Roxy stared at her hand in the dim lighting glumly. She closed it into a fist, and then proceeded to unfurl it one finger at a time, starting at her thumb.

One. Her thumb outstretched.

Two. Her pointer finger outstretched.

Three. Her middle finger outstretched.

Four. Her ring finger outstretched.

Five…

There was no finger number five. Not anymore. Not after last night, or whenever it was. Roxy had no way of knowing what time it was or how long she’d slept for. The darkness in her cell never changed, never wavered. She stared at the space where her pinky used to be. Slowly, she brought her other hand up, the chain of her cuffs jingling, and attempted to grab the space as though her finger was still there, just invisible. Predictably, she found nothing but stale air.

It still hurt. It felt like it was still there. Every time she closed and reopened her fist, she could feel her missing pinky moving with the rest of her fingers. Every now and then it ached, sharp pains shooting through her hand from a piece that was no longer there. She realised that, when she gets out of here, she can no longer say that she’d ‘made it out in one piece.’ She chuckled grimly at her own joke, the action irritating her back. But what didn’t irritate her back, honestly? Any small movement set off landmines under her skin. And don’t get her started on trying to sleep on concrete with as many injuries as she had. Her back was obviously out of the picture, as was her front due to the uncovered cut along her stomach. Her left side was risky given the fragile state of her eye, so that left her with only one option. Her right side.

While not a bad option by any means, without any other position to switch to when the cold concrete inevitably got uncomfortable, she quickly became sick of sleeping on her right, the lack of proper movement offered by her cuffs not helping the issue. She sighed deeply, searching inside herself for any sort of stimulation. Sam seemed to be sleeping, which was a small comfort at the very least. She hadn’t seemed to be in a very stable mental state for a lot of yesterday, at least during the small windows between tortures that she was able to check. That left her with only the signals of her own body to entertain her in the ever-present darkness. The concrete of her cell was smooth, she couldn’t even count the bricks like they did in prison movies. She wondered if it was on purpose.

The dull, constant, and all-encompassing pain was an obvious one, but not something she was keen to focus on. Her eyes stung from fatigue, the little sleep she’d actually gotten not doing much to fend it off. Her stomach gnawed at her with hunger. She hadn’t eaten anything since that burger she’d had when they’d all hung out. Damn, it was a good burger, though. Flame grilled patty, crispy toasted buns, a slice of cheese and a slice of bacon, a small helping of jalapeno slices, and a generous helping of spicy sauce. It burnt in all of the right ways. Her mouth was watering just thinking about it.

That was one thing she should be grateful for, she supposed. At least she had an unlimited supply of water in her tiny cell. They could starve her for a while before it became too serious of a problem, but one tiny miscalculation with how much water they were giving her could end up leaving her with a one-way ticket to the afterlife, especially with all of the sweating, crying, and bleeding she was doing. Speaking of water, she sort of needed to pee. Reluctantly, she eyed the bucket in the corner, its purpose clear. She really didn’t want it to come to that. There was barely any ventilation in her cell, and it would start to stink real fast. Well, not that that would change much. While the doctor had at the very least wiped her down while patching her up, she still desperately needed a shower.

Maybe she could just hold it in until someone came and took her somewhere for ‘training’ or whatever. She could just throw away what little was left of her dignity and piss on the walk, making it someone else's problem. She smiled at the thought of leaving her mark all over Emmerich’s stupid office, but then remembered with some shame that she’d already accidentally done that. He would probably cut her again for doing it intentionally, anyway, so she filed that idea in the ‘probably not’ box for now.

She sat there for some time, daydreaming and thinking of little plans to inconvenience her captors, as well as bigger plans that would get her out, not that she was eager to reattempt that after what happened last time. Harrison’s warning rang through her head. Of all the things he threatened to cut off, her tongue was probably the scariest one. Not only would it not score her a ticket out of here like losing a limb would, it would also mean that she’d never be able to talk, or worse, taste again. She couldn’t bear the thought of never getting to enjoy her dad’s cooking again, or the taste of Sam, her lips, her skin, her tongue, her… well. That wasn’t important.

Hell, she’d never get to enjoy those things again anyway if she was stuck here for the rest of her life. But that wasn’t going to happen, she assured herself. Pedro would find her. He was experienced in that sort of stuff, even if he might be a little rusty. If not him, then someone would. Hell, maybe it would even be regular law enforcement. She knew that, regardless of her feelings for the woman, Martha wouldn’t just sit by and let her kidnapping be swept under the rug. She would raise a massive stink if she thought there wasn’t enough attention, and would probably try to sue the justice system if they didn’t find her quick enough. Despite her apparent apathy towards her daughter in practise, Roxy knew she liked to preach the ‘good mom’ act in public, and her face was one of the most recognisable in town. Well, probably not any more, depending on the coverage she got for disappearing. That title may very well go to Roxy now.

BRRRRRRRRRRR

Roxy flinched and cried out, covering her head and tensing in preparation for a strike. The alarm cut off after a few seconds. Her whole body was shaking like a leaf, her heart hammering in her chest. What the hell was that for?!

The door unlocked and swung open and a man walked in, tailed by two guards. Emmerich. He had a whip coiled on his hip, a sight that made Roxy’s heart skip a beat. It seemed smaller than the one he’d used yesterday, but she didn’t doubt it would still hurt like nothing else.

“Rise and shine, Roxanne! I do hope you had a good sleep. You’ve got a big day ahead of you, after all!”

Roxy stupidly decided that flipping him off was the best course of action. Thankfully, he only sighed in response.

“I’ll let that slide, as it’s early and you’re probably a bit groggy, but know that next time you aim a finger at me out of turn, I’ll break it.”

Roxy quickly withdrew her offending finger. Emmerich didn’t make idle threats, and she wanted what remained of her fingers to stay as intact as possible. One of the guards stepped up to her and grabbed her by the chain of her cuffs, yanking her up painfully. Her right shoulder twinged in response. Honestly, given that she knew it was weak now, she was surprised it hadn’t slipped out yesterday, considering the amount of time it’d been supporting most of her weight. She knew it was only a matter of time, though. Just another thing to look forward to, she thought bitterly.

She was dragged out of the cell and back into the blinding hallways, banging her shoulder on the doorframe as she passed. You don’t miss depth perception until it’s gone. She kept her head down as she was pulled along, once again lacking the ability to cover herself and not eager to meet the stares of the people in the halls. She just had to stick it out, just push through and hold on until help came. She was strong, stronger than they knew. Whatever they threw at her, she could take it. She would get to see Sam again soon enough, and Leif, and Pedro and her dad. She just had to hold on. Grit your teeth and bear it, Roxy. You can do it.

She was brought back to Emmerich’s office. The guard threw her in and she tripped, landing on the rug that was around his desk. She relished the relative comfort of the soft fabric and didn’t bother trying to get back up. Fuck Emmerich and whatever he wanted with her, she would just sleep right here. She heard the door close.

“Stand up.”

Roxy grumbled in defiance. Emmerich sighed. She heard the whip’s crack before she felt it, searing across her exposed arm. She cried out and quickly got to her feet, adrenaline suddenly spiking through her system. After a quick inspection, the whip hadn’t broken the skin, but there was already a nasty welt forming. The throbbing sting was far too familiar.

“Not good enough, Roxanne,” Emmerich said firmly.

“Wh-what the hell d-d-do you even want with me? You’ve already done your ‘p-purifying’ bullshit. Can’t you just leave me a-alone?” she responded, the thought of him still wanting more from her terrifying her to her core. She was trying not to think too much about what happened in this room yesterday, but the sound of his whip had brought it all back, every single agonising strike ringing in her ears as they carved up her back. Her hands shook and tears burned in her eyes. Staying strong was turning out to be difficult.

Not again not again please god not again.

He stepped over and stuck her across the face. She saw it coming, but it still knocked her off balance and sent her tumbling back to the ground. She was still unsteady on her feet from her torment yesterday, her crippling hunger not helping matters.

“Don’t back-talk me, you worthless little shit. I told you yesterday, you will do what I tell you, when I tell you, without question, or you will be punished. How can I expect you to follow my orders if you won’t even stand up when I tell you to? You will learn to respect me, Roxanne, and the quicker you do, the easier it will be for you. Now, stand up.”

Roxy slowly, shakily lifted herself back to her feet, using the desk as a support. There was nothing on it for her to knock over, no stacks of paper or anything that you’d expect to find in a normal office. She wondered what kind of business Emmerich actually did when there wasn’t a prisoner to torment. The only decorations in the entire room were the ones she’d noticed yesterday, as well as the rack that she’d been hanging off of, sitting opposite to the desk. She noted that it had been thoroughly cleaned, not a trace of the mess she’d made remaining on the stone floor below it.

There was another crack and a fire lit up across her thigh, a little trickle of blood leaking down her leg. She yelped in pain, a few tears escaping and falling down her cheeks from the shock. “Ah! Why?! I-I did what you said!”

“That was pathetically slow. Do you think I’m going to waste my time with a soldier that slow and lethargic? Let me reframe this situation for you, Roxanne. If you do not prove your worth as a soldier to me, that will mean that your only use is as bait. We have decent reason to keep our soldiers relatively healthy, and to keep crippling injuries during training down to a minimum. But, bait? You will get no such luxuries. Harrison will have your arms and legs broken and leave you to rot in your cell. So long as you’re still alive when we need to capture the direwolf, your condition doesn’t matter. Believe it or not, you’re safer with me, but if you do not learn to obey me and meet my standards, I will not hesitate to throw you away. Do you understand?”

Roxy’s heart lodged in her throat at his words. She was… safer… with him? No, he was lying. He had to be. He was trying to get in her head, trying to make her feel like he was on her side. He was trying to brainwash her. She wouldn’t let him. Still, she should probably play along, to save herself more trouble in the long run.

She nodded shakily. “I… u-understand.” He raised an eyebrow at her sternly and she swallowed. “S-sir.”

Emmerich made a noise in his throat. “Good. I’m glad to see you’re not a complete lost cause. Honestly, I was beginning to wonder what kind of people your parents had to be to raise such a petulant child. They clearly didn’t do a very good job of it, but that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

…Ouch. Low blow. Emmerich suddenly grabbed her by the base of the neck and threw her across the room. She cried out in surprise and fell to the floor, hitting her head against the base of the rack.

“Stand up!”

Roxy took a steadying breath and did her best to obey. This was gonna be a long day.

—

Pedro took a sip of his decaf coffee as he leaned out the window of his apartment, staring out at the LA skyline in the distance. It was a sight he knew well, one he’d seen hundreds of times, both in real life and in his dreams, just like this one. Only, it wasn’t just a dream, as much as he wished it was. If it was just a dream, then maybe he would’ve been able to change the events that were about to play out in front of him, just as they had in the past. No, it wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. A memory of that day, fourteen years ago.

A hand softly stroked across his back and a pretty face entered his peripherals. Catherine was smiling at him, but there was a teasing glint in her dark eyes. He missed that smile so much, but at least he got to see it here, in his dreams. Perhaps this dream wasn’t so bad, after all.

“What are you brooding about?” she asked with a joking lilt. Her voice was like a birdsong on the breeze.

Pedro scoffed lightheartedly at his fiancée. “I’m not brooding, cariño.”

“You had that look in your eye you always get when you’re worried about something. So what is it? And don’t lie again, I know your tell!” Despite her warning, she was smiling at him. She was always smiling, even when things were at their worst.

He sighed, but there was a smile on his lips, too. “You know me too well. I just can’t get that raid we went on last week out of my mind. I can’t help but feel like we missed something, like there was a room we forgot to check or something. You know as well as I do how dangerous it is to leave stragglers. We weren’t even covering our faces.”

Catherine rubbed his arm soothingly. “I told you, Pedro. I checked all the cameras. You guys cleared out the whole place. The only way you missed anything is if there was a room without a camera in it that wasn’t on the plans, but there’s no chance of that. You know how the hunters are, they even have cameras in the damn toilets!”

Pedro grunted. “Still, I just… I don’t know. I just have this feeling like there was something we missed.”

Catherine leaned up and kissed him. Her lips tasted like honey. It felt so real.

She lingered for a long moment before pulling away. “You’re just being paranoid, hun. Everything will be okay. Now, let’s stop thinking about it.”

He wished that she’d been right. He wished that he really was just paranoid and everything was fine. He wished beyond anything that this wasn’t really a dream, and he was actually here, with her. He wished that Catherine wasn’t gone.

She pulled him by the hand into the living room. Fly Me to the Moon was playing on his cassette player, filling the room with Frank Sinatra’s baritone voice. Catherine pulled him close and started to sway back and forth to the music. This was always his favourite part, whenever he had this dream. Dancing with his fiancée in the living room, the smell of dinner slow-cooking on the stove, late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the window. He could pretend that he didn’t know what was about to happen and just enjoy those last few moments with her.

They were dancing together slowly for a long time before it happened. There was a knock on the door. Catherine’s head lifted from its place resting against his shoulder. It felt like losing a part of himself.

“I wonder who that is?” she questioned. The person knocked again.

“I don’t recognise their scent,” Pedro observed.

“Me neither. Should we answer it?” She looked up at him. He memorised the details of her face. Her lightly suntanned skin, her dark hair and soft eyes, the shape of her nose, the curve of her eyebrows, the little scar on her cheek from her own claws when she was young. He so desperately wanted to tell her no, but that wasn’t how it played out. Pedro could only watch on as his body followed the script.

He pecked her on the lips. It was quick, but he tried to savour it as best he could. “It’s probably just someone with the wrong address or something. Might as well see what they want. Maybe we know who they’re looking for.”

Catherine smiled. It was like staring into the sun. “Sure. I’ll go check on the stew.” She pulled away from him and walked into the kitchen. He suddenly felt so cold. He didn’t want to do this, but he already had.

Pedro walked to the front door and made the worst mistake of his life. Maybe if he’d checked through the peephole, things might have turned out differently. As it was, he simply began to unlock the door.

Once the door was unlocked, he reached for the handle to open it, but his hand never made it all the way. A gunshot rang out. Pedro stumbled backwards. There was a hole in the door. He looked down. His shirt was slowly turning red from another hole in his torso. He felt the familiar burn of silver in his system, blocking out his wolf. Hunters. And so it began.

He stumbled onto the ground, clutching his wound in agony. Catherine ran out of the kitchen and towards him, shouting his name in alarm. The door opened and three men stepped into the apartment. One held a revolver, one held a steel pipe, and one held a baseball bat. This wasn’t an ordinary hunting party.

Catherine’s eyes flashed and she half-shifted, already throwing herself at the hunters, but there was a reason she never participated in the combat when they pulled outpost raids. She wasn’t fast enough. The one with the gun simply aimed and fired. The bullet tore through her leg and her scream was like the end of the world. He aimed low intentionally. He didn’t want her dead just yet.

Pedro tried to get up, tried to find some weapon to fight them off with now that he didn’t have his wolf, but in his injured state he was far too slow. The one with the pipe simply stepped up and smashed his kneecap in. He fell back to the floor with a cry, joining his love.

The men dragged them into the living room and restrained them, tying their hands behind their backs. They were forced onto their knees, facing one another, which was agonising for the both of them for a number of reasons. Catherine was panting and sweating, her blood staining the carpet, but she still locked eyes with him and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Pedro Luna.” The one with the gun, their apparent leader, spoke. “Age 27. According to your public record, you're a police officer, out to help the weak and protect the innocent. But that’s not the whole truth, is it? In actuality, you’re a werewolf, a violent monster who seeks nothing more than bloodshed. Last week, you and your mutt buddies raided one of our outposts. You tore through our men, our comrades, in the dead of night, while most of them scrambled to get out of bed in time to protect themselves. You didn’t even give them a chance, did you?

“Eventually, you left. You thought you’d gotten everyone. But you were wrong. The three of us, we were hiding in an unused storage room that none of you bothered to check. I heard one of your buddies say your name during the attack, and it was all too easy to trace it back to you.” He paused, anger and righteous fury on his face. “How do you think it felt, to step out of that room once all the noise had died down, only to see our friends and colleagues lying in bits and pieces all around us? Well, maybe you’ll understand soon enough. Solomon? Do it.”

He remembered that. He remembered Don saying his name. How could he forget? It was the reason Catherine was about to be beaten to death right in front of him. Every time he had this dream, he wished desperately that it wouldn’t go on any further than that. His wish was never granted.

There was nothing he could do but watch as the man with the bat wound it up and swung, cracking the weapon over his fiancée’s head. He begged them to stop as all three laid into her, kicking and beating her with their weapons. Tears ran down his face as she coughed up blood, his heart breaking more every time he heard one of her bones snap. He listened as her heartbeat went from fast to erratic, from erratic to patchy, from patchy to weak, and from weak to silent.

It never got easier.

Pedro woke up.

—

He opened his eyes slowly, still breathing hard from the painful emotions swimming through his heart. There were tears prickling against his eyelids. He shut them and let the tears fall, letting out a quiet, strangled sob. It’d been a long time since he last had that dream. It had been fourteen years, yet there was still barely a day that went by that he didn’t think of her. For a long time he’d wished that he’d died along with her, and some of the time it felt like he had, that he’d died that day and his body just hadn’t caught up yet.

One of his neighbours had called the cops when they heard the shots, not to mention his cries of anguish. They stormed in, took one look at the situation, and shot all three of the hunters to death before they could make too much progress on doing to Pedro what they did to his fiancée. He passed out from the blood loss and was rushed to the hospital. By the time he woke up, weeks later, Catherine’s remains had already been cremated. He never even got to give her a proper goodbye.

He took a shaky breath and grit his teeth to stop himself from making another sound, even as tears still spilled down his face against his will. Fourteen years. He needed to move on. She would want him to move on, and he was trying his best. It was just hard, especially when that dream decided to show its face. The stress of Roxy’s kidnapping must have been taking its toll on him. He would’ve just kept working all night again if it wasn’t for Valerie. She saw that he hadn’t slept and forced him to rest.

He supposed she had a point. He wouldn’t be able to focus on finding Roxy if he was exhausted. Didn’t make it less frustrating, though. It had already been over 24 hours since she was first taken, and things weren’t looking good. She’d probably already gone through the ‘purification’ bullshit that Duncan had told him about, meaning irreversible damage had already been done. Well, that much was obvious from the fucking finger. The fact that they sent it to Sam proved his theory. This wasn’t just recruitment, they were trying to lure her in.

Pedro just hoped that she didn’t try to escape again. He knew they always took the non-dominant little finger as a warning for a first attempt; he'd rescued too many of their captives missing the digit. She just needed to keep her head down. He was confident that he would find her before too long, but the more she acted out and defied her captors the worse they would hurt her. He couldn’t bear the thought. Seeing her severed finger was almost enough to make him empty the contents of his stomach. She was always so bright, so ready to smile and share her love with the people she cared about. Would she still be the same once she got out? He doubted it, as much as it hurt. He knew what that kind of torment did to people.

He looked to his right and saw Valerie, sleeping peacefully next to him. He reached out and gently touched her cheek. It was soft. He was certainly going to miss her when she returned to France. He was already surprised at how long she’d stayed in town.

He turned and shuffled over to her, holding her close. They were taking things slow. They’d barely done more than kiss yet, but that was fine with him. Probably better, even. He was never a fan of fast burning passion, and they both knew that things wouldn’t last forever, either. She would have to return home eventually, and he had too much that was important to him in Dewsbury to follow her. Still, he was happy to enjoy what he could get.

He stayed like that for a little while, but sleep never returned to take hold of him once again. Checking the clock, he saw that it was a little past 3:40am. He sighed, sitting up. It seemed like that was the best he was gonna get. He got out of bed and put a shirt on, walking out into the main room of his apartment and sitting down at his work desk/dining table with his laptop. Opening it up, he started by checking the news. Sure enough, Roxy’s case was at the top of every site. It had made national news, which didn’t surprise him too much. There was explicit footage of the crime, confirming that it was indeed a kidnapping, and it was clearly organised, not exactly standard for a missing person’s case. Still, though. The coverage wouldn’t help her chances of being found. He knew that she was still in town from the finger, so it didn’t matter how far the news spread.

He checked his emails. There was one from Don, featuring that same fake name. It didn’t contain much substance, just a few condolences about Roxy, but there was one detail that caught his eye. Don mentioned that the hunter’s website had gone offline. Interesting. Pedro wondered if it was because of the kidnapping, or because of something else. He already knew that once she was found it would be pretty hard to cover up who had taken her. People all across the country were demanding answers. They probably shut it down as damage control just in case. Pedro would bet that they were banking everything on this luring play. Roxy getting out would mean the Sons going public. While the public wouldn’t know about their real purpose, they would know that they were a dangerous cult that kidnaps and tortures people. They would no doubt lose a lot of their monetary backers, too, those that wanted werewolves gone but weren’t aware of the Sons’ methods. The ends don’t justify the means, after all.

He wondered if they knew Roxy’s kidnapping would get so much coverage, or if it was an unexpected side effect. If they knew and decided to go through with it anyway, it meant that whatever they were planning with Sam was going to be big, big enough to bet their secrecy on. Anything that big couldn’t be good.

Pedro frowned. Just what the hell were those freaks planning? He thought back. The last update he’d gotten about the website mentioned something called the ‘night of the Bloodmoon.’ What could that refer to? A lunar eclipse, perhaps? Or was it just a reference to the red eyes of a direwolf, given their apparent fascination with Sam? There was also whatever happened to Blaine. There was no way that didn’t factor in in some way.

Okay, hypothetically, the hunters get Sam and turn her into one of those jacked up super werewolves. Then what? They’ve got a super strong, super angry werewolf with no sense of morality or humanity on their hands, but what do they do with that? Were they just planning on letting her run loose on the streets like Blaine did? Werewolf society would be all over the front page by morning. But why? If they wanted to expose werewolves to the world, there were much easier ways. Hell, they could just do that plan with a regular werewolf, in that case. Why did they need a direwolf?

Pedro felt like he was missing something, forgetting some crucial piece to the puzzle. He thought for a while, but nothing came up. Sighing, he gave up and went to the kitchen to make himself a pot of decaf. That wasn’t his responsibility anyway. He could leave all of that big picture stuff to the Council, it didn’t matter to him. His responsibility was to Sam and her pack. His girls. And right now, one of his girls was in trouble. That was what mattered.

—

“Stand up.”

Roxy picked herself up as quickly as she could, hiccuping and sobbing, her whole body weak and shaking. Despite her best efforts, the whip still cracked along her ribs. Nothing she did was good enough.

“P-please, stop!” she cried. “I j-just wanna g-g-go home!”

Emmerich cracked the whip against empty air, but the sound was enough to make her instinctively cry out and tense up. “I don’t remember giving you permission to speak. This is your home now. The faster you get used to it, the easier it’ll be.”

She remained silent, not eager to feel the sting of his weapon again. They’d been at it for what felt like hours. She was exhausted and bruised, her skin throbbing rapidly along with her heartbeat. She was thankful that he’d at least made an effort to avoid her face. She wondered if that was the doctor’s doing. Even still, a wayward strike had caught her along the cheek when she tried to dodge away from the whip once, leaving a tender and swollen bruise. She didn’t try again.

Emmerich sighed and coiled the whip up, placing it on his desk. “I think that’ll be all for today. You’re not showing much promise, Roxanne. Remember what we talked about earlier?”

She could tell he was looking for an answer, so she swallowed her pride. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Still, I’m inclined to give you a chance. I’ll keep working on you, but for every day that you waste my time and refuse to meet my standards, you’ll be punished. You’ll learn your lesson quicker that way.”

“P-punish?” she asked. Wasn’t him constantly flogging her for the past two hours a punishment already?!

He smiled in a way that made Roxy sick to her stomach. “Yes. Did you really think that yesterday’s purification was the only absolvement you’d be doing? No, no, no, Roxanne. Disobedience is a sin. If you sin, you must reconcile.”

Was he… was he going to do what he did yesterday again?! Roxy’s chest tightened and it became hard to breathe. She didn’t know if she could survive going through that again. It had been the most painful experience of her life, and it hadn’t even been a full day since it happened yet.

“I can see what you’re thinking, but no, you’re not getting the whip again. What would be the fun in just punishing you in the same way all the time? You’d get used to it and it would lose its effectiveness. Not to mention, I want to cause you pain, not cripple you. What use would you be then? Everything in moderation, my dear. No, I have something much more… modern in mind for today.”

“What… Wh-what do you mean?”

His eyes pierced straight through her. He grinned. “Why don’t we find out?”

—

Leif stirred to the feeling of someone joining her on the bed. She was still drowsy, so she just elected to ignore it. That was, until she felt a strong pair of arms embracing her from behind. Confused, she opened her eyes. Someone was pressed up against her back, holding her to their chest. Based on the relative size difference between the two, the scarred left arm around her midsection, and the smell of pine, she concluded that it was Sam.

“Sam?” she muttered sleepily. “Are you okay?”

Sam nuzzled the back of her head and whined. “R-Roxy… Roxy’s struggling again.”

Leif’s heart clenched. “...oh.”

“Can I… Can I just… hold you for a bit? I need someone to hold on to.”

Leif wanted to cry. “Go ahead. I’m here for you, Sam.”

Sam squeezed her tighter. “Th-thank you.”

Leif was glad that sitting there and being cuddled was all she needed to do. She wasn’t good at comforting people, but she could do that. If Sam needed physical comfort, she would be there. After all, what else could she do? She didn’t have heightened senses like Sam, nor detective’s intuition and knowledge of the hunters like Pedro. How else could she help? She just had to make sure that the important people held it together, and if that meant getting squeezed like a teddy bear, she could do that.

Sam was sobbing quietly. Leif stroked her arm comfortingly and pulled out her phone, intent on mindlessly browsing through it to get her mind off of things. Naturally, the first thing to pop up was an article about her best friend.

‘Roxanne Kindley’s whereabouts still unknown, kidnappers' motive unclear.’

Great, just the thing she wanted to be reminded of. Journalists were really milking this kidnapping for all its worth. She’d had a tough enough time falling asleep last night after coming downstairs to see Sam holding her best friend’s severed finger. She was glad that Pedro had just disposed of it, instead of taking it as evidence. It wouldn’t be useful in trying to find out where she was, anyway, and if they for some reason needed to prove that it had happened, the state of Roxy’s hand would probably be evidence enough. She couldn’t imagine what kind of response they would’ve gotten if the news went public. Roxy would likely have a hard enough time readjusting once they find her, and that’s without everyone in town getting detailed updates on her torture. Things were bad enough for Sam after the Blaine incident, and her name was never even publicly released.

A notification sounded on her phone. It was Brooke.

Brookie

(7:24am) Hey, my dad’s not home today. Wanna come over?

Leif sighed. As much as getting comfort from her girlfriend would be nice, she had more important things to worry about.

Sorry, but I’m staying with Sam today, and probably for a while. She needs someone looking after her, she’s not doing well. (7:25am)

(7:25am) I

(7:26am) I don’t think you should trust her.

Leif frowned.

What? Why??? (7:26am)

(7:27am) She’s dangerous and volatile. I saw her put three guys in the hospital yesterday. You’re not safe around her, she could snap at any moment.

I actually can’t believe you would say that. Her girlfriend is missing and the investigation is going nowhere, no shit she’s volatile. Sam needs someone looking out for her. I trust her with my life, she would never hurt me. (7:29am)

(7:30am) How do you know she wouldn’t?

What was her problem? Leif had noticed her weirdness on the day before Roxy was kidnapped, too. She deduced it was probably what Roxy went to go talk to her about, though neither girl ever shared what they discussed.

What on earth is your problem?? Sam would never hurt someone who didn’t have it coming, those dudes she beat up were probably assholes anyway. I think I know Sam a little better than you do, so where are you even coming from with this shit? (7:30am)

(7:30am) I have my reasons. There are things I know about her that you might not. Honestly, I hope you don’t, for your sake.

I seriously doubt it. Aside from Roxy, she’s probably my closest friend. Whatever, I’m done with this conversation. Leave me alone for a while. Talk later. (7:31am)

Leif sighed harshly and turned her phone off, ignoring any further notifications. She couldn’t believe that Brooke would say something like that at a time like this. Obviously Sam was having trouble! She could feel every little beating her girlfriend took! And for her to act so goddamn arrogant and smug. Leif was curious as to what ‘reasons’ she could possibly have to distrust Sam so much. So what if she beat the shit out of some guys? Brooke was literally there when Sam rocked Blaine’s shit in that fight a few months ago, so why was it suddenly a problem now?

“Leif?” Sam asked from behind her. “A-are you alright? You seem… angry.”

“Brooke just… She just said I couldn’t trust you. Obviously, I do, I just… I don’t know why she suddenly seems to hate you.”

Sam was silent for a moment. She could feel her breath on the back of her neck as she buried her face in her hair. “She saw me yesterday. W-with my wolf out.”

“Oh, shit. She mentioned you put some guys in the hospital or something, was that then?”

“They were robbing her… a-and I was angry. I needed something to get my stress out on, but they kinda sucked as punching bags, to be honest. After I was done, I tried to help her but she just screamed and ran off. I realised I still had my wolf out and my eyes were red, b-but I don’t know if that was the whole reason.”

Leif frowned. “It’s weird that she didn’t mention you saved her. It’s almost like she was trying to paint you in a bad light to me.”

Sam paused for a moment. “Look, Leif. I get that she’s your girlfriend and all, but… I really don’t know how to feel about her. Roxy and I have both been getting weird feelings from her for a…”

She suddenly went quiet and sat up. Leif turned around to look at her. She was gripping her chest with a growing look of alarm on her face. She started hyperventilating.

“Sam?! What’s wrong?!”

“I-i-it’s Roxy! They’re…! Oh no, no no no no, please no!” She hunched forwards, both hands gripping her shirt, taking heaving breaths.

“What’s happening?!”

“Sh-she-! She can’t breathe! Sh-she’s gonna- She’s drowning! She’s gonna die! They’re killing her!”

Sam let out the most agonised wail Leif had ever heard in her life. Her heart caught in her throat. No, why would they just kill her?! They can’t be! They can’t!

Leif was frozen. She couldn’t move. All she could do was watch numbly as Sam cried and begged and pleaded. Her best friend was dying. There was nothing she could do. There was never anything she could do.

Sam suddenly sucked in a long gasp and fell back against the bed. She was still crying, still sobbing sadly, but she seemed to have calmed significantly.

“S-S-Sam… wh-what happened?” Leif asked nervously. She was scared to know.

“Th-they… they stopped. Sh-she’s okay, relatively s-sp-speaking. I think… I think it was just another t-t-torture. They weren’t going to…” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed the words, almost as if saying it out loud would make it happen.

Roxy… was alive. The relief that realisation brought opened the floodgates and Leif burst out sobbing. Sam crawled over and embraced her and together they both fell back onto the bed. They held each other tightly as they both cried over their packmate’s torment. It wasn’t fair. Why did it have to be her?

“Oh, god…” Sam muttered. “I-it’s not over yet. Th-th-they’re not done yet, they’re d-doing it again.”

Leif’s heart tightened in her chest. Maybe there was nothing she could do to help right now, but she would be damn sure that, once they figured out where the hunters were keeping Roxy, she would be right there at the front of the charge to go get her. She didn’t care if it ended up being an official police op, they wouldn’t be able to stop her. She was getting her friend out of there, and no one was gonna get in her way.

—

Roxy laid on the concrete floor of her cell, curled up into a ball. She couldn’t stop shivering. It was too cold, and her wet hair wasn’t helping matters along. When she’d thought about wanting a shower, that was definitely not what she had in mind. Restrained to a table, a damp cloth over her face, freezing water pouring down and choking her until she genuinely thought she was dying. It was terrifying, and her throat and sinuses were still burning. Emmerich barely even gave her enough time to recover in between sessions, only leaving her for long enough to let her cough up the water in her lungs before that cloth was back over her face. Just as she’d predicted, she’d dislocated her shoulder from all of her frantic thrashing, which meant another trip to the infirmary.

The doctor did her the mercy of setting it back in quickly, as well as changing the bandages on her back and eye. She’d tried to open it in the brief period where it was uncovered, to see if it still worked, but what she found wasn’t encouraging. The centre of her field of vision in her left eye was pretty much unintelligible, just a blurry mess of vague shapes and colours. The doctor chided her for opening it, saying that she could damage it more if she wasn’t careful. The thought of her vision somehow getting even worse than that was enough for her to listen and obey without question.

She hadn’t needed much medical attention for the beating she received during her ‘training,’ as it was mostly just bruising aside from the occasional place where the whip had torn her skin. The doctor did worry about her broken nose a little bit, but ultimately decided that there was nothing he could really do for it except let it heal on its own, same with what was left of her finger, thanks to Harrison’s cauterising.

Now, she was just back in her cell, with nothing to keep her occupied except for the adrenaline that was still swimming around her system from her punishment. She felt bad for scaring Sam during the experience, as she’d felt her spike of emotions, but she genuinely thought that she was going to die. It was beyond any rational thought, her body wasn’t receiving oxygen and her brain had immediately gone into panic mode, without any consideration for the context. It was a truly horrifying experience. While her first ‘purification’ had been agonising in a way she couldn’t even describe, she never thought that she would die, as much as she wished she was dead during the experience. Getting waterboarded was another matter entirely. She dreaded to think what other cruel and sadistic punishments Emmerich had in mind for her.

Still, she had to do her best to keep her spirits up and stay positive, as hard as that was in such a desperate and hopeless situation. Pain rocked her body and hunger gnawed at her stomach incessantly, but she ignored it, instead focusing her thoughts on her pack. She thought of Sam, her cute smile, her bright blue eyes, her hearty, bouncing laugh that never failed to fill Roxy with joy. She thought of Leif, all of their misadventures together, her constant teasing attitude that gave way to genuine care whenever it truly mattered. She hoped they were looking after each other in her stead. She knew Sam had received comfort from someone earlier, so it seemed likely.

The passage of time was hard to track in the darkness of her cell, the only indicator that any time had passed at all being the periodic rumbling coming from her stomach. At first she just laid there, tracing invisible patterns on the ground with a finger, but she quickly grew bored. She began pacing circles around the small room, trying to keep her body active. She wanted to make sure she didn’t lose too much muscle mass from starvation and lack of exercise, so she tried to do some sit ups. She couldn’t stand for it for long, given that her back had barely even started healing at that point. Push ups were difficult thanks to her cuffs limiting how far apart she could keep her arms, but she could still stick them out for longer than the sit ups. Squats were still effective, so she did those for a while, as well as jogging on the spot to keep her stamina up. She held a plank for as long as she could, but ended up falling far short of her record, exhaustion from her minimal sleep, lack of food and many injuries catching up to her.

She and Sam spent a while just sending their love to each other. Neither seemed to be doing much of substance, so they might as well do their best to keep the other happy. She reached up and touched the almost invisible indented scar from her mark, the only physical thing she had to remind her of Sam. Roxy was so worried about her, which was a little ironic considering that she was the one being tortured. Sam had just lost so much in her life already, Roxy didn’t want to think about how much it would break her if she never made it out. But that wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t be stuck here forever, she reminded herself. Someone would find her, someone would come for her. She would see her family again. Dad, Sam, Leif, Pedro, all of them.

It was seemingly hours later, when she was bored out of her mind and trying to sing all of My Chemical Romance’s ‘The Black Parade’ album - a guilty favourite of hers - from memory, when something next happened. She’d been about halfway through discordantly stumbling through the album’s titular song when the door suddenly opened and Emmerich walked in, carrying a tray of something.

“That’s a lovely singing voice you’ve got there, Roxanne. Why’d you stop?”

A heat burned on her cheeks from getting caught. She knew he was just patronising her. Her voice was broken and screechy from all of the screaming and crying, and he knew it well.

He shrugged at the lack of response. “Oh well. It’s dinner time.”

Emmerich placed the tray on the ground. There was a bowl on it, filled with something she couldn’t quite see. Still, the promise of food for her empty stomach overtook her and she crawled over to the tray like a woman possessed. There wasn’t any cutlery, but she didn’t care, grabbing the food with her hands and shovelling it into her mouth with reckless abandon. It was scrambled eggs. Cold, rubbery, and bland, but damn if it wasn’t the best thing she’d ever tasted after so long without even a crumb of food.

Suddenly, all of the air rushed out of her as a boot sunk into her stomach. She flew backwards, coughing up the mouthful of egg she had and sputtering in an attempt to regain her breath. What the hell gives?!

“I don’t recall giving you permission to eat, you pathetic little shit. A good soldier only acts when ordered to. Need I remind you that you are under my command?” He sighed and leaned down, picking up the tray. “I suppose another day without food will be lesson enough, don’t you agree?”

“N-no! Please! Please don’t take it away!” she begged. She needed it, she couldn’t just let him deprive her again after the little taste she’d gotten.

He paused, considering her for a moment. Something in his eyes changed. “What would you do to get it back?” he asked, a strange, awful smile adorning his face.

Roxy paused. His whole demeanour had changed. The way he was looking at her… there was something about it that deeply unsettled her, more than his gaze usually did. It was like the looks she would get from the guards walking through the halls. He was looking for a certain answer, a specific one. One that would grant him something he wouldn’t otherwise get. Bile rose up in her throat and she backed away silently until she was pressed up against the wall, curled up and hugging her knees, eyeing him carefully and fearfully.

He frowned in dissatisfaction. “Fine, suit yourself.”

Emmerich left the room without another word, taking the tray with him. Fear coursed through Roxy’s veins at the possibility that interaction had just presented. Her stomach growled in hunger, but it was far better than the alternative he had offered. Her only comfort was that he seemed uneager to pursue that alternative without her agreeing to it, which would never happen.

She rested her head against her knees and sobbed. “S-Sam… Please get me out of here.”

—

Pedro walked into the bar and leaned against the counter. The bartender was serving someone else, some greying redhead with sad eyes that stunk of disinfectant, so he’d probably be waiting a bit before he could get his drink. He sighed. Another day gone, another dead end in the investigation. His only solace was that, according to Sam, Roxy had been mostly left alone aside from a few hours in the morning. That tracked with what he knew of Duncan’s experience; that, aside from the occasional outlier, the first day was usually the hardest, especially considering that Roxy had tried to escape. That no doubt ended up causing her much more grief.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked as he approached.

“Whiskey, on the rocks,” Pedro answered. He promised himself he wouldn’t waste time in this investigation, but honestly, what more could he do? There were absolutely no leads, nothing that could indicate where the hunters outpost was. They still hadn’t even found the van that was used in the kidnapping, even with the police checkpoint around town. Pedro was at a complete dead end, and it felt like there was nothing he could do except drown his sorrows until something came to him. He felt like he was letting everyone down. He was letting everyone down. It was his own inaction that caused this. If he’d just done his job and found the outpost when he’d first moved to Dewsbury, he could’ve had Roxy out before her anaesthetic had even worn off, that was if he didn’t just organise a raid on it in the first place. Now, he didn’t even know where to start.

The bartender made his drink and he downed it in one go. The burn in his throat was relentless and he slammed the glass back down on the bar. The bartender raised an eyebrow at him and poured another glass without being asked. There was a man who knew his profession well.

“Yikes. Rough day?”

Pedro turned. It was the glum-looking guy with the sad eyes. He shrugged, grabbing his freshly poured drink and nursing it carefully this time. “You could say that.”

“Yeah,” the man sighed, turning back to his own drink. “I hear you there.”

They drank in silence for a while. The nightly news was playing on the TV above the bar and Pedro knew it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, there she was. That smiling picture of Roxy with another hope-draining headline. Some of those newscasters were starting to talk as though she was already dead, all with past-tense pronouns and everything. The aura of sadness coming off of his drinking partner seemed to amplify tenfold. He downed his drink in one go, just like Pedro did earlier. His brain was starting to fog up from the alcohol, but Pedro was still sober enough to find that odd. He wasn’t sober enough to figure out why, though.

“You know her?” he asked, indicating the screen.

The man stiffened a little bit. “N-no. It just makes me sad.”

“What, the kidnapping, or that everyone’s already assuming that she’s dead?”

He shrugged. “Bit of both, I suppose. She’s so young. She’s… She must be terrified, wherever she is.”

Pedro simply grunted in response, taking a long drink from his glass.

“What about you? Do you know her?”

“Yeah,” Pedro replied. “She’s dating my… my friend’s kid. Hell, I’m heading the goddamn investigation.”

“Heading the investigation? Oh, you’re Pedro Luna, right? I thought I recognised you from that news report.”

Pedro knew the one. The one he’d been forced to do after the news broke, to promise to the town that he was doing everything in his power to find Roxy. And look where he was. He took another drink and emptied his glass, signalling for another. “In the flesh.”

The man smiled sadly. “I take it by your presence here that things aren’t going so smoothly, huh?”

Pedro grunted. “It’s classified.”

“Hm,” The man responded. “Well… I hope you find her soon. I…” He paused. It looked like he wanted to say something else, but he clammed up. There was a weird look on his face. “I really, really hope you do.”

Pedro couldn’t agree more. Something was nagging at him, but his brain was too foggy to figure out what. Oh well, the only cure for brain fog is more drink. Bottom’s up!