so when his master’s gun butt hits her face, she drops to her knees. Again and again Maxim hits her face with the end of his gun, splitting her lip, cracking her cheekbone, breaking her nose.
Not the face. Never damage the face echoes in Jonas’ mind. It lowers their value. He shakes it out of his head like a buzzing fly.
“I should put a bullet in your fucking head,” Maxim snarls at the Romantic, who is probably past understanding words. “Strip the goddamn whore, Jonas. It’s time to make a call.”
“We should sack the whole fucking mansion. Kennedy is in there. We know he’s in there.”
“We do not. We have only speculated.”
“Bullshit. We can come up with something, can’t we? One of his fucking shipments?”
Alfonse paused the recording and smiled to himself. Across the table, Twitchy Val sat with their spectacled eyes fixed on their screen.
“Don’t fret,” he told them kindly. “The man they’re looking for is not, in fact, in my home. Nor is he in any of my properties.”
Val shuddered. But they weren’t used to that side of things. They didn’t need to trouble their conscience over the details, so Alfonse didn’t give them.
“Has there been any noise since this meeting? Anyone taking the bait?”
“No, no-no-nobody.”
“Fabulous. Thank you for bringing this to my attention directly.”
Val’s head bobbed in a quick nod, their curls falling again over their forehead. Alfonse had watched them smooth their hair back a dozen times already. He was going to buy them a clip for their next birthday.
Or he’d ask Sinclair to find something, anyway.
Maybe even make something, if Val kept up the brilliant work.
“I’ll let you go. Keep your ear to the ground.” Alfonse smiled at his own joke, knowing Val’s work did not involve ears, but microphones hidden in ingenious ways. “Anything else on Kennedy, come to me.”
“Yes, yes sir.”
He motioned for them to leave, and they did, gathering their computer, headphones and portable drive in their arms. The door swung shut behind them without a sound, slinking into place through against the soundproofing.
Alone in his office, Alfonse took some time to think.
The Kennedy situation was handled in the main, but there were ripples still. The cops got nervous when one of their own vanished, and the worst of them got vindictive. He was obviously implicated, given the deaths of the entire Mannington family, who had been put into witness protection to protect them from Alfonse himself. Some of them, as they always did, wanted to skip due process and start firing.
The chief was in his pocket. Alfonse was the only reason he was chief at all, and he knew that. Alfonse helped him with his other problems, and he turned a blind eye to the smuggling. He didn’t so much turn a blind eye to the forgeries as make use of them. There were high-profile criminals in jail because of evidence Alfonse’s lab had fabricated, and so they couldn’t well turn him in now, could they? He’d pull the whole house of cards down.
The remaining issue, though, was the tension. Heightened in the force, taut on the streets, and Alfonse wanted to deescalate before he moved forward. It didn’t do to leave everyone on edge. Time would do most of the work, but there were reparations he could make in the meantime.
A sizeable donation to the charity ball. Maybe a new bandstand at the park. Things that would send the message, it’s alright. We’re still your friendly neighbourhood crime ring. We’re not savages.
Ah, there was a thought. He typed out a quick message. May I have a handbag?
Sinclair was always quick to respond, when he’d earned their attention. For what?
Public relations. There’s a charity auction for the youth opera.
Agreeable.
Fabulous. The presence of a Sinclair design would repair the goodwill of anyone harbouring a vendetta. And for those who held onto their grudges… What was it his mother had said? Resentment is poison, and it’ll kill you if you don’t let go.
Yes, something like that. He picked up his phone and dialled.
“H-Hello?”
“Val,” he said with a smile. “Next time you go in, slip a couple of nightpills into Detective Kim’s coffee.”
“Um. Yes sir.”
Lovely. He hung up and got up, and got in the car for a drive. It was time to check in with his new recruit.
The ceiling is white. Cyril thinks, with a dim sort of hatred, that they would happily kill to never see a white ceiling again.
“Hey.”
When they complete the monumental task of turning their head, Cyril finds both Esme and Armani in attendance, Esme in a chair right beside the bed, and Armani on the small couch - more of a bench, really - under the window. They’re both in the same clothes they were at dinner, scuffed and dirty finery now rumpled and wearing the look and smell of both the attack and too many hours without a shower or sleep since.
Their mouth opens and closes.
“Hospital,” Esme fills in. “You had surgery to repair the bullet hole in your leg and remove the one embedded in your arm.”
“Did they f-…” they glance at Armani. “Were you hurt?” they ask instead. “Either of you?”
“Bruises and scrapes, nothing more,” Esme says.
“You took the brunt of it,” Armani stands and comes over to the bed to take Cyril’s hand in his own. “We both owe you our lives, my b- ah, damn. What am I supposed to call you?”
“Just Cyril is fine.” Their tongue sticks a little to the roof of their mouth, gummy and too thick for the space it’s allowed. “Not boy, or man, or he.”
They can’t tell what he’s thinking. Armani considers them for a moment, and Cyril feels very small. Their fingers feel like ice next to the warmth of his grip on their hand.
“Just Cyril,” Armani concedes. “You saved Esme’s life, and mine. I won’t forget that.” He sets their hand down. “I have to go deal with the fallout of the attack, but I wanted to be here when you woke. Rest and heal. When you’re well, I have something I want to talk to you about.”
