Once he had been untied, Puck flexed his fingers, the muscles of his biceps twitching as he continued to fight against his urges to leap to his feet and start fighting any and all the men, whoever he could manage to get his hands on. His eyes shifted continually between them, not wanting to miss a movement from any of them, and when the three had retreated back towards the doorway, leaving Remington alone in front of him, he nevertheless remained very much aware of their presence behind him. He hated knowing that they were at his back, that he couldn't see what they were doing or might be planning to do, and when Remington gestured towards the pizza in front of him, as though indicating that he wanted him to eat, Puck didn't move to take a slice, even as his stomach growled in response.

He had no way of knowing whether the food was safe to eat. Clearly the Gatorade hadn't been, what would stop them from putting something in or on the pizza too?

"Now then, I know you're nearly starving, boy, eat up," Remington nodded his head again towards the pizza, that same infuriating smirk playing at his lips. "Rest assured, there is nothing beyond the usual ingredients on it. Eat, regain some of that admittedly inferior strength back, and we will talk."

Puck didn't trust himself to respond to him, and he certainly had no intentions of eating. He kept his lips pressed tightly together, trying hard to ignore the increasingly desperate grumblings of his stomach in response, and crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to help himself to refocus his attention. Pressing his arms hard into his chest, he breathed out, trying to avoid smelling the pizza, even as Remington leaned towards him, his voice dropping, more intense now in tone.

"Eat, Puck, or Santana will not be given the opportunity to eat as well. Do you really think that she can last as long as you can without eating, when you can fit your whole hand around her upper arm? Eat."

It was possible, of course, that the man was just playing with him, that he still intended to poison or drug him. But as much as Puck wanted to continue to refuse the food, for the sake of being defiant if nothing else, this statement of his could not allow him to do so. The man was right, Puck was worried for Santana's sake. She did need to eat, and if this bastard was prepared to deny her food over his stubbornness…and anyway, Puck reasoned to himself, it wasn't likely after all that there was anything in the food. The man wanted something from him, so what good would it serve him to kill him, and to go through so much effort to do it in this way?

He reached reluctantly for a slice of pizza, angry at himself when his shaking hand and watering mouth betrayed how badly he really wanted it. Nevertheless as he took his first bite, he tried not to show how good the food tasted to him after days without nothing, tried not to simply cram it into his mouth as fast as he could chew and swallow. He didn't want to give Remington that satisfaction, so he tried to eat in a much slower fashion than usual, even as his hand continued to shake with his eagerness.

He tried not to look up at Remington, knowing that the man was watching him with continued amusement. If he looked at him too often now, he would find it much harder to control himself from wasting a perfectly good piece of pizza throwing it in his face, or even more likely, throwing a fist in his face. He tried instead to focus on his pizza only as Remington continued to speak.

"Good boy. I can see that you can be amenable and reasonable when you choose to be, which indicates that you must be smarter than you lead some to believe. Go on and eat as much as you like, if you finish off this then more can be provided for Santana, there is no need to worry."

Puck tried to ignore him, but every bite he took, even if he tried to look at the table top or the pizza alone, he could feel the men behind him, their eyes on him, Remington's smile burning through his skin. Back teeth grinding hard, he continued to say nothing, even as Remington went on.

"Let's lay down all our cards now, shall we? I'll be very honest with you when I tell you that I had no intention whatsoever of reeling you in here with our girl Miss Lopez," he started, and Puck stiffened, having to fight not to take a swipe at him then for even referring casually to Santana as "his" as well as Puck's. "That happened to be a lucky break, but I'm not a foolish man, and I intend to make the very most of it. And I can always use another man with muscle at my right hand…so here is what is expected of you."

It was an order, rather than a request; even before any details were given, Puck could tell that much. Remington could play jovial or amused all he wanted, but what he was asking of Puck now was not a request but a demand, and there would doubtless be consequences if he refused him. For the moment Puck remained quiet, eating, still refusing to look up at him, as he let Remington explain.

"I've checked you out, of course, and I couldn't have found a more perfect fit for the sort of man I look for if I had tried. It really was a very lucky day for me indeed, that you just happened to be out fucking around with our girl that night," Remington chuckled, and Puck nearly boiled over then and there. For this man to imply that he was "fucking around" with Santana that night, the same night they had returned back from Finn's memorial service, the same night that they had screamed and hurt each other to the point of tantrums and tears, was so inaccurate and infuriating that he almost forgot Santana entirely, didn't even care in the moment that any action of his would also affect her. But then Remington was still talking, overriding his intentions as his new words hit him hard.

"You have a record, you have muscle, you have no sense of commitment to anyone or anything and no sense of direction in your life. No decent job, no chance of anyone or anything really missing you when you're gone, and so much pent up rage, just ready to be vented towards whatever is there to take it on. Well congratulations, Noah, you've found your calling right here in my humble services," Remington inclined his head towards him, and as Puck's eyes finally shot up to meet his, stunned, he continued, "You will train with my men initially and will not be left unsupervised, except, of course, when you sleep, but no that you will always be under scrutiny and at any given time, we can choose to walk in on you, so be a good boy and stay on your toes."

"What the fuck are you saying?" Puck blurted, unable to keep his distaste and protest to himself anymore at this description. Putting down the crust of the second slice of pizza he had been close to finishing off, he shook his head adamantly, putting up both hands as if to ward off even the suggestion Remington was throwing at him. "No way. No way in hell. You wanting me to rape and kidnap girls, you're out of your fucking mind. I might be a dick but I'm not a sick, pathetic bastard, I don't NEED to do that shit to sleep with chicks!"

"You may want to watch your words, Noah, I don't think others are too happy to hear you be so dismissive," Remington's eyes shifted towards the men behind Puck, who Puck didn't bother to look back to assess. He didn't care what they were doing or what they thought, he was speaking the truth and if they couldn't take it, they could all go fuck themselves as well as whatever chicks they were forcing themselves on every day. His face was burning with his fury at even the suggestion as he opened his mouth to keep telling them exactly what he thought about this proposal, but Remington held up a hand, stopping him.

"You would not have to have sex with anyone, Noah, though you certainly could choose to do so. Your role would be to escort our girls, to book and transport them to appointments, to buy and sell necessary supplies, and to be one of the muscle needed to keep them in line. You will be closely monitored initially, but should you prove yourself worthy of it, you will be given more responsibility over time. Think about it, Noah…does this really sound like such a terrible job, a job beyond your shaky level of moral ground for you to do? You cannot deny that you have been wanting others to respect you through fear for all of your life, and this would be the perfect opportunity to have exactly what you want. Don't even attempt to deny it to yourself. So…what do you say?"

"I say you're trying to make me out to be like you, and you're never gonna," Puck spat back at him, not even pretending that he had taken a second to think over the man's "offer." Squeezing his own upper arms hard, but barely feeling the pressure that his own fingers exerted, he didn't even attempt to lessen the glare that he was casting Remington's way, jutting out his jaw just to show him exactly how he felt about his not very subtle insinuation. "I say you obviously need to clean your own jizz outta your ears, 'cause you obviously didn't hear me good the first time I said no way in hell. And I say fuck you too."

"You better watch yourself, boy," Remington warned, his tone taking on a sharper edge, though he didn't raise his voice. His eyes barely blinked, and he leaned forward towards Puck more and more as he continued to speak to him. Although the table was in between them, Puck nevertheless felt that he was invading more and more of his space, crossing over the boundaries that he wanted between them in a nearly threatening manner. He was not close enough to touch him, and yet Puck was aware that with one gesture the three men behind him would be on him, able to carry out anything that Remington might command.

It might have been smarter to watch his words, to rethink what he said to the man. But Puck didn't care in the moment. All his life he had heard people talking about him, assuming about him, judging him, thinking him to be nothing more than a callous asshole who didn't give a shit about women or anyone but himself and what he wanted, and sometimes he felt like they were right. But for this man, if he could even be called that, to stand there and tell him that he was like him, to offer him a job like this…it was more of an insult than he could stand, and Puck could barely keep himself from forgetting himself entirely and jumping up to slug him in the face.

He was NOT like Remington. He was not, and he never would be, and he would not take that fucking job.

That was what he thought. But Remington wasn't finished speaking, and when he went on, forcing Puck to listen in spite of himself, he soon understood exactly why his defiance was not possible.

"You better think carefully here before you do or say anything further, boy. I know that's probably a foreign concept for you, careful thought instead of impulsive, self-gratifying action…but I do assure you that it would best benefit you to listen."

It was infuriating, how properly this guy spoke, throwing out big words like he was some kind of professor when he was actually a rapist pimp or something like that. The way he was condescending to Puck, acting like he thought he was stupid, like he had anything over him or was better than him in any way, would have been enough all on its own for Puck to want to beat on him all over again even if it wasn't for everything else. But Puck made himself stay still, taking in a shallow breath and trying to calm himself, as the man explained himself further, eyes still locked on Puck's.

"You don't know me, Noah Puckerman, but I have made it my business to know you, and to know you well. Just as I know our exquisite young Miss Lopez. But we're not discussing her as of now…we're discussing you. I know you, boy. I know about your pathetic high school persona, your wannabe badass routine of intimidating the smaller boys, beating them up, putting them in Dumpsters, putting yourselves above them, strutting down the hallways thinking yourself a gift to females and everyone who crossed your path- using violence to get the results you wanted, just as you would be doing in this job. I know you got girls drunk in order to make them agree more easily to sleep with you- which could be argued to be rape, just as you so adamantly insisted that you are so very opposed to. You are no better than you claim you are, Noah. You are me…you're just too hypocritical and afraid to admit it."

He paused, looking at Puck hard, giving this time to sink in, before continuing. "You barely passed high school. You already had a stint in juvie and doubtless you would have ended up in jail before long. You were headed for the Air Force, but it would have been no time at all before you fucked something up enough to quit or get kicked out. Your life is nothing, Noah, and you were going nowhere. Taking this job will be a step up and simply speed you up to where you would have ended up regardless, because this IS you."

"It's not," Puck shook his head, but his jaw was working, his response quieter, less fully certain than he wanted it to be. "It's not. I'm not anything fucking like you at all, and I never will be. You can fuck your mind games and everything else because I'm not fucking doing this."

But even as he said it he wondered…because every fact that Remington laid out was correct. He didn't know how the man had found it out, what his high school experience and attitude had been like, and he didn't like the possibilities of it…but that still didn't mean that he was right in what he was saying. Or did it? Puck had done some pretty shitty things in his life…but was he really no different, deep down, than Remington, even if he felt that he was? Could all of this really be compared to the sickness that this man represented?

Puck had never really fully liked himself or been satisfied with himself as a person, never really, truly believed in his heart that he was going to be someone, that he was a good person or a person with talent or as much worth as most of the others in his life. How could he, when it seemed that nothing he did was ever the right thing, and nothing he wanted or accomplished ever was enough? How could he when even his own efforts to be good and right almost always ended up in failure?

But as bad as he thought and knew himself to be at times…could he really be anything like this man?

"I'm not like you," he repeated, with more firmness this time, holding up his head and looking Remington in the eye. "I won't do it." And this time, he was almost entirely sure of his words.

But Remington wasn't one to take no easily. And his next words, carefully measured in tone and tempo, made it clear that he was far from finished in his persuasions.

"You are not the only person who has caught my attentions in your life, Noah," he said plainly, pointedly. "I know about your lonely, single mother, ever devoted to a dying faith. I'm sure she would be flattered to think that a man would still want her, let alone be willing to pay for her services. And that little sister of yours, such a pretty little thing…what's her name again, Sarah?"

"How the fuck do you know about them?! Don't you talk about them, don't you fucking dare, if you lay one fucking finger-" Puck reacted immediately, starting to get to his feet, but when he heard the three men behind him begin to step forward, and Remington spoke over him, he had to force himself to stay still, even as he trembled with fury.

"I would be very, very careful with myself now, Noah…as you'll recall, your Santana is still enjoying time to herself at the moment, but if you indicate that you feel she needs company, we will be more than happy to accommodate your request."

He paused, making sure that Puck understood his implication, and then smiled when Puck swallowed hard, clinching and unclinching his fists rapidly in an effort to force himself to calm. "Do you think Santana is lonely, Noah…are you requesting she be given entertainment?"

"No," Puck ground out finally, but even so he couldn't keep himself from adding, "Leave my family alone. Don't go near my mother or sister. Leave them alone."

"Oh, there are others we could pay a visit to, if you would prefer," Remington replied all too blithely, and it was with savage hatred bubbling acid in his stomach that Puck observed how amused he was, how much he was enjoying this exchange, this control that he had developed over him. "There's your half brother Jake, he's a big guy for sixteen, and though not as much of our type as you are, he's getting there, and we could train him up shortly, no doubt. And of course, there's your ex, Quinn Fabray- but it's Lucy Quinn Fabray, to be more accurate, isn't it? Such a pretty little thing she is, it would certainly be an asset to add her to our services…and the adoptive mother of her child, Miss Corcoran, is hardly an eyesore either. A little old, perhaps, but there aren't many people who would turn down a face or body like hers, and there's certainly a market for older women and mothers for some. You would know, right?"

Puck's stomach churned at Remington's smirk aimed his way, and he genuinely thought for a few moments that he would be physically sick. His head tangled with too many thoughts, too many feelings all at once, Puck tried to make sense of this, to think of what to do. But what could he do, what could he possibly do when this man knew them all, when he could no doubt easily arrange to take any of them, the moment Puck fucked up for them?

And then he was speaking the last and most dangerous name, the name that was a breaking point of it all, and Puck could no longer even try to keep calm.

"And then there's that little girl of yours…Beth, isn't it? Such a pretty little thing, like mother, like daughter…a bit young for our tastes, but there's a market for that as well-"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!" Puck could not stop himself from screaming, and he hit the table then with both fists, once, twice, three times, beating his hands on the wooden top as he knew he could not do against Remington's body. "Don't you touch her, don't even say her name, don't you fucking DARE-"

"Calm yourself, Noah," Remington spoke over him, and the utter calmness in his own voice only enraged Puck further. But when he felt three men's hands taking hold of his arms, holding them behind his back in such a way that he could not possibly have broken free, Puck had little choice but to listen to him, even as he refused to look up into his face.

"They're safe," Remington assured him. "All of them. No one has so much as said boo to any of them….yet. But you must understand, Noah. We know them now, all of them, and we like what we see. If you were to fail to cooperate…we may become suddenly overcome with our desire to possess them, and we may be simply unable to control ourselves." He paused again, giving him time to consider. "Think this through carefully, Noah. How many people must be brought into this and made examples of before you agree?"

And Noah did think. He didn't want to escort strange girls, to force them to be moved to places and to men who would hurt them and have sex with them, most likely against their will. He didn't want to sell drugs or beat people who wouldn't cooperate with these men, or even stand around intimidating them. He didn't want to agree to do anything at all that they wanted him to do for them if it would benefit them in any way.

But these other people…the ones who would be affected negatively by his actions…they were nameless, faceless strangers, not people he loved and had responsibility towards. But his mother and his brother, his sister and Shelby, Quinn, Beth…if he said no, it would be them who were affected, even more so than these nameless people that were not his brother or his girls. It would affect Santana, who was right there in the mix of this with him. It could get any and all of them hurt, maybe even killed, and in the end that tipped the scales without a question.

He had to do it. As much as he hated it, and would hate himself for saying yes, he had to do it. There was no other option, not when all those names were thrown up against him.

Slowly, reluctantly he inclined his head in a nod, even as his nails dug hard into his palms, almost cutting the skin.

"I'll do it, you bastard. Whatever the fuck you want me to do, if you don't fucking touch any of them. I won't kill anyone and I won't rape them, I won't use your stupid drugs or hit a woman. But whatever the fuck else…I'll do it."

He hated Remington's responding smile, as though he were a child who had finally earned his approval by agreeing to obey.

"Good boy, I knew you were smarter than you looked. You'll start tomorrow."

Puck didn't bother to respond to him, trying to think through all the possibilities and implications of this new position. Maybe it would end up for the best after all. If Remington agreed that he didn't have to do the things he had just mentioned, maybe he would mostly be standing around. Maybe he could even attract someone's attention who could help him and Santana, maybe he could even get a chance to break away and get help for them. If he was being allowed out of the basement, then there was always that chance that he could escape. But then where would that leave Santana? If she was left behind while he was escaping, they would take it out on her...he had promised not to leave her. How was he going to keep that promise if he was let out of the basement to do this new job?

Suddenly the deal he had struck seemed horribly faulty and incomplete, and Puck's head shot up again as he stared at Remington, having forgotten to clarify one very important detail.

"What about Santana? What are you going to be doing with her while you're dragging me everywhere?"

"Oh, Santana will be working too, of course, do you think we would let her scooze by without earning her keep?" Remington seemed to take pleasure in watching Puck's response to this, laughing lightly at his responding expression. "She'll be one of our whores, of course, why do you think we were interested in taking her? She should earn us quite a lot of money, being new and not broken in yet. And it will be your job to escort her to her….shall we call them appointments?"

Puck felt as though a bucket of ice water had just been poured over his face. The response should not have been a shock; it was what Santana herself had been spelling out to him as the reality from the start. They knew who these people were and what they wanted, why they wanted Santana. But nevertheless he had somehow managed to half convince himself that it wasn't true, that it would never happen. He couldn't deal with the thought of Santana being pimped out to them and whoever else would pay, he couldn't deal with the thought of knowing that she was being hurt and frightened and used, and so he had managed to block the very likely probability out of his mind.

But here he was, hearing the words all over again, spoken not as a threat but as a promised intention, and Puck could not accept it. Would not accept it.

"No fucking way," was Puck's flat and adamant response as he shook his head vehemently, jabbing his finger at him as though he wanted to use it to poke out the man's eye. His voice was rising as he repeated himself, still shaking his head. "No fucking way are you touching her, let alone fucking her, no one is, NO ONE. That's no fucking deal. I won't do one thing you ask of me if you lay a hand on her. Here's the fucking deal, you can take it or leave it because I won't do a fucking thing other than this! She's with me. She stays with me, and NO ONE ELSE CAN TOUCH HER. I'll do whatever the fuck you want but you can't fucking touch Santana. EVER."

Remington's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, and he gave a short laugh, shaking his head at the younger man as though his declaration was the silliest he had ever heard. Regardless, he rested his chin in his hand, regarding him.

"Here is the problem with this ultimatum of yours, boy. You can be as in love with your little girl here as you want, but you touching her doesn't bring us in any money here, does it? And you seem to have forgotten…you have no power here. Best remember that and remember that good."

But then his lips curved into a smile that Puck was entirely suspicious of, knowing it could mean absolutely nothing good for either one of them. The man's eyes glinted as he spoke, his voice lowering, almost a purr.

"But because I like you, boy, I will offer you one last option. You may keep your terms of how you will work for me- no sex, no drugs, and no beating women, in other words, denying yourself all fun- as long as you obey all else asked of you without question. And perhaps, if you are both very good without keeping our commands, we will agree that Santana will be reserved for you only. But it will then be your responsibility to break the little bitch in for us, to make sure she understands exactly what attitude we expect from her, exactly how high she is to jump when we ask her to do so. Her actions will be your responsibility and yet earn her own punishment. And here's what you'll have to do. We got some customers who like to watch on our live web cams, they pay good money to see a show. Maybe they're too shy to do it themselves, whatever, don't really care what their reasons are…but people from all around the world will pay to watch a hot girl with fake tits fuck a guy with decent sized pecs and abs."

He looked Puck up and down deliberately, as though to indicate that he himself possessed these, and when Puck just looked at him, not understanding what he was being told, Remington spelled it out for him.

"I need some more people to film for the live action website. If you really want to keep Santana all to yourself, be the only one to put it to her, you can do it…but you gotta do it where everyone else can at least share the visual experience. Fuck her good, whenever we ask, and you got your wish, no one else will touch her…as long as you both behave. I think that sounds more than fair, doesn't it, boy…really quite generous."

Puck froze. He could barely wrap his mind around what he was hearing, let alone respond to it immediately. He was no prude; he was more than used to sleeping with girls who meant nothing to him, to experimenting sexually, and he was no stranger to porn sites. But to video himself sleeping with someone for money...to let these bastards see it...and to do it with Santana, who would certainly not be willing, to humiliate and expose her in that way...the thought made him physically sick, and so angry he could feel himself starting to shake with held back rage. He didn't respond immediately, having to fight not to take the pizza box and the slices still left in it and throw it in Remington's face.

How could he do this? How could he take Santana, who was a lesbian with less than zero interest sexually in him, and have sex with her for anyone and their mother to watch?

"Come on boy." Remington laughed, looking at his boys all around him, smirking at them, as though encouraging them to join in at mocking him. "You a faggot or something? You don't like pussy? This is a good deal you have here…and remember what your other choices are. What do you say?"

Puck gritted his teeth, trying desperately to think of an alternative. Any alternative, anything that will save them both. Maybe he can fake sex with her. Maybe he can block the camera or block her with his body so it looks like they are but they're not. Maybe they can knock someone out with the camera once it's given to them, if he hits hard enough. But he can't think of any other option that will give them any chance at all...and if they're forced into this, at least Santana knows and can tolerate him. He would be gentle, if forced into this, he would actually give a shit what happened to her. Finally, hating himself for it, he nods.

"Good boy," Remington inclined his head in what Puck interpreted as a sarcastic manner, even as he smiled. "You will break her in tonight, get you both into the business straight away. As you earn it, you will both earn a place in the bedrooms upstairs. You will earn some money for yourself as well, during your duties to us, which is more than generous. I do hope you appreciate the benefits you are being given here."

This is the most fucked up, sickening moment of Puck's life. He has just agreed to whore his friend out live, for perverted, psychotic bastards to get their kicks off of. He's agreed to make his own personal and public sex tape. He's agreed to sleep with a girl who's a lesbian, regardless of whether or not she wants it, every night they ask him to, just to keep her from being raped by a stranger. It's the most horrific, unbelievable thing he could imagine, almost worse than killing Santana outright, and every bit as nauseating. He can feel his nearly empty stomach roiling now, and again he is shaking, wanting more than anything to lash out. But Santana's life seems to depend on this, so he simply nods. Hating every part of himself but even more so, this man.

He barely listens to a word that is said to him as Remington gestures for the guards to take hold of him, for them to practically physically propel him down the hallway to the basement stairs, and as they shove him through its opening, locking the door behind him, he believe that Remington had said something to him about explaining the terms of their agreement to Santana. As Puck began to slowly make his way down the stairs, almost stumbling on each one, he could not even begin to piece together how he would tell her, what he would say.

He was doing this for her, to protect her…to keep her as safe and unexploited as was possible. But how did you explain that to someone who was still going to be violated, no matter how much he tried to soften the experience?