Thank you: rebelmewpheonix, xCrazyKindOvWeirdx, and marishka91.

xCrazyKindOvWeirdx, lol Tala will be back one last time

marishka91, I absolutely loved your review!!! It was very detailed and touched on a lot of important things, and I really enjoyed reading it. I have baby teeth too! lol

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Chapter 8: Runs With Disaster

And I so hate consequences,

And running from you is what my best defense is.

Consequences,

Oh God, don't make me face up to this,

I so hate consequences,

And running from you is what my best defense is,

Cause I know that I let you down,

And I don't want to deal with that.

-Reliant K - "I So Hate Consequences"

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"Jeez Ana, it's just a race…no need to get all dressed up."

"For the tenth time, Tyson, I'm not going to the damn race."

"I know…I just thought maybe you'd change your mind, but ok, I understand you don't care about me or the ass whooping I'm gonna do." He's looking at the ground, shuffling his feet and looking completely pathetic. Anybody else would have fallen for it.

"Wrong. I do care, because if you lose, we lose a car. So don't lose."

I brush pass him, heading for the door to pick the keys up to my to new Mustang on the small side table there.

"I still think this sounds fishy," Ray says. He's leaning against the walkway into the living room, watching me with suspicious eyes. "The deadline's not for another six days so why does he want to talk to you?"

"And why can't he use a phone?"

I hadn't noticed Max was on my other side, opposite Ray in the doorway of the kitchen. Even Kai and Kenny were hanging out by the stairs, watching me intently. Everyone had already voiced their negative opinions about this abrupt meeting with Voltaire, so I hoped to sneak out of the house without them noticing, which obviously didn't even get close to happening.

"Look, Boris called and said Voltaire wanted to meet with me about the boost. That's all I know. He probably just wants to see how it's going or how I'm going to be paid now that Gabe's gone, no big deal," I say, "everyone just needs to relax."

Truth is I'm worried too. Meetings like this aren't unusual for him, but I don't like going anyway. Plus, I after that incident with the video on T.V, well, I don't exactly have the best feeling about this.

Besides, he scares the shit outta me. No matter how professional he insists it is - which is why I'm wearing a decent little black dress - he still makes me feel so inferior. Like I'm levels below him. It's been like this since I started working for him, but it's not like there's anything I can do about it. I listen, do what he wants, get the boosts done on time and in return I get a good deal of money, he over looks rent and I can stay in this house, and I get to do something that I love. Period. I don't expect any of the guys to understand since they hadn't had to live what Gabe and I did. Sure, they worked for him, got paid, listened and did the jobs, but they had homes and families to go to, where as Gabe and I had more at stake.

The only one who might understand is Kai, but he hates his grandfather so much that anything that man would do would be suspicious to him.

I look into the small mirror over the side table next to the front door and adjust my dress - knee length, V-neck, short sleeves, very professional - and then my hair - simple ponytail - before slipping on my black flats.

"Yeah, so I'm leaving…" I say as I open the door and set out, "and seriously Tyson, don't lose. We don't need to be a car behind." I look quickly at Kai. "You too."

Once outside and across the lawn to my Mustang, I hop in and pull out.

I wanted to see the drag races tonight, but Boris had called this morning about this stupid meeting, so I couldn't go with the rest of the guys. Ever since a couple days back when Ray told me about the races, I'd been excited. I hadn't been to one in forever. Back when Gabe and I had first moved into the house, he'd taken me with him and the rest of the guys to quite a few. Once Kai and I started going out, it became our thing. I would never race because Gabe wouldn't let me, claiming it was way to dangerous, but many times I watched him - what a hypocrite! - and Tyson, Tala, or Kai race from the sidelines. It was always the same: Someone hosted it, meaning it to be a small race under cop radar, but one person told another and so on, and soon all of underground San Francisco was gathered together within a few blocks to watch pimped out cars race for miles and then come back. I saw hundreds of cars ranging from small to large, to black to neon to rainbow if not competing them just there to show off, and I met all kinds of people. There was music, racing, drugs, alcohol, cars, cope chases, and a whole lot of fun on those nights.

And it went down like this: if you wanted to race, then you had to bet your car. If you lost, you could say goodbye to your car and all your hard work. If you won, you got a new car or two, depending on how many people raced against you.

Unfortunately, I had to be somewhere tonight and couldn't be there to strangle Kai or Tyson if they lost. The plan was for them both to win and get a couple new cars to add to the collection. They'd already have the best engines in them and decent paint jobs, which meant we didn't have to do any work on them. What happened tonight would determine how many cars we need for the big boost at the impound warehouse on 43rd Street tomorrow night. Right now we're at twenty-two cars, eight more to go, with the deadline in six days. If Tyson and Kai play their cards right tonight, then maybe we won't need the warehouse boost tomorrow.

Voltaire's office is at the very top of a twenty-floored building he owns downtown, just five minutes from the beach if you were driving. During my visits, the windows are always dark except for the ones at the very top, which, looking up at it before you walked in, makes it even more intimidating. That never helps with the nerves.

I walk under the sleek black awning in the front and push open the spotless glass doors, entering the dark, tall, marble lobby. No one is at the security desk or even in the room for that matter - not like that surprises me - but it's still eerie none the less. I've wondered for a long time if it's this empty and dark all the time…? If he even has people that work here and owns another company as a cover? Even after the years I've worked for him, I still don't know what goes on in this building during the day. I know there are words engraved on the building of the company name but I can never bring myself to look up at them. It would be like finding out the dog groomer you take Spot too is owned by a renowned serial rapist.

My flats make pattering noises that echo off the empty walls as I walk to the elevator and then push the button to the twentieth floor.

I always like the elevator better then the lobby; at least it's lit up and has elevator music always playing.

The elevator finally stops and then dings before opening up, showing me another simple marble lobby -smaller than the main one downstairs. There's a set of large wooden, double doors directly opposite me across the room, and a desk to my left with a modern style painting of neutral colored splats just above it. Leaning against the desk, sneering sweetly at me is Boris.

Boris Bolkov: creepy, thin, willowy frame. Freakishly tall with a slight hunch. Short dark hair. Green eyes. Voltaire's go-to man. The kind of guy who looks like the villain who always kills poor old grandma or the cute puppy in all those kid's movies. The kind mothers are always talking about when they say don't ever talk to strangers. Yeah, you get the point. Total creeper.

Boris and Voltaire are buddy-buddy, if you know what I mean.

No, not that kind of buddy-buddy, I mean like Boris does whatever Voltaire asks without question, and Voltaire keeps him around.

"Good evening Ana, long time no see, eh?"

Not long enough.

I give a quick half smile but don't encourage pleasantries. Instead I start walking forward.

As soon as I move, he's moving too, straight to the double doors. He gives me one last sneer as I approach the doors, before wrapping his long, spidery pale fingers around one of the golden handles and pulling it opened for me.

I take a second to straighten my posture, thrust my chin in the air, and just basically try to look totally unbothered and confident before walking in.

"Looking as stunning as ever, Anastasia."

He's sitting behind his desk, leering at me in a large black leather chair with a long window running the expanse of the room in the back round - a typical villain scene plucked right out of the movies.

Voltaire Hiwatari is a solid older man, with thick gray eyebrows, matching long hair, small dark eyes, and a long, large nose he often looks down at people on. His face doesn't have the softness many old men have, but instead has strong, prominent wrinkles lining his mouth, cheeks and forehead.

Beside him and his bare desk, there is a book shelf running the entire length of the wall on the right, a big screen T.V with a couch and a couple chairs on the left in the corner, along with two closed doors that I have never been behind.

On both my sides, right behind the doors, are two big guys whose names I can never remember. There are two others built much the same - who probably bench the same too - watching something on the T.V from the couch in the far corner.

I walk deeper inside and the doors are shut behind me. You can guess why I feel so nervous when I come here, being outnumbered one to six behind closed doors and with them all sneering at me and always looking like they know something I don't.

When I'm here I never feel like myself.

I can face jail and cops; I can push a car to go one hundred-eighty miles an hour without blinking; I can steal a brand new Corvette without feeling an ounce of guilt. But I cannot do this. Standing there under the scrutiny of six creepy, fully grown males, some with muscles the size of Alaska, I feel exposed, vulnerable, nervous, inferior. It only makes it worse that Voltaire knows it, and he doesn't ever hesitate to use it to his advantage.

"Thank you, sir," I answer politely, now frozen in the middle of the room facing him.

"How's the boost coming?"

"Eight left."

"Eight?" I can tell the concern he's showing me is fake. Matter of fact, I don't even think he's trying too hard at it. "That's a little impossible for just one person in six days, even for you, my dear."

I hesitate for a split second. "I'll have them." I wonder if he knows. Actually, I can bet he does, he's just playing with me, getting me to say it.

He smirks. Oh yeah, he knows about Kai. Shit.

"Oh, I have no doubt, but rumor has it you have a few more hands…?"

I swallow. "I didn't think you would mind so long as you got the boost, and it's just a few friends off the streets," I explain innocently, attempting a last ditch effort to convincing him. "I mean with Gabe gone -"

"I mind if I have to pay them." He cuts me off harshly, but his dark eyes are teasing.

"You don't," I hurry to correct, "I can split my pay with them."

He sits back comfortably. "Good girl, that's what I like to hear." And for a split second I think I've convinced him that my help is just a few extra hands off the streets.

"I also hear that my grandson is back in town. Helping you, the word is too. Is that correct?"

I freeze.

Fuck.

Plan B….Plan B…shit, I don't have one.

"Umm, well I - I -"

"Don't lie to me, Anastasia."

By now even the big guys who were previously occupied with the T.V are up, hovering by, snickering at my discomfort. I swallow again nervously and look up to see that he's leaning on his folded hands, staring at me over them with knowing eyes.

I give a shuttering, defeated sigh. "Yeah…"

"Yes, that's what I've heard…" He pauses, sizing me up. "…you remember how much he meant to me and this company, right? You can't blame me for wanting him back, and now that he finally is, I think I have the perfect idea to get him to stay."

As he stands, I instinctively take a step backward.

"What plan, sir?"

I back right into something solid and at first, with relief, think it's the doors. But it moves. Yeah, not the door.

Voltaire's smile widens.

"You."

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"Damn, I am good."

"We're never going to hear the end of this…."

"I knew I had it in me, but Kai? I didn't think losing was even in your vocabulary -"

"Tyson."

" - from now on you can call me The Boss -"

"Tyson."

" - and I'll call you The- Poor-Sucker-Who-Lost-His-Car-Who's-Going-To-Be-Strangled-By -"

"Tyson!"

"What?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"You do know Ana is going to be pissed, right? Well, I'm sure not as pissed as you are right now, I mean, you did just lose the Ferrari you've been working on for a while…"

"Seriously Ty, now's not the best time." Max grabbed the arm of the long-sleeved red shirt his friend was wearing and pulled him back as they walked down the crowed block, getting ready to collect their winnings.

Tyson stopped jingling the new keys in his pocket and looked at Max, who was eying Kai warily.

"How come the one time I actually win at something, I can't brag about it, but when Kai wins no one cares about my feelings?"

"Just keep walking, Tyson," Ray said calmly, pushing him forward.

Tyson huffed, pulling his hand out of his pocket with a handful of keys and started pressing buttons and pointing to all the parked cars along the street. Three pairs of headlights shone onto the road, belonging to a Subaru Impreza 2.5 GT, an Aura NSX T, and a Honda Fit.

"The spoils of the night gentlemen," Tyson grinned, "pick your poison."

Max immediately grabbed a set from Tyson's hands and took off for the lime green Honda - the farthest down the road on the right.

"Wanna ride with me?" Ray asked Kenny, who nodded. They grabbed a set on their way passed and went to the matching car: the chrome blue Impreza.

Tyson threw one of the two sets of keys left at Kai, giving him a teasing smirk. "Try to make it back to the house before sunrise," and then took off for his own car before Kai had a chance to punch him.

Smart boy; that was exactly what he was thinking about doing.

An hour later, they arrived back at the house. One by one, each following the other, they pulled into the rock driveway to the farmhouse and parked. The kitchen light had been left on and shone brightly through an open window, casting a long square of light on the driveway.

As Kai pulled in he noticed Ana wasn't back yet, which was weird because it had been hours since she left.

His attention was diverted as Tyson noisily pulled up next to him. The bass of his music thumped loudly from his new car, giving Kai a headache. He opened his mouth to swear at him and tell him to turn it the fuck off, but Tyson suddenly cut the engine and all was quiet.

Inside the house, the phone was ringing faintly.

"Ugh, who wants to get the phone." Max was slumped on the hood of his car looking completely exhausted.

Kenny, as always, was all to happy to help. "I'll get it," he offered, and left the car he'd been riding in with Ray and ran up the porch and inside.

The ringing stopped few minutes later and it was quiet again. Insects chirped loudly, and frogs croaked. Somewhere in the distance was the faint howling of some kind of dog.

"Kai, it's for you!"

His eyebrows creased together. All of his friends were here and he hadn't gotten a phone call from Ana's house phone since he practically lived here two years ago. So who was calling him now?

He walked inside and took the wireless kitchen phone from Kenny inside the foyer. The younger boy gave him a shrug as he handed it over.

"What?"

"Hello Kai."

"Who is this?"

"Aw, I'm hurt you don't recognize me." There was an eerie pause. "…It's Boris."

Kai stiffened; an angry crease appeared above his eyes, but at the same time his blood was running cold. That meant Voltaire knew he was in town. Shit. Should he try to deny it?"

"Speechless, eh? Yes Kai, your grandfather knows all about your little vacation back here."

Well, too late to deny it now. "What the fuck do you want."

"Voltaire would like to speak to you in his office in an hour."

"The hell I'm -"

"Actually, I think you will, or you'll be picking post-it sized pieces of Miss Kon off the front porch of that farmhouse." Boris chuckled like he found this possibility funny. "You'll find you have no choice from now on."

"Fuck you -" but the line was already dead.

Kai put down the phone, only then noticing Max, Tyson, Ray and Kenny who were all hovering around him, looking both confused and alarmed.

"Kai?"

He was at the same crossroads he was at almost two years ago, facing the same decision: Ana or Voltaire? Last time, he was going to pick her, but after busting her ass with Volkov, it was a no-brainer to leave. Obviously she wanted Tala more than him so why should he stay? He didn't want to have anything to do with her or his back-stabbing best friend.

So why should he help her now? He'd already risked everything just to come here and help her and look where it got him. Why should he now go through the trouble of saving her ass again?

"Kai, what's going on?" Surprisingly, Tyson was the one to demand this. Kai had never seen him more serious then he was now.

"Voltaire has Ana."

Just feeling those words slip from his mouth made anger boil in his stomach.

This wasn't just about Ana and his quarrel with each other. This time the stakes were higher; he couldn't just take off like last time. This was Ana's life on the line; he knew Boris wasn't bluffing. Voltaire would pull the trigger himself and still sleep like a baby.

Some part of him was saying to let her go; she got herself into this. But another bigger, stronger part was pulling him out of the house, through the city and to the building to her. It was the same part that felt concern for her after their Corvette/San Francisco Chronicle incident when she curled herself into a ball in the passenger seat and silently wept all the way back to the house. It was the same part of him that wondered why in the world she was acting like that. It was that same part that knew for sure she would love her brother's unfinished car, and that also drove him to complete the task.

His friends around him were in a state of shock.

"What do you mean he has Ana?"

"Just what it sounds like, Max," he hissed, annoyed. He was trying to think.

"What did he want? How do we get her back?" Ray looked frantic, searching Kai with wide eyes for answers.

"He wants to talk to me…about coming back, I assume. In exchange for her life."

"Her life!?"

Kai wasn't sure what would happen with him and his grandfather, but he was sure of the first thing he needed to do: he needed Ana safe.

Silently, he walked through the living room, to the back hallway and then down into the basement. Everyone was following him, still asking questions.

The basement was unfurnished with old concrete walls and floor, and old dusty shelves and boxes pushed up against the walls. A large portion of one corner of the cellar was cleaned up, with a large red and brown designed rug, a long couch, a couple chairs and a large T.V on the wall where Kai had been crashing for the last week and a half. He walked over to the couch, threw the thick blanket he used onto the floor, and yanked up the cushion. Ah, right where it had always been.

He pinched the small copper key between his fingers, let the cushion down, and then walked over to the long silver freezer in the opposite corner. By now, the guys who'd been following behind were quiet, stopping on the rug once they saw him grab the key.

Kai unlocked the padlock from the freezer's lid before lifting it open. Inside, it wasn't cold, but room temperature, in fact, the freezer wasn't even turned on, and had never been in it's whole life. Instead, it acted as a hiding place.

He stuck both of his hands in, and when he pulled them out, he was holding two pistols and a case of bullets.

"Are those really necessary?"

Maybe he didn't have to choose between his ex and his grandfather. Maybe he could make his own option.

"Yes."

Ray came over, ready to reach into the freezer for his own weapon, but Kai stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

"She's my cousin," Ray hissed, wrenching his hand away.

"Voltaire wants me. That's the only reason why he's doing this. I go alone."

"You're going to tell him you'll go back to the family business, right?" Tyson looked worried, eying Kai's pistols he was now loading while still staring firmly at Ray. "I mean, you do anything stupid and he'll kill her."

Both guns click as he snapped them shut. "He'll give me a choice: Ana or business," he explained, "I'm choosing neither."

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It occurred to Kai as he sped through the winding road into the city in his Mustang Cobra, that just busting in with two guns demanding Ana back might not be the best idea. One of two things could happen: if he's lucky, he gets through tight security with minor injuries, blows Voltaire's head to pieces, finds Ana safe and sound, and they both get out of their alive. If he's extremely unlucky, he'll get passed the guards, all the way to the office, find Voltaire, who won't shoot him for obvious reasons, but will have Ana shot as a punishment.

The odds of the latter happening were extremely low though. If Ana was dead, there was no leverage, and Voltaire knew he needed leverage on his side then anything else when it came to Kai.

That's why he had the weapons. That's why he ignored Tyson's worried warnings. He knew Voltaire better then anyone else, which is why he also knew he had a better chance of seeing Ana alive again if he took his chances with the guns and the demanding.

He parked two blocks away from the tall dark building he gratefully hadn't seen in over a year. Grabbing his two weapons from the passenger seat, he put them inside the waistband of his jeans, pulling his dark blue t-shirt over them.

Well, that wasn't going to work. He realized with a frustrated growl that the pistols may be hidden now, while he's standing there, but once he started moving, the metal was going to be flashing everywhere. He popped his trunk to go through the many pieces of clothing he had scattered back there. Like pretty much all the guys he knew, he practically had a full wardrobe in his trunk, prepared for any type of weather or situation…or at least that was his excuse; really, he just didn't feel like cleaning it out.

Seconds later he came out with a cotton, black zip-up jacket. Perfect.

He walked down the street, passing a homeless woman sleeping on a bus stop bench, and one drunk man waiting to cross an intersection even as the light of the orange walking stick figure was flashing at him to go. Even though it was late - around midnight, he guessed - the streets were still busy with speeding cars and city lights lit up the sky, taking the place of actual stars.

Anyone watching would have seen a handsome, twenty-something male with dark hair and a black jacket taking a late walk though Los Angeles. Going to work. Going home from work. Heading to the metro to see his girlfriend. Walking to one of the many bars around the area. Getting a late bite to eat.

No one could see the shining silver metal of the weapons concealed by his jacket. No one could see his empty, blank stare, or noticed the firm, angry line of his eyebrows.

Without blinking, he passed under the engraving of the words BioVolt etched into the marble of the building above the glass doors. The family business, or well, the cover for the real family business. So really his grandfather owned two: underground car dealings in Europe, and BioVolt, a successful goods shipping company. How boring compared to what really happened behind the same closed doors.

It was completely dark inside the large marble lobby, except for the red exits lights next to a couple side doors. He passed an empty security desk and went straight for the elevators. It may have passed his mind to take the stairs, throw everyone off guard, and thus start shooting amongst the confusion, but then he remembered he was suppose to act calm. Voltaire didn't know about the guns or the plan; for all he knew, Kai was coming to negotiate quietly.

Ha! His grandfather really didn't know him at all.

The elevator music was annoying and ironic; sounding completely happy and carefree, like it was trying to sooth Kai's black thoughts. While the elevator continued up and the music played on happily, Kai's mind swirled with the finer details of the plan, while his stomach continued to churn in anger - and maybe a tad of fear he would deny.

His grandfather had always sparked a small feeling of fear, dominance, and intimidation in him, more during childhood then any other time. But even older, Kai still felt a twinge of those same feelings when he was around the older man. Voltaire had power, he had money, he had social standing. He had been born with the drive to achieve his goals and get what he wanted no matter what it meant he had to do. He had the kind of intensity that scared people into working for him, and a black heart that didn't care as long as he got his way.

Kai hadn't seen him in a while, but he doubted he was any different. This whole thing with Ana proved it. Voltaire wanted an heir to carry on the family business, and by god, when Voltaire Hiwatari wanted something, he was going to get it.

The cold metal of the pistols pressed against his hips made him forget about that tad of fear just as the elevator doors slid open.

Just like always, Boris was there across the small twentieth floor lobby, waiting to be doorman. What a pussy.

Boris might have said hello and something else but Kai didn't hear him. This was it. Voltaire was just behind those double doors, waiting to have his head blown to pieces.

He calmly walked forward to the doors, stopped, and waited patiently for Boris to open them.

Slowly, they came open. Blood was pounding loudly in his ears, drowning everything else out.

As soon as he saw a sliver of his grandfather's face through the crack of the opening doors, Kai lost it. His head went completely blank and he was all anger, desperation, and instinct. He kicked the doors open, already grabbing for both his pistols and then started pointing.

One aimed straight at a surprised Voltaire behind his large desk, the other swiveled around, aiming at the many henchmen who were poised, ready with their own weapons.

"Anybody moves and I shoot."

It was silent for many seconds. Kai never averted his steel gaze from his grandfather who was now back to normal, pleasantly looking back with a hint of a smile playing across his lips.

The other men in the room looked to Voltaire for instructions. The older man nodded once and the guns were slowly placed on the floor.

"Isn't this a pleasant greeting after almost two years."

"Shut up, let's see it."

Voltaire raised one delicate eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Your gun. Take it out slowly and put it on the desk."

With the barrow of the pistol smiling at him from across the room, Voltaire complied, slowly opening a side drawer, and then placing a small hand gun on top of the desk.

With both arms still aiming with steady hands, Kai moved across the room to the desk and then pocketed the hand gun.

"You know, Kai, this may not be the best way to get Miss Anastasia back."

"You should have left her out of this," Kai seethed with gritted teeth, "she has nothing to do with me or the business."

Voltaire smiled knowingly. "On the contrary, she does."

"Where is she."

"I'm sorry but I'm afraid I don't know."

Kai moved his aim slightly to the side and fired his gun, missing Voltaire's head by inches. A part of the window behind him shattered, but the older man didn't even flinch.

"The next time you lie to me, I put a hole in your head," Kai growled.

Voltaire looked only slightly annoyed. "You're missing the point, my boy, it's a game. You do what I say, and she won't be harmed. If you don't, well, I guess you'll just have to find out. What do you think?"

"I think I'm seconds away from wasting you, every other douche bag in the building, and then finding her for myself."

"Go ahead, you'll never find her," Voltaire shrugged, "she's not here."

"I think your full of shit."

Voltaire shook his head, feigning regret. "The longer you deny me the more I'll make sure she suffers before you give in. There are plenty of men in this room who would love a piece of her -"

Before he could control himself, Kai was lunging across the desk, meaning to shove the pistol down his grandfather's throat, but Voltaire was ready; he had wanted Kai to act. Quicker then it was usually possible for a man his age, Voltaire had both Kai's wrists, banging them hard on the edge of the desk. Something cracked, and Kai's pistols clattered noisily to the ground.

Before Kai could react, or even yell out in pain, Voltaire grabbed a handful of his hair and smashed his face into the solid wood of the desk.

Boris, who had been frozen by the door, quickly ran over, snatched the weapons from the ground, and then Voltaire's hand gun from the unmoving boy's pocket.

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I open my eyes and see little circles of light scattered across my arm. At first, even this little bit of light reflecting off my arm hurts my eyes and I flinch away, rolling over. I try opening them again. I see an a burnt orange colored wall. In front of my line of vision are a lot of wooden crates, and it's very noisy outside. Where am I? A storage room? Where?

I try to think, but my head hurts and it's hard to concentrate. I feel stiff, and my stomch hurts like I might be sick.

Determined for some answers, I push myself up. My head starts to pound, my stomch takes a heave, and I throw up. I expect to feel it on me, but even after I wait a few minutes for my stomch to settle, I don't. I realize I'm on a bed, or well, a bunch of straw and a blanket piled onto a long crate. I look to my left and sure enough I've puked all over the side of it onto the same orange colored floor.

Wait. Orange? I sit up straighter, feeling better and ready take a look around. I'm in the middle of a long, narrow room made of sheet metal on this crate/bed, surrounded by many others of the same piled on top of each other. The ceiling is high, and all around the room are those same circles of light.

The noise is very loud. It sounds like I'm in the middle of some kind of construction site. I take in a deep breath, slowly swing my legs to one side of the crate, and touch down on the floor. The metal is cold on my bare feet.

Damn it, where did my flats go? I really liked those shoes. I look down and see that I'm in the same black dress I put on before going to see Voltaire.

Oh god, that's right. The last thing I saw was Voltaire and then everything was black. He was saying something about a plan to get Kai back that involved me. Fucking shit. Where the hell did he put me?

I'm more determined then ever to see what's outside. I weave in and out of the many piles of crates. My stomch is churning again, but it's not more bile, it's fear.

I get to the other side and press myself against the wall, my right eye lining up with one of the hundreds of round holes the light is coming in from.

I see the ocean and seagulls. Ships, cranes, huge, long cargo containers, and men who with orange hard hats and rugged clothing walking around.

I'm in a shipyard. A fucking shipyard in a fucking cargo container.

Just what does Voltaire think he's going to do? Ship me to China if Kai doesn't cooperate?

No fucking way am I going to China or anywhere else across seas for that matter.

Balling my hands into fists, I start to punch the sheet metal wall.

"HEY!" I scream desperately. A blond haired man walks passed a few feet ahead of my container. "HEY! HELP ME!"

He can't hear me and he keeps walking.

I try again on another worker.

No luck. If only those fucking cranes would stop moving things around, maybe they could hear me.

Some more workers pass and I keep yelling. I desperately kick, punch, and scream with all that I am, hoping, praying someone will hear me.

I punch until my wrists ache.

I kick until my toes bleed.

I scream until my voice grows rough and my throat raw.

And then, defeated, I take a deep breath and slide onto the cold floor of my prison. I'm sweating profusely in this stuffy room and my heart is beating frantically. I take a moment and stare at the wood of the crate in front of me, trying to slow it. Tying not to panic. But I want to so bad…

I want my brother, he'd know what to do, what to say, how to act.

I want to let the panic take me. I want to cry. I need him to tell me I'm going to be alright.

But he's not here. I'm completely and utterly alone. And crying like a baby isn't going to help. So I don't. I keep staring at this dark spot on the wood of the crate I've been looking at for several minutes now.

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Personal affection is a luxury you can have only after all your enemies are eliminated.

Until then, everyone you love is a hostage;

Sapping your courage,

And corrupting your judgment.

- Orson Scott Card - 'Empire'

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---rayluva4