#snitches and stitches
Loyalty’s Price for a Saber’s Worth
For@amonthofwhump’s Mafia Madness!
Prompt: Snitches and Stitches
Tagging the crew: @ocean-blue-whump,@for-the-love-of-nsfwhump,@gottawhump,@ocean-blue-whump, and @winedark-whump
Referencing@ocean-blue-whump ’s Nessa because she and Farkas are a bad couple!
CW: Pet whump, BBU, lady whump, organized crime, conditioned whumpee, derogatory language, gun violence, knife violence, bondage, death threats, mentions of past abuse and torture, mentions of drugs, Faraday and Farkas deserve their own warning, and death (not a major character)
~~~
Saber stood to the side of the room, closest to the door, her eyes locked dead ahead while Faraday and Farkas, his nephew, both were roaring at a man that had gone to blab to the police about some shady shit happening at one of the warehouses by the pier. Their screaming always terrified her, but she couldn’t let that show.
She was built to handle it all and trained how to be a good Abernathy dog, worthy of a special collar that separated her from the domestics and romantics, but… not like it mattered when it came to Farkas. She was scared of him the most, especially if Nessa, his girlfriend, was around too. They both knew just how to make her miserable, and she knew that she couldn’t let the pain be shown unless they wanted it obvious. They’d make sure of that at least.
“Really?! You thought the cops were going to put you in some witness protection shit, Winston? Are you fucking stupid?!” Farkas asked, slapping the man who was tied up, his hands tied up above him with chains. Saber used her peripherals to see that the man was stripped down to his boxers, his torso covered in splotches of black and blue, red accented wherever it managed to find the canvas that was their unmarred skin.
A laugh came from Faraday and he held a knife under Winston’s chin. “I have half a mind to send your ass to WRU, have them wipe you, and give you to your wife, so she can see what a disgrace you became. At what cost, hmmm? You thought you were going to one up me or something? How about I just get rid of your entire bloodline and have you bury them?” He inquired, digging the tip of the blade in, the poor man sobbing and looking up at his torturer.
A Month Of Whump Mafia Madness 1: Snitches and Stitches. CN: food / starvation mention.
@iaminamoodymoodtoday,@wildfaewhump,@ishouldblogmore,@lektric-whump,@that-one-thespian,@raigash
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Bennett Kennedy broke over a piece of bread.
It was a slice of toast, to be more specific. It was golden-brown and buttered on one side, with a thin layer of raspberry jam over the top. The crusts were dark and crispy, the centre softer and slightly cooled. It was the most delicious thing he had ever laid eyes on, and it was being hovered an inch under his nose, almost touching his top lip. His neck was strained forward as far as it would go, painfully, and the smell of warm gluten and grains almost stung his nostrils, and when it was pulled back he could have sworn he would die.
It was the closest he had been to solid food in two weeks.
He was starving.
And he broke.
“Forty-eight Alison Terrace,” he said. The words could never be taken back. “Forty-eight Alison Terrace. Please—”
The bread returned, and he sobbed as he took his first bite. It tasted like ash, and for a horrible moment he thought he would throw up, but then his dry mouth registered the sweet tang of the jam and his body collapsed in relief. His head tilted back to let the tears run from the corners of his eyes and chewed until the rest of the flavour came to him, the salt of the butter and the whole-wheat support of the bread underneath.
The rest vanished in bites as large as he could take them, until the last corner was fed between his lips by the gloved hand of his captor.
It was followed by a sip of water from the glass that was always on the table by his side, though never within reach with his wrists tied to the arms of the chair. He could see it in glimpses in the corner of his eye, maddeningly close.
His cheeks dried slowly of tears as Bennett’s breathing settled.
“Where do the minders live?”
The next question caught him off guard. Ever since he woke up here, on this chair, in the almost-dark with only masked figures standing over him, there had only been one question. Where are the Mannington family?
Bennett didn’t even work in witness protection. He’d just been helping out. Just for an afternoon, because Kamran Heydari was sick.
Maybe that was why they picked him.
“Across the road,” he said, because the damage had already been done and the Mannington family were as good as dead. “Fifty-one.”
“Good.”
“Will – please, are you—?”
“See to it that Mr Kennedy gets his injuries tended to,” the voice cut him off, and Bennett flinched at the realisation. He flinched again at the feeling of hands, still gloved, touching the area where the knife had been hours ago. His reward.
The door to his cell clicked shut. The interrogator was gone, but not far. Outside, he heard her, and another voice.
Good work.
Thank you, sir.
She was calm, professional, as she always was. There was barely a trace of emotion in her voice.
You’re just the right kind of monster, as always.
I try my best.
The other voice, warm and approving with a hint of humour, was one Bennett could only guess at identifying. But if he was pressed to, he knew who it was likely to be. Only one player in this godforsaken city would have the guts to take a police officer captive from his own home.
He was in the care of Alfonse Dechart.
@amonthofwhumpMafia Madness day one! It’s a bit of a sneak peek into Avdima’s future, which may be quite concerning.
CW: organized crime and … creepy behavior?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Soft thuds echoed around the room, the footsteps of a dangerous, dangerous man. He circled the desk in his dimly lit office, running a hand over the fabric on the head of his visitor as he walked past. The visitor slid a folder across the desk.
“The information you requested: it’s all here.”
“How hard was it to find?”
“Not hard at all, sir. I have his date of birth, height, weight, job, financial status … It’s all here.”
“Wonderful. You’ve been an excellent addition to my team.”
“I never said I was joining your team.”
“And yet,” the man leaned his hands against the desk, meeting the visitor’s eyes, “you have no problem ratting Vargas out to me.”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”
“Did I?” The man flipped open the folder, scanning the first page. “Perhaps you misconstrued my promise that his death would be painless, if all goes smoothly.”
The visitor stood up. “You can’t make him pay with his life.”
“Sit down, Patel. You’ll have your say.” The man flipped the page, every line making his wicked smile grow. “Wonderful,” he repeated.
“You can make him pay another way. It’s not his fault he was born into this.”
“Oh, he’ll pay,” the man promised, refusing to acknowledge the protests. “He will pay.”
Isaiah and the Professor part ½
There was a sound of screaming from floors below him, chatter of deals going through in the offices around him. His business was running like clockwork as usual.
His work phone vibrates once and he checks it to see a single text.
It’s done.
He smiles before calling in his personal assistant.
“Isaiah!”
The younger man walks in, hair in short, rough curls and mouth curled in a smile that tried to look genuine.
“Yes, sir.”
“Send the cheque to Mattias. He’s disposed of that spy who was poking around last week faster than I thought.”
The man in front of him visibly winces before his face returns to a neutral expression.
“Of course, sir. Anything else.”
“Not right now, but I’m sure I can count on your attendance at his funeral. Such a shame one of our ‘workers’ has had such an unfortunate accident. You can go offer your condolences to the family.”
“Yes, sir.” Isaiah answers. His boss delights in the slight grit of his teeth.
“Well, off you go.” He shoos the other man off with a hand and Isaiah stalks away.
He watches him go, making sure the other was a good distance away, before picking up the office phone and dialling a number.
He listens to it ring. The spy was one problem taken care if but another was who was the leak that lead to an investigation in the first place.
The answer was obvious, he had only trusted Isaiah with the kind of information he tortured out of the spy.
He had felt rather disappointed. Other than the leaking of secrets, Isaiah was a good assistant to him. It’s a shame that he has to go.
He’d rather not kill the other man. He still had his uses after all. So that left one other option.
The rings end.
“Hello. This is the anonymous tip line for anti-government activities. Who would you like to report?”
The Professor answers with a saccharine tone.
“Hi, I’d like to report an Isaiah Rise. He’s an influential member of a criminal organisation. And as I’m sure you can tell by the name, has not been designated yet.”
Taglist:@winedark-whump@whumpworld
For@amonthofwhump Mafia Madness! Prompt: Snitches and Stitches
Farkas Abernathy (mentioned) belongs to @painful-pooch and is used with permission.
Tagging:@painful-pooch@whumptakesthecake - let me know if you want to be added/removed!
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.”
Irish Mafia Part Three: Snitches and Stitches
—
The next time the door opened, Kelsey tensed completely. They had already debated bunching themself into the corner of the bed, as far back as they could manage, but they realized that would immediately paint them as as powerless as they were. Any mimicry of control they could keep hold of was a lifeline right now.
It wasn’t Patrick who came through the door. They couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that he kept his word on not coming back. Maybe he would feel guilty beating up his sibling himself, and that’s why he would send someone else to do it.
Kelsey regarded the newcomer with bared teeth and a vicious glare they had spent hours practicing in the mirror.
The tall woman with broad shoulders seemed surprised when she looked at them. There was a steaming bowl cupped in her hands, and Kelsey’s stomach rolled emptily at the sight and smell of it.
To cover the sound of their snarling belly, they spat out, “what do you want?”
The woman exhaled deeply, but Kelsey couldn’t read the emotion behind it.
