A/N: I have nothing to say, except thanks for all the support, no matter how repetitive and redundant that sounds! I promise I'll make the next chapter a little bit longer!
Jason braced himself to knock on the towering doors of the dining room. He knew that Charlie and Danny were no doubt being "questioned" in there, and he didn't think he could face her again, especially after his father's promotion. But, nonetheless, he took a deep breath, and rapped three short times on the wood of the right-most door.
"Come in," came Strausser's chilling voice from inside. Jason pushed the door open, and stepped inside. Charlie hadn't turned around, and neither had her brother. He could see her dirty blond hair hanging down the back of the chair, and his stomach churned.
"What is it, boy?"
"Uh, Captain, er, Major Neville has an assignment for you, sir. It's confidential. You're to come at once."
The older man scratched his chin, and sighed. "Alright, but I was just staring to have fun. Tell 'im I'll be there in a few."
Jason nodded, and hurriedly shut the door, eager to escape the horror of what he'd instigated. The laughter of Strausser acted as a grim soundtrack for his guilt as he made the trek down the hall, towards his father's office.
Miles hurriedly shoved Nora into the cart, his heart like a hammer in his ears. He opened his mouth to shout at Aaron to hurry up and get in, but was interrupted by another moan of pain from the woman lying at his feet.
"Hey, c'mon Nora, it'll be alright."
Aaron slid in next to him, and Miles leapt towards the front, taking up the reins. He could hear the raised voices of the militiamen on their heels, but he shouted over the din to the other man.
"Keep her safe back there, nerd!"
Aaron gave a shaky thumbs up.
"Sure thing, Mr. Macho!"
With a snap of the reins, and the ring of gunshots all around them, they sped off towards the help that Miles could only hope existed on the desolate road in front of them.
"Hey, you two, keep it quiet over there."
Charlie rolled her eyes, and shifted on the spot. She glared at the four men in front of her. She turned to her brother.
"Hey, Danny which guy do you think is the ugliest?" Danny laughed out loud.
The man who had spoken earlier, a tall, gaunt specimen, slammed his fist into the nearest table, a little wood thing that creaked under the force.
"That's it," he hissed. His shortest companion, a stocky man with red hair and beady eyes, put a large hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, c'mon Benjamin, we're not supposed to do anything to 'em. You heard the Major."
Benjamin spit, but sat back down in his chair. He shook off the other man's hand, and muttered to him in a hushed tone.
"I don' like the boy, Scott. I don' like the girl either, but the boy just pisses me off."
Scott scoffed, and replied in a hoarse voice, "Yeah."
Danny turned calmly to the third man, the youngest soldier there, and redirected Charlie's question at him, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice.
"Who do you think is more hideous?"
At this, Benjamin sprung out of his chair, and yanked Danny up by the collar of his shirt.
"Say that again, boy," he spat, spittle oozing out from between his clenched teeth. Scott didn't do anything to stop him. Instead he stood solemnly in the corner, menacing despite his stature.
Danny looked him straight in the face, but didn't say a word. Benjamin chuckled.
"That's what I thought."
Charlie stared daggers into his back as he retreated. She caught Danny's eye, and he nodded. At this, she stood up from her spot on the dusty floor of the basement.
"Now!"
Danny jumped up, ripping his hands out from his loosened bindings, and leapt on top of Benjamin. Charlie, following suit, hefted her brother's chair into the air, and swung it towards Scott. He threw up his arm, and the chair hit it with a sickening thwack! He howled in pain, cradling his it in his other arm. Charlie took advantage of his stunned state, and slammed into him, sending him sprawling into the fourth soldier, a man well into his fifties. They both toppled over, limbs splayed and eyes wide in surprise as they hit the floor with a thud.
Charlie wrestled her own wrists out from her bindings, and made towards her brother—who was engaged in a heated fight with Benjamin—only to be intercepted rather roughly by the young soldier, who sent a fist flying into her stomach. She reeled from the pain, but recovered with a knee in the soldier's groin, and he dropped to the floor, tears streaming out of his eyes.
Danny's head whipped back after a particularly nasty hit by Benjamin, and he wiped the blood off his face with the back of his hand. He straightened up, and sent his own fist at the militiaman's head. He dodged it, but Danny managed to clip his cheek, which was enough to send him stumbling backwards.
And straight into Sebastian Monroe.
"Looks like we've been busy, here," he purred in his raspy monotone. He stepped calmly over Scott and the older soldier, who were both still on the floor, and patted Benjamin on the back.
"I'll take it from here."
Rachel looked up from her book as the door to her stately prison cell of a room creaked open. She prepared for the grim face of Bass, but was stunned to see her children enter instead.
"Danny, Charlie, what-" she stopped, seeing now the bruises and blood on their faces and arms. She immediately shot up from her chair, and strode towards them.
"What happened? Are you alright? No, that's a stupid question." When she reached them, she smashed them both in an enormous hug.
"We're okay, mom. Don't worry," Charlie mumbled, hugging her back.
Rachel let go, however, when she realized who was behind them.
"Sebastian," she said curtly, using his full name to enforce her anger. "They are children. They have nothing to do with this, you just can't-"
He cut her off with a flick of her wrist, leaning against the doorway, a dark look of self-contentment on his face.
"I can do whatever I want, Rachel, and these two have more to do with this than you can ever imagine," he reached over, and placed a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Besides, they're hardly children, now, are they?"
He sighed, and pretended to be interested in his hand. Rachel followed his gaze, and noticed the crimson splotched of blood on his knuckles.
"Just leave, Bass," she whispered, eyes glued to his hand. Monroe chuckled, and turned to leave.
"Just remember, Rachel. I could always do worse."
Miles snapped the reins, willing the horses that pulled the cart to come to a halt in front of a grand mansion, pearly white despite the obvious dilapidation of the past.
"This is private property, turn around," the bulky man guarding the gate warned.
"I'm friend of Drexel's," Miles retorted. "And I need help."