The Reluctant Journey Ch. 11

"Now we lost a little time with that little nap, but we're back on schedule. I sent your boyfriend a pic while you were resting. Let's add another to his album."

She didn't have it in her to react to his disgusting statements. Right now she was completely focused on the physical damage her body had taken. She saw a bright flash out of the corner of her eye. Vincent yanked her head up by her hair. She barely winced. "Smile." He ordered.

"Fuck you" Her voice was hoarse and barely audible. He laughed and took a picture of her face with her back visible in the background.

"All in good time girlie." He dropped her head back to the mattress. Finally he left the room and turned the lights out, leaving Malia in the darkness to suffer alone and wait.

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It was an hour and a half before Cain's phone buzzed again. He warred against himself on whether he should look or not. Half of him was sick at the idea of seeing another picture of Malia being tortured, raped, or possibly even murdered. His hands shook with the fear those thoughts caused him. The other half of him needed to know the facts so he could catch these sons of bitches and bring Malia back alive. He couldn't live with the alternative.

Cain quickly looked at the phone, like pulling off a band-aid. Except what he saw felt more like a hard kick to the gut, or a few dozen. There were two pictures this time. The first was of her back. There were a couple dozen welts in a cross-hatched formation, most of which were bleeding. The second had her face showing as well. She was awake and she had been crying. He vomited again into a nearby trash can. He was used to this kind of torture for interrogation purposes, but it was entirely different seeing Malia as the subject. He took several deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself again.

He quickly handed the phone to the security man and asked for the pictures to be printed and tracking to begin on them. So far nothing had panned out on the first picture. Just as Finn had anticipated, whoever did this was covering their tracks.

The pictures printed and Cain took a deep breath before he looked at them closer. He couldn't look too long at the picture of Malia's face, he couldn't stomach the pain and terror he saw there. The picture of her back, however, caused a hint of recognition. He called Finn over.

"Do you recognize that pattern." Finn studied the picture. "In the center, where the two lines meet." Cain pointed. Where two lines met in the center of Malia's back was a large "V" that was slightly darker with blood than the rest. It would scar more prominently. Cain knew that that was the intention behind the act.

"Vincent Durtari." Finn snarled.

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Denizen was very conflicted. He thought he would be more whole-heartedly elated. He was happy to finally be getting the revenge he'd thirsted for for years, but there was a paranoia he hadn't expected to be there. It marred his excitement considerably. Cain would be looking for retribution, but Blake had covered his tracks. Yet somehow he just couldn't shake the feeling that he should be running and hiding. He wasn't scared of Malcolm damn it!

In forty-eight hours Cain's sweet little girlfriend would be dead and Lutz and Dutari would disappear forever, taking with them all of the evidence of the crime. They thought they were going far South, out of the country, but Blake couldn't let people with that much dirt on him live. He'd used them for both their motive and lack of intelligence. Little did Cain know, but Evan Lutz had grown up in the same foster home as Dutari for a number of years. The smartest thing the two had done was to keep the relationship from Cain. Cain wouldn't have trusted people with an established past together. He stayed away from hiring people with ties to each other to ensure their complete loyalty. Blake wouldn't have found out about the relationship himself if it hadn't been for an anonymous someone pointing him in that direction.

As long as Blake could keep Vincent from doing anything stupid, everything would work out beautifully. He was trying his damnedest to keep Dutari on a leash, however, he'd made much more of a scene at the manor than Blake had wanted. Lutz was the inside man for a fucking reason, to keep everything as tidy and quiet as possible. Lutz' partner in the security booth for that night had been an unavoidable casualty, but Blake had shot two others in the manor as well as the guard at the gate who had tried to stop them. If Dutari had stuck to the very precisely timed plan he wouldn't have been stopped by anyone.

Denizen itched to supervise Dutari and Lutz more closely. Unfortunately, he didn't dare stray from his usual schedule while Cain was on the hunt. He was fine with letting Vincent do the dirty work, but he didn't relish leaving him to work alone. Vincent was dangerously impulsive and his loyalty when it came down to it was only to himself. Even if Cain did figure out somehow that Dutari and Lutz were responsible, he wouldn't be able to tie it to Blake. He would be fine, Blake reassured himself again. He just needed to sit back and enjoy Cain Malcolm's fall from grace. Denizen leaned back in his chair and rolled his smiley face stress ball from one hand to the other.

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Tristan realized that he hadn't been scared for a very long time, not truly scared. For awhile after he'd first learned of the amputations, he'd been terrified. He'd been scared of his future, or lack of one. Now he found himself scared of the future again, except this time he wasn't only scared for himself. Gwen looked so pale and cold lying in the hospital bed. The doctors had assured him that the surgery had gone as good as possible, but he wouldn't feel better until she opened her eyes. He'd never been this scared for someone before. He felt like it would be devastating if she died, which was a scary feeling in and of itself. He didn't even know her that well. He wasn't willing to admit to love yet, but there was definitely a connection between them that could get there. She just couldn't leave him to be alone again.

Tristan wasn't prone to fits or public scenes, but he'd raised hell to get into the surgical recovery room. He'd also demanded Jack be present during the surgery. Jack had also reassured Tristan, or tried to, that Gwen's surgery had went well. He was sure she would make a full recovery. They'd removed the bullet from her lung, only having to cut a small portion of the lung itself out. She would breathe fine without it, Jack assured him. When he thought about the bullets going through her body, he was furious. He would be hunting the sons of bitches down himself if he wasn't confident that Cain would find them without his help.

He didn't feel especially helpful standing over Gwen's body either, but he needed to be there. He picked her slender feminine hand up in his much larger one. She was cold and Tristan felt fear run through his body once again. The monitors hooked up to her told him that she was indeed alive and stable. Her heartbeat was constant and strong, but he still didn't like feeling so helpless. He tried to rub warmth into her hand and heard her groan.

Jack looked over immediately. "Try and get her to talk to you. She needs to get the anesthesia out of her system."

Tristan sat in the chair that had been brought for him at her bedside. "Gwen?" His voice sounded unsure, too soft. He cleared his throat. "Gwen, sweetheart, we need you to wake up. Talk to me Gwen. Open your eyes." Jack nodded his encouragement when Tristan looked over to him unsure. "Gwen?" He saw her eyes flutter and clench closed. She groaned again, though louder this time.

"Gwen, can you open your eyes for us?" Jack was across the bed from Tristan, his voice was loud and sure. Gwen looked irritated as her eyes opened into slits. She looked at Jack, and Tristan could have sworn she rolled her eyes. She then looked at Tristan and the sweetest smile he'd ever seen came across her face. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, but it was a good kind of punch. It didn't make any sense to him. Her brow cinched and she closed her eyes again.

"Gwen!" Tristan said worriedly. She opened her eyes again, wider this time. He took a breath of relief at seeing those sparkling blue irises.

"Hey." She croaked.

He was happy to just hear her voice. "How do you feel?" He asked concerned. She gave a small, cynical laugh. "Right," Tristan answered himself, "you probably feel like you've been shot twice." He meant it to come out lightly, but he sounded somber. She was looking at him more clearly now, coming out of her haze. "Gwen do you know who did this to you?" Tristan's voice had an edge to it that he couldn't prevent. She looked confused for a moment as she tried to remember.

"I was coming from Malia's room," she started, frowning with the effort it took to recall. "I was using the old servant's hallways. No one usually uses them anymore, but I didn't want to run into anyone from the staff that late at night. I walked around the corner and it was pretty dark." She winced at the unpleasantness of the memory. "I was in a hurry to get out of the halls, they're like a maze and scary at night." Her voice sounded suddenly fearful and Tristan ached to embrace her, though her wounds prevented it. He settled for bringing her hand to his lips in what he hoped was a comforting kiss. She watched him in awe. "As soon as I turned the corner I heard voices. I didn't have time to do anything." Her frown deepened. "I just remember looking down because my chest suddenly hurt and seeing blood spread out on my shirt. There wasn't any sound. I kept thinking that I couldn't have been shot because there wasn't any sound." A solitary tear ran from the corner of her eye. Tristan bent over and kissed her forehead making soothing sounds as best as he could while his own emotions were in turmoil. Eventually she continued. "I kind of fell against the wall. There were two of them. Two men. They walked towards me. There was so much blood pouring out of my shoulder and chest. I thought I was going to die." Gwen's voice hitched on the last word.

"Did you recognize the men?" Jack asked from the other side of the bed, hitherto having been seemingly forgotten.

Gwen frowned but then answered. "Yes, I've seen them both around the manor before. They were soldiers. Vincent Dutari, he smiled down at me as he passed and put his finger over his lips, telling met to keep quiet." She sounded angry which Tristan figured was a better emotion than fear and sadness. "He was with the new security guy, Lutz." She finally came up with the name.

"Did they say anything? Anything about what they were doing? Why they were there?" Jack asked gently, though clearly eager for any clues as to where Malia was taken.

Gwen concentrated on remembering again. "Yes." She finally said, sounding very proud of herself. "As they passed me one of them said, 'Denizen wasn't going to be happy if they kept shooting people.'"

"Denizen?" Jack repeated.

"Yes." Gwen was sure Staying silent most of the time had the perk of acquiring great skills of perception and listening. Tristan pulled out his phone and texted the name to Cain. He wouldn't need clarification. Blake Denizen was a dead man, and the usually compassionate Tristan couldn't find it in himself to care.

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Malia wanted to fall asleep, to be unconscious. Her throbbing back prevented such a release. Her head was still pounding in agony from being slammed into the wall. She wondered if anyone had noticed she was gone. Cain was apparently being sent pictures so he had to be looking for her. What would he tell her family? She didn't want to worry, not in what was possibly her last hours.

She wanted to think about something that made her happy. She thought about sitting by the creek at the unit where she ate lunch with Olivia. She thought about her father telling everyone a story from the hospital at night, the gorier the details the better. She thought about Cain. He was such an arrogant asshole. She smiled. But he was her arrogant asshole. She didn't picture the future she wanted with him, she'd spent too much time worrying about it already. She remembered the way his eyes went almost black when he was turned on. She pictured his face when he'd found his bookshelves messed up. She felt again the way his lips fit against hers, their bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces in the woods as rain fell on them unnoticed. In those moments she knew they could have taken on the world together.

An indistinguishable amount of time went by before Malia heard the sound she'd been dreading. The door opened loudly and the lights came back on suddenly. Malia desperately tried to cling to the small bit of serenity her musings had brought her. She didn't have to look up to know that it was Vincent.

"Miss me girlie?" His voice was so repulsive, making every one of his words foul simply by leaving his mouth. Even when she hadn't liked Cain she hadn't hated him. She hated Vincent with every fiber of her being. As he walked closer to the bed she desperately wanted the use of her arms and legs back. It didn't ease her mind that being tied down on her stomach now prevented her from looking at him even if she'd wanted to. Now that he was out of sight and in much closer proximity she suddenly very much wanted to look at him.

"You know I've been thinking of all of the visually striking methods of torture I've ever partaken in and I came up with a tie as to what we should do next." He came to the head of the bed and Malia could see him again, she wasn't excessively grateful of the fact. He crouched to be eye level with her, and gave his incredibly disgusting grin. "Now there's the always classic plucking off of your pretty little fingers and toes. Some pussies like to use power saws, but me, I'm more traditional. There's just something about the rough edges a pair of pliers leaves. It requires strength and skill. But don't you worry, I've done it tones of times. I'm real good at getting through the bone in one shot."

Malia was going to pass out from the disgust and fear that filled her. She felt her head start to swim and her vision blurred. She preyed and begged as hard as she ever had before.

"We could also go with a less used method, though still a personal favorite of mine. Have you ever seen iron get red hot before, girlie? Such a pretty sight, especially when it touches the flesh. You can smell your own skin and meat cooking and it leaves quite the mark. Not that you'll be around long enough for me to properly enjoy the scars, but I think I'd like seeing what interesting areas we could come up with."

He chuckled and brought his hand down hard on her exposed ass. She screamed as his fingertips had made contact with the edges of the fresh welts he'd made. His hand moved down and she tried to clench her legs together for all she was worth. Her legs were bound to opposite posts of the cot though, keeping them spread slightly despite her desperate pulling. His hand forced its way down between her legs and she sobbed loudly, tears pouring from her face. No, no, no! Please! She didn't bother voicing the words, she knew they wouldn't help her. He made a sound of pleasure Malia somehow heard through her own terrified sobbing. His disgusting finger forced its way inside of her.

His voice was directly by her ear to be heard over her crying. "I think I'll very much enjoy seeing you squirm when I put that piece of metal up inside your tight little cunt. I wonder what roasting pussy smells like, don't you?" He laughed. Malia cringed away. "Mmm, I'm going to let those thoughts simmer in your pretty little head, girlie. I'll be back in half an hour." He laughed as he stood and walked out of the room.

Malia remembered her father telling her something about tears a long time ago. He'd said that one theory on why people cry was to subconsciously evoke sympathy from other humans whose minds were preprogrammed to interpret the sight of tears and react with compassion. It seemed though, after a certain amount of tears were shed, Malia's brain had given up on the hope of compassion from her captor. She knew that she was in the presence of evil, and she could shed buckets of tears without his mind interpreting even the briefest hint of guilt or empathy. Her body overrode her suffering mind and turned her tears off to conserve her dwindling energy. She wished she would pass out, because the blissful darkness was much more appealing than this.

A single thought ran through her mind repetitively. Please Cain, please hurry.