Meg's footsteps echoed through the warehouse as she made her way back to the small apartment that had been set up on the upper level. She quietly entered the tiny bedroom and smiled at the man who lay sleeping on the well used bed, his naked body barely covered by the well worn and used sheet.

She sat down on the bed and ran her fingers through his greasy hair. She looked over his exposed body and took notice of the scars that covered it. From what she saw, she concluded this man had been shot up, stabbed and beaten many times. She let her fingers glide along the tattoo that covered his body from his shoulders to the small of his back.

A Reaper holding a scythe in his right hand and a crystal ball with an A in his left, the words Sons of Anarchy written above the Reaper and California written below, the letters MC (which stood for Motorcycle Club) written next to the Reaper on its left made up the tattoo.

Meg smiled at the man as he slowly opened his brown eyes and looked up at her. She hadn't considered him to be attractive, but, even she had to admit that his sexual appetite was voracious and he had left her feeling more than satisfied. To be honest, he had put many of her demon lover's to shame.

"Good morning, lover," she said as she bent her head down and kissed him, her tongue pushing deep into his mouth. She released the kiss and sat back.

"What are you still doing here," he asked, "I thought I told you to be gone before I woke up." He sat up, threw the sheet off and headed to the bathroom. He left the bathroom door open and continued to speak to her as he took care of his business. "Were you listening to me, you stupid bitch," he called out, "I asked you, what are you still doing here."

Meg reigned in her anger, after all he didn't know who he was talking to and right now she needed him. She stood up and walked over to the open bathroom door. Standing just inside the doorframe, she answered him, "Well, I'm not still here, for you. Last night was less than stellar, you know." She caught the way his muscles tensed at her attack of his male prowess. "I'm here because of our mutual friend who is tied up downstairs. You do remember him don't you?"

The man finished his business, flushed, and then washed his hands. He headed back to the bedroom stopping long enough to slap Meg hard across the face. The slap stung and tears welled up in her eyes. She clenched her hands and took a deep breath. She needed him. She had looked deep into his soul the night before and saw the blackness that resided there. This man had the necessary skills to extract from Dean the information that she so desperately needed. This man was the human equivalent to Alistair.

At the thought of Alistair, Meg shuddered. She knew that Alistair was dead and gone; he had been destroyed by Sam Winchester. She also knew that this man wouldn't stand a fair chance against her; he would be dead before he could even set a hand on her. However, the evil that burned in him, while he was still human frightened her. She knew that once the fires of hell had their chance to work on him, he would grow into something far worse than Alistair had ever dreamt of being.

She entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She stood in front of the mirror and noticed the red mark that had formed were his hand had met her face. She turned the water on and waited until it ran cold. Slipping her hands under the stream of water she caught some and splashed the cool liquid on her face.

After she had dried her face off and combed her fingers through her hair she exited the bathroom and headed to the bedroom door. A hand grabbed her arm and spun her around. She found herself being pushed backward and pressed hard against the far wall. Angry brown eyes looked deep into her hazel eyes and she felt herself shiver. From deep within she felt her arousal level grow and from the hardness that was pressing against her inner thighs she felt his as well.

Their cries of passion bounced around the warehouse walls and made their way to the office that Dean was being held in. His stomach turned as he thought of the girl who was trapped inside her own body and he remembered the words Meg had said to him as she lay dying on Bobby's floor.

He remembered how she had thanked him for freeing her from the demon's grip even though it meant her certain death. She had told him how she had been awake through some of it and was forced to watch herself commit awful acts as the demon pulled her strings.

He remembered the pretty girl who just the night before had asked him if she could by him a drink. He remembered how he had turned her down and she had gone in search of someone else. He remembered and he felt guilty. He felt guilty because, he believed if he hadn't have turned her down, she wouldn't be trapped like she is now. He felt guilty because, deep down, he believed he could have saved her.

Alex "Tig" Trager laid on the bed looking at the small red head beside him, something about her intrigued him. His usual routine was to love 'em and make 'em leave, but this one; this one had managed to stay. This one had managed to peak his interest in more ways than one. He reached out to slap her on her butt when his eyes caught site of his watch and his mind registered what time it was.

"crap," he mumbled as he jumped out of the bed and grabbed his clothes from the floor. Tig, as he liked to be called, headed to the bathroom and turned the water on in the shower.

Meg watched the man go into the bathroom and got up to follow him. She waited for a few moments before she offered to join him in the shower. "Sorry," Tig replied, "don't have the time. I'm already late for a club meeting. I really need for you to get your crap around and leave. I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here."

Not used to being turned down, Meg felt her anger growing, yet again. She clenched and unclenched her hands and took in deep calming breaths. "You need him," she whispered to herself, then to Tig she said, "I can't leave. I can't leave my friend alone, he might escape."

Tig turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel off a hook on the wall, but instead of drying himself off he flicked the towel out and caught Meg right below her left eye. Smiling as she stared at him wide eyed in shock, he grabbed her by her throat and pushed her up against the bathroom wall.

His brown eyes burned with fury and when he spoke his voice did as well. "I told you, you are leaving and YOU ARE LEAVING," he hissed, "Don't worry about the poor bastard he aint going anywhere. I will relay to the club what you told me last night and we will decide what to do with him." He let go of her and finished drying as if nothing had happened.

Meg watched as he dressed then headed down to the office where Dean was being held. In stunned silence she quickly dressed, grabbed the rest of her things and followed him. Her hand went to her throat and gingerly touched the bruised skin. You need him, she kept thinking to herself. You need him.

Meg entered the office to find that Tig had moved Dean from the chair upon which he had been tied to and had stuffed him into one of the empty crates they used to ship the illegal guns they ran in. She couldn't help but smile at the look of panic on Dean's face.

The crate was the size of a pine box coffin and Meg was certain that being trapped inside the box had to be digging up memories that Dean would prefer stay buried. Tig placed the lid on top of the crate and nailed it shut. Muffled cries could be heard from inside the box. Tig drew his foot back and kicked the side of the crate hard. Sneering as the cries died out he grabbed Meg roughly by the arm and lead her outside.

Dark and cramped, the inside of the box set the perfect atmosphere for the hellish images that Dean had, so desperately been holding at bay, to break free from their dam and rush forward. As memory after memory crashed against his already fragile psyche, pulling the wounded man deeper and deeper into his torment, he let out one last strangled cry and his mind pulled him into the safety of unconsciousness, where his beaten and battered soul could escape.