I loooooved The Punisher and having watched it all, I needed to do something to fill the void so I started writing this. I have no idea where it's going to go; I'm making it up as I go along so should be fun!

Warnings for this story: Graphic sex, Violence, Gore, Noncon, and bad editing by yours truly.

Enjoy!

Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
You take me to the top I'm ready for
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes

- Imagine Dragons, Whatever It Takes

The One With the Mission

Smoke clouds around the large chandelier, the decorative light hanging strong from the high ceiling of the hall. I concentrate on it, taking in his sparkle and regal feel. It was a hell of a better site than the cigar-smoking ass-hole eyeing us like a child in a sweet store.

Of course, I shouldn't complain. Knew exactly what I was getting into when I let myself get caught by these pricks but that didn't mean I found their presences at all tolerable.

Quite the opposite actually.

He inhales, taking in another lungful of cigar. The lug alone was probably worth more than all the belongings I'd ever owned.

"They're very pretty," he comments off-handedly.

I keep my eyes up in an attempt to keep myself grounded, flexing my wrists in the ties behind my back. A small breeze brushed past me, caressing the stockings covering my legs, and my naked arms and stomach.

Damn underwear and their lack of ability to provide warmth.

They sure were pretty though.

A girl to my left whimpers and a pang shoots through me. She didn't want to be here, but then again neither did the other girls to my right, or the girls who'd been trafficked before her. At least these ones had a chance, provided everything goes as planned.

The plan, I remind myself, sitting straighter and adjusting my shoulders. I needed him to pick me while not being too obvious and I couldn't imagine I looked very appealing with my slouch and eyes elsewhere.

I lick my lips, gaze forward, expression hopefully convoying a mixture of fire, flirtation with a pinch of fear.

I need to stand out while not appearing too eager.

His eyes slowly travel across us, lingering longer on feminine curves and bumps. The cigar smokes between two fingers. Henchmen stand either side of him, hands behind their back.

When his gaze lands on me, my lips quirk and I duck my head down, hiding behind my hair.

Playful.

Shy.

Biting my lip, I tilt my head so I know he sees it.

A 'mm' of approval rumbles through his chest.

Got'cha, asshole.

"Where'd you get that one?" He asks, voice gruff.

"She was at the club, boss. Got into a fight with her boyfriend. Wasn't too hard for Vince to convince her to leave with 'im." One of the henchmen explains with a heavy accent.

Mentally I roll my eyes.

"I do love a good red-head." Boss-man is humming again. As if he has all the time in the work, the overweight fuck brings the cigar up to his lips and takes a long lug. Seconds tick by and then he's breathing out the smoke, nodding. "Take her to my room. Get the other girls ready to be sold."

I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back a smile.

Show time.

By the time the door is closed, fuck fat is on me like a fly on shit.

It wasn't the first time I'd been in this situation and most likely wouldn't be the last. Still, bile rises from my stomach to my throat and I place a hand on my chest as if that will stem it.

Thin lips caress my neck, chubby fingers squeezing my hips hard enough to bruise. He's panting like a dog.

Urgh.

They'd removed the ties binding my hands and I push him back from me, smiling teasingly. With my other hand I do a no-no motion with my index finger. "I know you're the boss and all-" I giggle for effect. "-but why don't we try this my way?"

I have to tread carefully.

His men won't be far from the room, if not directly outside.

Boss-man groans loudly, in excitement or frustration I'm not sure. "Ok, ok."

He pulls away reluctantly and I push him back until he reaches the chair sitting in the corner of the room. He plops down in it and it creaks loudly.

I'm surprised it didn't break.

"Oh yeah," he breathes. "You giving me a dance, doll face?"

"Hmm." I smile. "Something like that." Backing up, I sway my hips as I head towards the bathroom door, finding a robe hanging on the back of it.

"What ya doing, baby?" He's curious.

I slide the robe's tie free and turn around, presenting it to him. "What'd you think?"

His breath hitches, eyes darken. Good. He's into it. Most powerful men are. "I don't know..."

I hold back a snort. So predictable. I walk towards him slowly, smirking, slipping the fabric between my digits. "Wanna know what I think?" Reaching him, I kneel down, hand on each of his knees, rope stretched between them. I lower my voice, leaning forward and looking at him from under my eyelashes. He's visibly affected by it, staring at my cleavage. "I think bad, bad boys deserve to be punished."

Oh, if only he knew how ironic that was.

He gulps, small budge in his trousers. He wasn't packing much, I note with a mental snort. "I-I..." he struggles.

"C'mon, handsome. Your boys are right outside," I remind him, knowing the reason he's holding back is because he knows how stupid it is to allow himself to be tied up by someone he kidnapped.

Others hadn't been as savvy and had died quicker because of it.

It was the push he needed. Nodding frantically, he tells me, "Ok, ok. Just hurry! I'm gonna bust a nut before we start. Shit."

I manage to hold back my disgust and get to work, making sure they're extra tight. I don't feel an once of sympathy when he mutters a curse of pain.

One thump sounds from the hall, muffled by the door.

Ah, just in time.

"What was that?" The Fuck mutters, starting to panic. It was too late for him though.

Another thump follows and I stand, turning my back on him. "Don't bother making any noise," I tell him casually. "Anyone close enough to hear you is currently unconscious."

"You bitch!" He hisses. "You planned this!"

I open the door, peek my head out.

Hallway clear.

I look down.

Two grunts laid face-first on the floor. I grab one by the foot and pull him inside, quickly followed by the second. Meanwhile, Fuck-face calls me every name under the sun.

I close and lock the door behind me and turn my attention to the bodies, patting them down. I disarm them, claiming one of the AK's as my own. Slipping the strap over my head, I twist it so the weapon rests against my back, out of my way. Next I find a knife hidden in grunt number Two's boot.

"You'll regret this! They'll kill you!" He continues to threaten me.

I don't even spare him a glance.

It's unlikely for the henchmen to wake up any time soon but I didn't want to risk it, especially with my attention elsewhere. So I slip the blade into their ear with a squelch, making sure their pulses are gone before turning my back on them.

"Antonio Marcelli the Third." As I speak, I head back over to the bathroom door and remove the AK temporarily so I can slip on the robe. "You're Fourty-Eight years old, two kids, dead wife, and one of the under-bosses to Red Ring." I step in front of him, twirling the knife before pointing it at him. "And you're going to tell me who runs it and where I can find them."

He spits at me, a glob of it landing on my cheek.

I heave a sigh, wiping it off with the sleeve of the robe. "Ya know," I'm irritated now; mostly at myself. Should have been fast enough to move out the way. "That's how tuberculosis is spread."

"Bitch!" He sneers. "You think I haven't been in this position before? Well think again! I can handle anything you throw at me."

I quirk an eyebrow at him. "Oh no. You're wrong. You haven't handled anything like me before."

Kneeling, I grip his right hand and force it flat against the chairs arm before turning my attention to his middle finger. Bringing the knife up, I press the pointed end at his fingertip, placing light pressure. "Did you know the density of feeling receptors in a fingertip is Two-thousand, Five hundred? That's the densest area of nerve receptors in the whole body."

He stares at me, a mixture of fear, anger and confusion. "What the fuck does that even mean, you stupid cunt?"

I blink.

God, what an idiot.

"Ok then..." I say slowly. "In simple terms – this is gonna hurt like a bitch."

I press forward and he screams, the sound making it obvious to me that he had not dealt with this kind of torture before and he was bluffing.

Good for me.

He should crack easy.

Blood spits from his wound like a burst pipe. It lands on the robe, my hands and my stockings.

It's warm still.

I pull the knife back, resting my wrist on my knee. "You ready to talk yet?"

I remain patient and calm even though I'm on a time limit. He doesn't know that and the impression that I can keep this up all night will be a form torture for him on it's own.

"J-J-Jesus Christ, you're fucking crazy! I don't know anything, please! I'm not lying!" He's begging, crying, spit running down his chin faster than his words. He's panicking, breaking easy like I'd expected.

I analyse him for a moment.

My instinct tells me he's telling the truth, making me curse. He was one out of three; One of them had to know.

And the other two were dead thanks to yours truly.

So if I was correct, we'd fucked up somewhere.

Shit.

He was our last lead, I couldn't give up that easy. So I press the knife back into his skin, this time going to his little finger, the most painful digit.

He screams, shouts and cries this time, words bubbling from his mouth incoherently. My instincts tell me the same as before but I ignore them and dig the blade in harder.

He's our last hope of finding the Leader.

I remove the knife before he passes out from the pain. He heaves heavily, begging me. I don't feel an ounce of guilt, knowing that he deserved this and worse for the things he's done.

I go to ask him again even though I suspect the answer will remain the same but before I get the words out, a ear-piercing shot rings out.

I jump, startled at the noise.

What the fuck?

It couldn't be his men, they wouldn't be awake yet.

Bang.

It sounds again, shortly followed by another. I quickly realise it's the same weapon being discharged over and over again.

But no one was shooting in return.

Bang.

Another moment of realisation washes over me – it's getting closer. Antonio must have noticed the same thing because he shouts for help again.

"Shut up," I hiss at him. "Your men carry AK's. Does that sound like a rifle to you?"

Bang.

His face pales as he catches on.

Whoever it was, wasn't here to help him.

More than likely, they were here to kill him.

And I assume they were killing the unconscious henchmen one-by-one.

Unhurried, but getting closer by the second.

Which gave me a very small time slot to make a decision. I couldn't care less about this piece of shits life but he was our only chance. Even if he really didn't know who ran the show, maybe he'd be able to help find out somehow...

Bang.

"Shotgun," I note. "Pump-action. Shit."

There's a good chance Antonio's head will get blasted off before I even have a chance to save him.

But I had to try.

I cut off a piece of extra rope which hung from his tied hands and quickly shoved the material in his mouth, before securing it to his head with a knot. He made a weak sound of protest but seemed to realise that neither of us wanted him to die right now and I was his best chance.

"Don't do anything stupid," I growl at him before rushing over to the dead henchmen. I grab the AK I'd previously abandoned and threw it under the bed before hitting the light switch and following it under. Mine still remained on my back.

I wouldn't need it yet.

Bang.

I grip the handle of the knife.

Bang.

I couldn't see anything other than the light under the door.

Bang.

He's close now. Had to be in the hall. There was no one left to kill.

Two black shadows appear in the light. His feet.

My fingers clench around the knife.

He pumps his weapon.

I hold my breath.

Bang. He shoots the lock. The door flies open swiftly after.

He steps into the room, weapon raised, searching.

I can't see his face. He's a shadow, the light behind him giving him almost an angelic aura.

Yeah - Angel Of Death.

I can make out how big he is though. Much taller than me (but hell at Five foot Four most people were). Shoulders broad, hoody up with a hat. I wouldn't be able to grab his hair and slit his throat.

He probably had it like that on purpose. That and to hide his appearance, although a mask would be better for that. Even in the shadows I could tell he wasn't wearing one.

There's a click and then a light beams from under the barrel of his shotgun. It lands on Antonio who starts to beg for his life from beneath the gag.

Good, distract him.

"Well, shit," the intruder rasps, sounding amused. "You ain't looking so good, huh?" He steps towards him and I brace myself for my next move. "Someone get to you before me?" He tuts. "Ain't that a damn shame."

I watch his feet closely. Another step.

Not yet...

He moves forward again and my fingers curl against the carpet, toes digging into the fibres.

Ready.

Go.

Let me know if I should continue or not!