A/N: Alright, everyone pout for the Sithy. I broke a couple toes today falling on the ice and now I'm walking like a penguin all over the place. However, this did give me time to sit at the computer and hammer out this chapter. Hope you enjoy! - Love, Sithy

Julie opened her eyes slowly, tasting blood in her mouth. She licked at the corner of her lips and looked around. The room wasn't very big, taken up mostly by a big table, piled high with plastic-wrapped white blocks duct-taped closed. The place was filthy; the floors covered in muddy tracks with glass and plastic debris all over. To her surprise, she recognized a couple broken syringes in the corner. Trying to stand from the chair she was in, she realized that she her hands were fastened behind the chair. She leaned back, trying to look over her shoulder as she felt around at what was holding her down. It wasn't rope or handcuffs, she could tell that. Her fingernails snagged on a few grooves and she knew exactly what it was. They had zip-stripped her to the chair.

The door opened before she had a chance to investigate further. Glancing up, Julie saw the face of the boy who had grabbed her off the street. He gave her a surprisingly concerned look before shutting the door again. Julie felt around the plastic strip a little more until she found the end where it connected. If she had to be tied down against her will, she was grateful that it was with a zip-strip. Her father had tied her down once or twice with them before she had been taken in by the brothers. Julie had had the chance to figure out how to take them off. She started feeling around again when the door opened a second time.

This time, when she looked up, she could see Peter making his way in. Julie felt sick to her stomach seeing the bruises and welts on his face, but she still wasn't sure if it was because she had done it to him, or because she hadn't finished the job. He stalked over to her, unsteady on his feet, letting her know he was tipsy if not completely drunk. There was a cruel smirk on his face as he looked down at her.

"Julie," he slurred and the stench of whiskey was enough to make her cringe as she looked down at the floor. "Ye fucked me face up pretty good las' night, woman."

She didn't respond, just kept looking at the floor, avoiding eye-contact. Suddenly, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back to look up at him. Julie gritted her teeth to hold back her pained gasp.

"Was talkin' ta ye, bitch," he chuckled darkly. "Ain't polite ta ignore yer host."

"Fich dich," she grumbled, glaring up at him.

He looked confused for a moment, then smiled. "German? Really?"

Julie grunted when he slapped her hard across her face. The taste of blood filled her mouth again, and she held it there as she clenched her teeth. Peter crouched down in front of her so that their heads were level with each other. She kept her face turned down defensively, but turned her eyes up to look at him.

"Y'know, I'm goin' ta make ye pay fer what ye did to me face," he snickered. "I'll have ye screamin' fer help before ye know it."

With a great amount of willpower, Julie kept her eyes from going wide when he pulled out a pocket knife and opened the blade. He waved it in front of her face with a smirk.

"See this beauty 'ere," he asked, sounding very smug with himself. "Me Da gave it ta me before he died. Normally use it ta check the merchandise, but I cleaned it up special fer ye."

She tried not to flinch when he brought the blade close to her leg, then with a quick jab, he tore through her jeans and into her skin. Julie held back a strangled scream, of pain, muffled by her closed mouth. Peter pulled the blade away, seeming to admire his work for a second and giving Julie a chance to breathe. Then, he pressed the blade back in and twisted a little. Her eyes clenched shut as she tried to keep her cool. Peter twisted the blade harder, bearing down further into her flesh. Unable to bare the pain any longer, she reared back and spat the blood that had been pooling in her mouth at his face. It hit its mark, right in the eye. Peter yelped and fell backwards, and Julie thanked God that Murphy and Connor had taught her better accuracy over the summer.

"Ye fuckin' bitch," he growled, slapping at her again.

She glared up at him, still keeping her face low. "That's what they tell me."

"Just fer that," he snickered again. "When I've finished with ye, I'm goin' ta the hospital an' finishin' what I started with the other lass."

Julie turned her face up to him, almost snarling. "If you ever touch any of my friends again, I'll make you wish I had killed you last night."

She was pleased to see him look frightened, even if it was for only a split-second. Then his drunken smirk rolled back across his face. He took the blade of the knife and used his shirt to wipe it clean of her blood. Stepping over to the table, he stuck the blade in and pulled it out covered in the white, powdery substance. He snorted it quickly, eyes rolling back in his head for a second. Licking the knife clean, he closed it and put it back in his pocket.

"I'll finish with ye later, Julie," he smiled darkly, walking for the door. "I have a few things ta take care a right now. But I'll be back."

Peter left then, closing the door behind him. Julie sat silently a moment, watching the door cautiously and trying to hear the movement beyond. After a few tense moments, she stood. Peter and his men had failed to fasten her feet to the bottom of the chair. Stupid move, but Julie wasn't going to complain about it at the moment. Limping slightly, she took a few steps forward, grabbing the spindles of the chair and tilting it forward. Julie slid the back of the chair with her hands attached underneath her and slid her legs the rest of the way, successfully bringing the chair and her hands in front of her.

Once she had gotten to her feet again, Julie started working on the zip-strip. She found the catch piece that kept the strip tight and held it down, letting it slide loose. With her hands free, she pulled off her jacket and ripped out a strip of the lining, tying it around the knife wound. She flinched at the pain, wanting to cry, when she heard the door open again. Surprised, she looked up and saw the boy from the car again. Their eyes were locked for a few moments as she put pressure on her leg. She stood, expecting him to raise the alarm.

"O'Shea," she heard Peter call from the other room. "If ye want 'er, take 'er, but don't stand there with the door open like an idiot."

"I don't fuckin' want 'er O'Bannock," O'Shea called over his shoulder before glancing back at her. "She's tied up fer Christ-fuckin'-sake…"

O'Shea gave her one last glance before shutting the door again. Julie gave a silent sigh of relief, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. She tightened the binding on her leg and ripped another piece out of her jacket to wipe the blood off her face. Looking around the room, she tried to find something to defend herself with. Aside from the broken syringes on the ground and the cocaine on the table, there wasn't much. Walking around the table, she could see a drawer under it. Pulling it out, she found a burnt spoon and a good-sized mirror. Pulling out the mirror, she took it to the far corner of the room and wrapped her jacket around it. Watching the door cautiously, she put pressure on the bundle until she heard a muffled crack.

Unwrapping her jacket, she found several large shards of the mirror, edges glinting sharp. Julie ripped even more lining out of her coat, praying that Bel wouldn't kill her over it, and wrapped the end of a particularly long shard as a grip guard. Still not sure she was ready to take on Peter and all of his men, she pressed her back to the wall near the door and waited, hoping like a little girl that Connor would come to her rescue before she had to use the make-shift weapon in her hand.

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Fich dich - Fuck you