Disclaimer: I own no rights to Pitch Black/The Chronicles of Riddick, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work.

Warnings: Language, gore, violence, and situations involving child harm/abuse.

Chapter 10

Gabriel Reina walked into the well-lit examination room, hips rolling like a large desert-cat stalking its prey. He walked like a man with power, like a man who knew how to use that power. He was.

In the seedy underbelly of an already questionable planet, Gabriel and Marcus Reina were kings. They were, in a word, untouchable. What passed for the law on Golgara came from their hands, keeping the peace and doling out punishment as they saw fit. Sure, there were "officers" of the "law" on the surface of things, but trace any conviction, any trial, and you would find them. It had been that way for some ten years, since their father had met his unfortunate end by way of rat poison in his morning coffee. Gabriel was still rather proud of himself for that.

The girl on the table was a perfect specimen. At 15 years old, she was on the verge of turning into a woman, yet still had the young, nubile flesh of a child. He let a hand stroke down her creamy, caramel skin, stopped to pinch a nipple the color of strong coffee. He pried her eyelids open, noting the fact that her irises were a deep, molten brown. Her hair haloed out around her head in silken ebony waves, and he leaned in, briefly, to sniff it. Perfect.

They had taken to drugging their new shipments, on top of restraints, ever since that night, two years ago, when the hellcat had suddenly gone psycho, killing most of the men in his compound. He'd sold her to the Floors the next day, with a good riddance. Crazy bitch.

He picked up the unconscious girl's feet, amusing himself for a moment by making her legs wobble around before setting her heels into the stirrups attached to the tables. He flicked on the lamp by his head and grabbed the clamp on the table. No need to prep, she wouldn't feel a thing. And if she did, when she woke up this little exam would be the least of her worries.

Gabriel clamped her open, examining her slowly, satisfied that she was, in fact, pure. Like Riddick's little bitch… He scowled at the memory of her. She had refused to cower, refused to submit to his will. He'd declared her impure out of spite, regardless of obvious signs to the contrary. Ah, well, he'd covered the tracks of his deceit well, entertaining himself with her privately before having her thrown into a common holding room.

She had slowly become cowed, stopped fighting back. If there was one thing that Gabriel Reina loved more than power, more than money, it was watching a spitfire like that dwindle and fade in the face of his prowess.

Unfortunately, for him and his workers, the girl had either been a consummate actress, or had finally snapped. Her killing spree had left 35 of his men dead, and another 13 horribly wounded. He'd been tempted to kill her on the spot, but resolved to save her for the Floors. At least there she could continue to be of some value for him, until she died.

Which, of course, the dirty bitch hadn't.

Gabriel scowled as he removed the clamp from his "patient" and threw it on the table. He snatched her ankles and tugged her out of the stirrups. Her legs pulled in such a way that her body dropped unceremoniously to the floor. He hissed in frustration and pulled her up, dumping her back on the bed. She didn't stir.

Gabriel stared down at the girl, pictured her skin lighter, hair curlier, a snarl replacing her slackened lips. His eyes narrowed at the memory.

Slamming his fist into the small bedside table in irritation, he stalked out of the room, furious.

She had somehow gotten away, managed to survive what should have been her death. Gabriel found himself annoyed, a state he wasn't used to. Annoyed, and disappointed. He would find the girl, bring her back, make her live long enough to learn her lesson.

No one disappointed a Reina and lived to tell about it.

Riddick sat back in a dark corner of a bar like so many others in the worlds. Smells of cigarettes, cheap beer, and loose women inundated his sensitive nostrils. He curled his lip and drank from his questionably clean glass. His eyes, behind his smoky glasses, were trained on a group of men at a table in the center of the bar. He recognized most of them, knew four of their faces intimately, had already visualized their deaths in lurid detail. The fifth man he didn't recognize, but he was there with them tonight, which meant he'd die with them. Guilty by association.

At the moment, he wasn't Riddick, wasn't Evan, he was just another spacer sitting in a bar, waiting for a flight out. He was being smart, laying low. He couldn't risk discovery, either of his new ident, or his old one. He wasn't ready to return to running, not until he had taken down every last motherfucker who'd hurt her. Not until he found her again.

They stood, and his eyes followed them out the door, hidden behind the shuttered safety of his glasses. He waited a minute before standing and following them silently.

He watched them walking ahead, joking, laughing out loud brays of amusement, nudging each other's ribs. He stalked closer, curious.

"Hey, you see the new shipment, man?" One of the tall, ugly ones was talking to his shorter, ratty-looking comrade.

"No, man, why?" Short and Ratty asked.

"Fuckin' perfect man," Tall and Ugly replied. "Nice ass, nice little tits. She'll probably be a screamer…"

The talk degenerated from there and Riddick grit his teeth to hold himself back from killing them in the street. They worked for slavers, and a "shipment" could mean nothing less than a young girl who was going to be sold in a market somewhere.

They were almost to the compound now. Riddick had passed by it earlier, and already knew how he would get in and out. Any man alive inside right now wouldn't be holding that dubious honor for long.

"Hey, d'ya hear?" Short and Ratty asked of Tall and Ugly.

"Hear what?"

"She got out. Bought herself out of the Floors." There was a hint of admiration tingeing Short and Ratty's voice.

"No shit? Man, she really was a crazy bitch…Think he'll bring her back?" Tall and Ugly asked with trepidation.

"I dunno. Probably. Gabriel doesn't like it when his toys don't break right…"

Riddick stopped in the shadows of the wall, slinking back into an alley that ran along behind the compound. That last sentence circled in his head on a loop, overlaying the images of Jack.

Fuck it. Not gonna happen. When I'm done there won't be anyone to bring her back.

Riddick closed his eyes, letting his senses take over, felt a bit of his rational side recede. "Beast Time" Jack used to call it, the times when she saw glimpses of his animal side.

He listened intently to the noises from inside the compound. Footsteps, two sets of them, directly behind the wall. Further off, a second set, doing rounds. He flared his nostrils, disregarding the scents of the alleyway. Six…no, seven men on guard duty throughout the compound. He'd have to get closer to tell how many inside. Time to move.

He climbed up and pulled himself to the top of the wall. Pressing himself flat, Riddick gave himself a minute to observe. Security cameras ran along the walls on the interior, yet there wasn't a single one on the outside. Arrogance or stupidity?

Both.

He rolled off the top of the wall, landing on his feet noiselessly, effortlessly. He palmed his shivs without a conscious thought, like they were an extension of his hands. He closed his eyes again, momentarily, in the shadows of the wall. He pictured Jack's face as she'd been on his last day in New Mecca, grinning fiendishly over some offensive joke she'd just told him in front of the Imam. Over that, he pictured her face as she had screamed long, sharp cries that had been ignored, as blood ran down her skin.

He felt a quiet growl loose in his chest, felt a little more of his intellect slip away.

He padded through the compound, allowing his nostrils to lead the way.

The shiv slipped through the first guard's throat like a hot knife through butter.

The second guard was harder. He must have heard something, some small sound that alerted him to an enemy presence. He'd gotten his chin down when Riddick went to wrap his arm around his throat. Plan B. Riddick placed his hands on either side of the man's skull, pushing with one, pulling with the other. Push. Pull. Snap.

The next five guard's deaths were nearly effortless on his part, falling under his silent blade, a slash to the carotid here, a thrust into the lower lumbar there. He didn't linger over their deaths. They weren't his real quarry. He slashed camera wires as he went, pleased at the thought of what it would look like from the control room as one view screen after another went snowy, then blank. Stalking death approaching on sure feet.

Pausing, he stooped to collect the key ring dangling from the belt of what he assumed to be the head guard. In Slam, only the heads ever held the keys. He grabbed the man's gun too, just in case. Riddick didn't tend to use guns, too impersonal, too easy, but if it was a choice between using a gun and getting ghosted, there wasn't really a choice.

Sticking to the shadows provided by the towering walls of the compound, Riddick moved towards the house, stopping only to cut more camera lines as he went. He was tense, waiting to find the next clutch of guards. When none arrived, he began to wonder why.

As he entered the mansion that was the main component of the slaver's compound, he understood.

Hubris. These guys walked so tall, thought they were so fucking untouchable, that they honestly had a measly seven guards, all of whom he'd taken out in the underside of five minutes. Riddick allowed himself a moment to chuckle, wondering when they'd lost their paranoia. He distinctly remembered watching Jack kill or wound at least 30 men. Sometime between her attempted escape and now, the Reina brothers had gotten cocky. This was good, this meant he could take his time with them. Riddick felt his lips tugging into what passed as a smile for him.

He slipped into the mansion through a ground floor window, smirking again. No alarm system, minimal guards. This was almost too easy.

He crossed the room that he'd climbed into and followed a short corridor to the basement entrance. He slipped down the stairs and over to the breaker attached to the power cells that lit the compound. He slipped a shiv into the cover, cracking it open, and entered a short series of numbers, a universal kill code that would shut the cells down. There was a soft thump and a whirring buzz as the cells powered down. His grin grew feral as the lights flickered, dimmed and finally went out. Somewhere over his head, he could hear the sounds of frightened, feminine shrieks. So, the Reinas did still keep their new ones here before sale. Riddick stored that away for later and bounded up the stairs. A soft curse and the sound of footsteps in the hall ahead of him let Riddick know that he was not alone. Slipping quietly into an alcove, he waited.

Gabriel Reina passed within inches of his waiting attacker, heedless of his presence. With the speed and power of a striking snake, Riddick's fisted hand caught the man at the base of the skull. His body crumpled bonelessly to the floor, and Riddick pulled him into a room off the hallway. His shined eyes showed him that this was a bedroom, but he doubted that much sleeping actually got done within its confines. There were sets of hanging manacles on two of the four walls, and the scents of fear, blood, and arousal hung heavily in the air. Riddick disregarded the intriguing mélange and immediately set to work hanging his victim.

When he was sure that the man was fully secured, he scanned the room for something resembling a gag. His eyes alighted on a pile of canvas strips. He pictured Jack, teeth clenched, eyes shut, lips wrapped tight around just such a strip. Perfect. Sure that the man would be out for a while, he set off in search of Marcus, the other Reina twin.

He could hear the man's cursing laid over the sounds of female whimpers. He was in the basement, no doubt trying to fix the failed power-cell breakers. Riddick stalked back to the basement level, ignoring the sounds of the brothers' captives for the moment. He patted his pocket, reassuring himself that the keys were still there.

At the bottom of the basement stairs, he paused, sweeping the room with his eyes before proceeding. The sound of Marcus Reina's voice reached his ears from the back corner and he padded towards it.

"Motherfucking piece of shit lighting system. Goddamn sonofabitch electricians don't know shit. Can't even buy good help these days, not even…"

Riddick's elbow locking around his throat, cutting off his air supply, halted the rest of his words. Riddick pulled the man's back tight against his chest, locking his arm down harder as he began to struggle. A shiv at his throat, along with approaching oblivion, caused his wriggling to lessen.

Riddick dragged the now-unconscious man up to the room where he shackled his brother, and quickly dealt him the same treatment. Assured that they weren't going anywhere, and after a quick search confirming neither of them had personal comm units on them with which to call for help, he padded to the back of the mansion, where he had heard the sounds of frightened women earlier.

There was one long wing of rooms, all with locked doors. He set about unlocking every one as he went, throwing them open to the sound of screams and whimpers. At the last room, he paused to stare down the woman he found, waiting, unchained.

"How long you been here?" he growled out at her.

"5 years, sir," she ground out meekly. He tossed her the keys. "You're free, now. Get the rest of these girls out of here." He tossed her a pile of cred chips that he had swiped. When she didn't move at first, he snarled.

"I said, GO!"

She scrambled up, grabbing a short cloak, and as he crept back up the stairs, he could hear her rounding the rest of the slave-girls up and out. Good, now he had no distractions…and nothing but time to play with the Reinas.

His smile was predatory as he entered the room in which he'd left them. One brother was awake, though groggy. Gabriel. Riddick crossed the room to him and removed his gag. It would be more fun if he could hear him scream. He watched the man's lips move, watched his throat work, and waited to hear what would come out of his mouth. Riddick had found that men, in this type of situation, either begged, or got ballsy.

"Look, whatever you want, take it. You want money? We've got more money than God. Women? No problem…Just take it, let us go, we never saw you." The look of terror in Gabriel Reina's eyes tugged on the tail of Riddick's animal, called it out to play.

"How about virgins?" he purred out.

Gabriel's reply was quick, unthinking. "Yeah, sure. I can get you anything, any type you want."

"Brunette? Tall, green eyes?"

"Yeah, man, I'll get you ten, just let me go."

"How 'bout hellcats? Pretty little spitfires with Death in their eyes? Got any of those?"

Riddick watched as a Gabriel made the connection, watched the blood drain from his face.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…" his voice came passed his lips in broken whispers.

"Gabriel, cállate la boca," came a harsh snarl from the other side of the room. Riddick turned and faced the other brother.

"So you're him, huh?" Head tilted, holding himself as big as he could. Riddick was impressed by the man's ability to posture even when dangling from a wall in chains.

"Too late to save your girl, man. Soon, it's gonna be too late to save yourself. Do you have any idea who we are? Any idea who you're fuckin' with? Estamos de muerte, puta!" He spat on the floor at Riddick's feet. "We are death, hers, yours, anyone we want." His leer was almost amusing.

Riddick leered back. "Let's play a game, hm?" Menace and malice met somewhere in the middle, and out came his voice.

"What? Twenty questions? You wanna start with how tight her pussy was? Huh? Maybe how long she could bleed before passing out?" Marcus' harsh laugh over his brother's sobbing was a combination that was quickly grating on Riddick's nerves, but he remained calm, wanting to draw it out.

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'what color are your brother's intestines?' "

Throughout the long, bloody night, Riddick was able to answer that question and more.

A/N: This one took a while. I've got a lot of the next bit written, but I didn't want to jump right in. Someone calling Riddick a bitch just tickles me pink, for some reason... And, yes, Jack and Riddick are going to meet back up. It's soon, but not too soon…So, thoughts?

Oh! Riddick has officially been confirmed! Sweet! That's what they're currently calling the...3rd/2nd (depends on your view of DF...) Chronicles.

Acknowledgements:

JamesRamsey: Yay interesting! And spot on as always, love.

zilly-pill: :blush: Thank you, thank you. Hope I can keep things interesting for you!

vegetable99: Thank you, so much. My muse's head is going to stop fitting through doors, soon ^.^

2angelwings: Thank you for following this story, and for your review! Jack's really fun to write, and I'm trying to keep her as I pictured her growing up when I first saw PB. Glad you like it.

MissConceptions: -squeaks and does a weird toe shuffle thing- -grumbles- Oh, bother. I hope you're happy. You've made me do the "fan-girl dance" O.o Seriously, I greatly appreciate your words. I'm trying to avoid stereotypes/clichés (at least a little bit) and I'm never sure of the success of my attempts.

MercuryAshlingPrincess: Hahaha! I guess it's appropriate that you jig for alerts, since I jig when I read your reviews! Merci, merci.

Zen007: Voila! : D

Sunshine: Welcome, and thank you for your kind, well-thought words. I visualize everything in gory detail, so I figure others can too, I'll just leave leaders for them. I'm excited too! And…No, weird. Sabriel Nix is my OC that I wrote my first "novel" about when I was 11. She was a warrior priestess, and I felt that reincarnating her here would be appropriate… But now I will have to check out Mr. Nix' work.

bb: Yes, yes. Not in the next chapter…but sometime within the next…5! Mwahaha