Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, its characters or any labels mentioned within. I only own the plotline and original characters.
AN: Please don't hate me. I wrote this chapter just for you!
"You know Benny; you did the job to get forgiveness in my eyes." The trembling man nodded shakily. "But, if that kid finds out about his daddy and takes over the mafia again and he's anything like his daddy, we're in trouble."
"B-Boss, I don't know how that kid can be alive! You saw the car after I hit it! It was totaled, boss," Benny pleaded. The words tumbled from his lips haphazardly, anything to stay alive.
"I don't give a fuck how it happened, or what happened. What I do care about is that the Keehl kid is still alive. And he's getting close to the age where he could have some power. That's not good, Benny."
The pathetic man trembled at Thomas's feet. Thomas looked down his nose. Why had he ever thought that Benny deserved forgiveness? He was a fuck up, through and through.
"Some good did come of this, though." Benny looked up hopefully, un-shed tears glistening in his eyes. Thomas sneered and pistol whipped the man across the cheek. "Grow up, you sack of shit. Now I have something to use against my son. If he's as close to little Keehl as he seems to be in these pictures… I'll have mercy on you."
Thomas strode from the room as he dialed Deon, leaving Benny sobbing in relief in the cell. Perhaps Beyond Birthday would have told him that the numbers floating above his head were still dangerously close to zero. But then, perhaps not. The clock read 2:17 am on Sunday. Six hours, thirty seven minutes, twenty seconds, nineteen, eighteen…
Deon slunk through the doorway to the blonde's room, where he and Mail were sprawled across the bed. He was a little unhappy with his orders, but the boss was right. Mail was getting out of control and perhaps the Keehl boy would be good leverage. In any case, he couldn't defy the boss.
So, draping the cloth gently across Mail's face, he clamped his hand down as the boy's eyes opened wide. Within a few seconds, the boy was out again.
Deon held perfectly still, watching the blonde figure. After a few bated breaths, Deon gathered everything that belonged to the redhead into the duffle bag. Binding Mail's hands behind his back and planting the fake note, he hauled Mail over his shoulder and slunk from the manor, disappearing into the night.
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Mello woke slowly. He opened clear blue eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of Axe and cigarettes that was distinctly Matt permeating the air in his room. But when he turned, Matt wasn't there.
Mello sat up abruptly, ignoring the dizziness and shot off the bed, searching for Matt. His belongings weren't there, Mello managed to register before falling hard. He landed on his side with a sharp cry of pain.
L and B burst into the room after hearing the fall and the cry afterwards. L knelt beside Mello and helped him into a sitting position before looking around.
"Where is Matt?" L asked.
"I don't know. I woke up and he wasn't there," Mello said in a slightly panicky tone.
"'I got a call from my dad and had to go. Sorry about leaving so suddenly but I'll see you at school. Signed, Mail'," B read from the bed. He had Matt's note clutched in his hand and he looked skeptical.
"No!" Mello screamed. "He doesn't go by Mail; he never will. Someone took him."
"Mello there is no proof!" L cut in smoothly.
"And of course, until there's proof that something's up, we can't do anything," Mello said bitterly while L nodded.
"I don't trust his father," Mello said bitterly.
"Nor do I, Mello. Nor do I," L said in a low voice.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
When Matt awoke, he felt leather pressed against the side of his face. His head hurt and he could feel metal cutting into his wrists. There was a cloth over his mouth in a pathetic gag, and he was lying on his side.
When Matt tried to sit up he found that his ankles were bound as well. He opened his eyes and looked around, trying to get his bearings. A chuckle rang out in front of him and his head snapped up. He met cold brown eyes in the mirror.
"You're awake huh? That's good; I musta used more chloroform than I thought. It's near seven now," the man said.
'Deon. Shit, my dad found me. But I was at Mello's house…' Matt's eyes widened. They had found him at Mello's!
"Don't you worry about your little blonde toy. I'm under strict orders not to touch him." Matt growled deep in his chest. "Well, daddy said to bring you in once you woke up, so here we go." Deon got out of the car and opened the back door. A crony on the other side opened the door and placed the cold muzzle of a gun against Matt's cheek.
"Don't fight ginger," the man commanded, laughing when Matt snarled.
Deon cut the cords around Matt's ankles and he was dragged out of the car by his hair. He looked around the moment he had his footing and noticed that he was in an underground parking garage. He was probably at his father's hideout. 'Funny how most kids like visiting their dads at work,' Matt thought distantly as he was poked and prodded to a flight of stairs.
Once at the top, Deon banged on a metal door with the butt of his gun. The lock clicked several seconds later and was opened by a huge guy. Matt wondered briefly if the man took anabolic steroids. He was dragged unceremoniously through the room that was littered with leather couches and sleaze bags with whores attached to their laps.
Matt was thrown to the ground at his father's feet. He glared up at the man spitefully as the girls flanking him were shoved aside. Thomas reached forward and yanked the gag off of Matt, who proceeded to spit on him.
The barrel of a pistol connected with his cheek and he fell to the floor, groaning. He pushed himself back up and glared as blood ran down his cheek. Thomas arched a brow.
"That kid you were hanging out with seemed to make you pretty damn bold. I don't like it, boy."
"Fuck you," Matt retorted, groaning again as a foot connected with his stomach.
"Maybe me trying to teach you don't work. Boys," he called. Several of the dirty looking sleaze bags stood at the call. "Take him."
Matt's blood ran cold but his face remained calm. He was hauled to his feet and dragged into another room. When the cuffs came off and he looked around, he knew fighting was no use. One against four, even with his skills, didn't have good odds. And so when his pants were yanked off, he allowed his body to go limp.
As much as it disgusted him, he obeyed and allowed everything that happened to him. He now understood the implications that Deon had suggested. They had left Mello unharmed as a source of leverage against him. If Matt misbehaved, Mello would pay. That couldn't happen.
And so he took the taunts and the sneers, the words he usually would have killed over. He let himself be jerked and yanked around, raped and beaten, without any complaint.
He still cried out when they thrust into him roughly, he still allowed tears to stream down his face. But he wouldn't allow himself to beg. He wouldn't plead for mercy again.
His torment only lasted for about 45 minutes, though it felt like eternity. His father came in and ordered the men back to their jobs, dragging Matt off the floor.
"So how about it, Mail? You going to be a bit more cooperative?" Thomas asked.
Matt lifted his head and once dull green eyes met Thomas's. Thomas stared. Mail's eyes were never alive, especially not after that kind of treatment.
"My name is Matt," the boy replied steadily. Thomas sneered and dropped the redhead.
"Seems I'm going to have to use the little blonde." Matt tensed. "Heh, that struck a nerve huh? Well, Mail, if you don't get your fucking act in line, maybe I'll bring in the blonde boy. He looks like he's never taken it up the ass, and I am letting you get used a lot…" The sentence hung dangerously in the air and Matt gave a choked sob.
"Not him… Anything but him…" Matt pleaded.
"That's more like it. Now get dressed."
Matt stood on shaky legs and managed to pull his clothes back on. He ignored the blood that seeped from the cuts and bite marks and shook his head, allowed his hair to fall in front of his eyes. He took a few tentative steps and found that the torment wasn't bad enough to restrict him from walking.
He followed his father and willed his face to stay pale when the men sneered and called out to him.
"Yo boss, can we play with him again?"
"He was so pretty!"
"Them screams were so delicious!"
Matt ignored it all.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Mello was pacing. Something was wrong, something was horribly wrong. Mello knew that Matt was in trouble, he just knew it!
"Mello, pacing will do nothing. I understand your concerns but winding yourself up will do nothing!" L yelled. He was losing his cool. L understood that Mello knew; L knew as well. L was just as nervous and Mello's constant pacing was doing nothing.
Mello stopped and met L's eyes. L didn't yell. Mello's warning flags were going off. L knew something was going on and he felt as useless as Mello did. Mello went limp and sank down on the couch next to the raven haired man.
"So we're all in consensus that Matt is in trouble?" B asked from the chair he was perched on.
"Yes. But there is no proof, and Matt will give up nothing. There is nothing we can do," L sighed as he dropped his head.
The insomniacs were already considering Matt family.
"Why are you two as worried as me?" Mello asked suddenly.
L and B looked at Mello, and then at one another. "Matt has struck something in you, Mello," B said.
"Yes, Matt has easily unlocked an inner child in you." Mello glared at L, but the raven kept going. "Matt brings out a more joyous side of you that isn't laden with angst and pain. He makes you happier."
Mello was stunned that the twins had paid so much attention. They were right of course, but that they'd noticed was impressive.
"When you're with Matt you don't throw yourself around or degrade yourself like you used to." B made a noise of agreement at this statement.
"When Matt came along your interest was captured. You have paid attention to him longer than any of your other partners or potential partners. And it's dreadfully obvious that you want him as a partner, and this level of interest suggests that you want a relationship. Matt means something to you and so he means something to us." The red eyed man stated it with such finality and confidence. L nodded in agreement.
"Well put brother. Matt matters to you and so he matters to us. Now, what I'm concerned with is Matt's last name. Jeevas."
Mello's eyes widened. He should have seen this coming.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Matt had to resist the urge to feel pity.
When he walked into the cell with the trembling lump of man, he felt sick. Well, sicker. The man looked up at Thomas with a pleading look in his eyes. When those sunken in eyes shifted to Matt, he looked confused.
Thomas turned and pulled out a gun. "You're going to be my heir should something happen to me. You're pretty smart and you know what's going on, I'm sure?" Matt nodded. "But you ain't got what it takes. You still got a conscious in there son, and I'm going to change that."
The gun was pressed into Matt's palm. Thomas knew that Matt knew how to use a gun. Matt looked up and dull eyes met Thomas's.
"Shoot him." Thomas gestured to the quivering mass on the floor, who was begging incoherently for mercy.
"Why am I shooting him?" Matt's voice didn't sound like his. Even when he put on the mask and became monotonous, there was always a mischievous or sarcastic undertone. Now there was nothing.
Thomas smirked.
"Why doesn't matter son." Matt flinched at the use of the word 'son'. "Why is never going to matter. Do it." The statement was final.
Matt looked at the gun in his hand and wondered vaguely if he could do it. Could he shoot a man he didn't know, all in cold blood? He didn't even know what this man had done, but apparently why didn't matter. After meeting Mello, after suddenly feeling again, could he kill someone?
'If it's for Mello's safety,´ a fleeting voice whispered in his head.
His once shaking hands grew steady and he gripped the gun. For Mello, he could do anything.
Looking up and meeting eyes with the man he was about to kill, he wrapped his finger around the trigger. He didn't register the fear or desperation in the man's eyes, and he didn't care. He just pulled the trigger.
The clock read 8:54 am, Sunday. Three, two, one...