I am going to place a graphic warning on this chapter. Oliver will be in a very dark place by the end of the chapter. Read at your own risk. You have been warned.
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Jeff placed his tan stetson on his head, and said in a hard voice "Mr. Queen," as he turned the flashlight toward his eyes, trying to blinded him, but Oliver was wiser than that. He turned his head and narrowed his eyes, and found himself hoping they weren't going to jail. If they tried to put in him a cage, he didn't know if he could handle it. His emotions were too raw lately, too close to the surface. He might not be able to stop himself from fighting them. And heaven help him, he didn't want to fight the cops, didn't want to hurt someone.
Charm, Oliver, he thought, if there was ever a time you needed charm, it was right now. So he said, "No, Mr. Queen that was my father. And I'm thinking that is a little too formal for this situation. Please call me, Oliver."
Felicity laughed under his coat and he almost laughed himself.
"Do you think this is funny?" His voice was a solid cop's voice, hard and impersonal. Quentin Lance would have been proud, when Jeff's flashlight beam shined on Felicity's clothes on the ground, making a point.
Yes, they were so busted. His lip twitched and he wanted to smile.
Felicity's head popped out from under his coat and she said, "Well, of course, it's funny. We're grown adults, and we're acting like teenagers, and we got busted, so busted. Not, just a little busted, but, the check mate of busted, past even that. Not a story we want to tell our children about, ever." And she laughed, a bubbly nervous laugh, that he found to be infectious and made him smile against his will, especially when she continued by saying, "Whoa, not that we have ever discussed children. Yet. Or that I'm pregnant. I'm on the depo. So, not having a baby right now. Forget I ever said that. Please just tell me you aren't going to take us to jail? I have never even gotten a speeding ticket and stop smiling like you are proud of yourself, Oliver, for this is so your fault. Can I just cover my head back up, now?"
"Felicity, you are probably not helping." But when he looked at Jeff, he saw the slight smile that she had just put on Jeff's face, and he knew that she did that to people. Felicity made people smile, especially him.
The man just shook his head, and then he said, "Is she like this all the time?"
"Yes, especially when she's nervous. I find it amusing, however."
"I bet you do. My wife amuses me too. Probably one of the reasons I married her, well that and others." And he cleared his throat.
"Stop talking about me like I am not in the room, even though this is hardly a room. Maybe, Oliver, you should have gotten a room. Never mind that came out wrong. And if you hadn't given me an engagement ring tonight, we would be home in our bed, where we belong. Oh, my brain thinks of the worst way to say things some times. But surely you aren't going to arrest us? That would be a terrible ending to one of the best days of my life. I mean, I got my first engagement ring, well my second, but I like this one way better, and I had my first motorcycle ride. I mean this is the first day I rode a motorcycle. Oh, I am so just going to be quiet right now."
Jeff couldn't stop his smile this time, and Oliver let out a breath of true relief, when he said, "No, Ma'am, I am not going to arrest you. Congratulations on your engagement. No, I think I will just get back in my car, before this becomes more uncomfortable that it already has. And Oliver, the kids call this the spot, the make out spot. I run them out of here all the time, so I would find a place a little more private, well, for next time."
"There's not going to be a next time," Felicity said.
He opened his car door and then looked at him hard in the eye, before he said, "And, I would think this would make us even for that night in the ER."
"More than even. I owe you one, Jeff. Thank you."
Jeff grinned as he tipped his hat to them and then said, "And it's good to see you are feeling better, Ms. Felicity. I know it was touch and go for a while for you. Good evening, to both of you and congratulations again."
And then Felicity laughed and so did he, as Jeff drove away.
"You are so bad," she said, her cheeks pink, as she climbed off of him, and he instantly missed her warmth. "And, I don't think I have ever been so embarrassed in my entire life."
"I'm just thankful you can babble, for I have a feeling that's the only reason we aren't sitting in a the back of a squad car right now, headed to jail. He was as amused by you as I am."
She handed him his jacket back, and he laid it across the gas tank, as he tried to get himself back together, as he watched her step back into her clothes. She was so sexy standing in the moonlight pulling her pants on, and he truly just wanted to take them off her again.
"Let's go home, Felicity," he said, with a light heart.
She looked at him with a slight smile and oh, how his heart sped up.
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Sex had been past awesome, as later they lay in the bed together, intertwined. How he loved his skin touching hers. How did touching and having her get so much better and better?
"Hold me," she said, "I'm really tired."
He kissed her forehead and then pulled her close. She sighed, and before he knew it he had slipped away into sleep.
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Someone pulled the bag off his head, and the light, from the bare bulb, blinded him. Instantly awake now, he realized he was chained. He tested the shackles that held him. Carefully, he wrapped his hands around the cold solid metal that hung him suspended him from the ceiling, and he pulled, but there was no give. Nothing, no escape. He tried his legs, but they were shackled, too.
Head pounding, his arms almost numb, he knew he must have had been suspended for quite some time, and he had no idea where he was. It looked like an interior room of a warehouse.
But, how had he gotten here? The last clear thing he remembered he had left Tatsu and boarded a ship headed away from China. They had been out to sea a couple weeks, but now the room was too still, too motionless for him to still be on the ocean. No, he could still smell the ocean, but he was on land.
And he wasn't alone.
"I hear you. What do you want? I have nothing left to take."
"Strip his shirt. I want to see his chest." From behind, his shirt was ripped from his back, baring him.
"Answer me." They were behind him. A least three maybe more. He could hear them breathing, talking in low tones.
"Shut up. No one told you to talk."
"Release me." He fought the chains, and someone hit him with a volt of electricity, strong enough to stop him, strong enough to make him scream, as his body jumped of it's own accord. Suddenly, he had no control, which caused him to drop hard against the shackles. Free falling, he was momentary helpless against the electrical volts, against the pain that surged through his every nerve ending, against the pain that suddenly seemed never ending.
"He's strong from the looks of him. Only scarred up a little bit, though he has a really wicked scar on his abs. That was what made me think of you. He's been stabbed repeatedly, and I know your boss has certain, let's call it, tastes. I'm sure he would love him."
"Yes, that one. I see it. Yea, he'd like that. Broad chest too. He'll make that one into a work of art, for sure."
"And the scars prove he is a survivor, which means he should last a while both in and out of the ring. Captain said he was a real fighter, a cold one. But he's going to be expensive."
"Well he won't like the tattoo on the left shoulder. He prefers the left side, so I want a discount for that."
"But the right side is still clear."
Silence then the man said, "I guess he can work with it. Okay, how much?"
"Since he is so young and can hold his own. Hmm?"
He couldn't react, his body was still trying to recover from the electrical shock, but he recognized the ship's first mate's voice.
"How much? I'm in a hurry."
No, this couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare. Wake up, Oliver. Wake up. Heaven help him, they were discussing him like a side of beef. He was smart enough to realize he was being sold, that the captain of the ship had somehow drugged him and was now selling him because he could fight.
Would his life ever be free of someone wanting him to fight for them?
He found his voice and said sharply,"No, wait. You can't do this to me. If it's money you want, my family has money. They would give you three times the price, no four times the price, for me. Call my mother. Just call my mother. She'll pay ransom for me, pay deary for me."
"I told you to shut up." And someone hit him again with the electricity making him scream and scream until the darkness came.
He woke up still in chains, with two of them dragging him down a hall, out into the blinding sunlight before they tossed him in a trunk of a car and locked him in the darkness.
The ride was cold, bumpy, and long and the chains were too strong to overcome. He tried repeatedly to nap, as the hours pasted, trying to conserve his energy, and he snapped awake when the sunlight blinded him again, yet again, when the trunk finally opened. A large gray bearded man with a wide scar on his check held up a long stick and pressed a button.
Blue flame jumped and the sound hissed in the air. He said conversationally, "I'll give you a choice. Easy or hard?"
He let the silence go on before he said, "Easy." He knew he couldn't fight the electricity, and he could do recon only if his eyes were open. He might not escape today, but he needed to know where he was. How many guards? How tall the walls were? Treat this like a mission. Get in the game, Oliver. Pay attention, it might save your life later.
"If you try something, I'll make it really hard. I'll hurt you. And I know you're thinking about escaping. Who can blame you? I've been there but trust me, you'll regret playing me. And you need to understand that there is no escape from this place. Believe me I've tried."
"I understand I'm in chains. I won't fight you."
He was too chained to walk, so they dragged him again, across the dirt and into a stone building.
It was a fortress of some type. Tall walls, guards on the walls with automatic weapons. He counted six men in a matter of seconds. The house was big to his left. There was a training compound. Jeeps and SUV's. A man walking a large dog. A huge stone building.
They dragged him down into the stone building and entered a door, and they dragged him down, underground. The air was damp now, the lighting low, and there was mold on the walls. With no way to stop them, he could do nothing to defend himself, as they hung his arm shackles to a hook from the ceiling and hooked his leg shackles to a ring on the floor, and then left him to wait, helpless, and bitterly angry at the world. The only thing he had to be thankful for was that his feet could touch the ground.
He didn't have to wait for long.
"Your name?" A man's voice came out of the shadows and it was deceivingly pleasant.
And the tone made his skin crawl.
Oliver, sighed deeply and said, "Does it matter, anymore?"
"No, probably not. Smart aren't you?"
"Not so much today, since I'm the one in the chains."
"Hmm, but you seem smarter than most of them. Well, so give me your name anyway. I paid for it." The voice held an foreign accent, that wasn't Chinese, but something else.
His hate was drowning him, as he said, "Oliver Queen. I also don't suppose that is matters that my family is wealthy, that they would pay for my safe return."
"No, you're right it doesn't matter, I'm not calling them. I like what I see."
The man was putting his hands on his back, touching his tattoo, the scar on his shoulder, and his heart was beating hard enough to explode in his chest. He tried to push the fear down but it was almost impossible.
"Oliver, my name is Hedeon. It is a strong name that means destroyer in Russian. And you're right your name doesn't matter anymore for now you belong to me."
"I belong to myself. Ransom me. If you will just call my mother, she will pay dearly for me. My mother is rich."
Hedeon, stepped into his view. He was a small balding man, who had a belly, a baby face, and was fingering the tip of a very wicked looking knife. Oliver grimaced when the man said, "I don't need money. I have other needs though, and you will do nicely for them. Such a nice chest, broad back, yes, you're indeed a work of art."
Using his blade to drag across Oliver's skin, Hedeon smiled, and he couldn't suppress the shudder, as the fear raged through him. He had been here before, helpless, restrained, waiting for a crazy man with a knife to decide what to do to him. He tried to steel himself, to find a place in his mind to go when the pain came.
"I hear you fight well. So, now you will fight for me and then maybe later, if you're lucky, I will sell you back to your mother. But for right now, you belong to me."
He couldn't stop himself, though why he would cross a crazy man with a knife was beyond him. But he had to say it.
"I BELONG TO MYSELF."
"Such defiance, we'll have to work on that. I will cut that right out of you." Again he drug his blade across Oliver's skin. "I gave a lot of money for you, so you are, shall I say, indentured to me. I own you."
The man walked behind him, and, with no warning, he sliced his skin. Savagely, he cut his back, starting near his right shoulder and slicing down his back, making him cry out. The next mark came swiftly, again near his shoulder and down his back.
The pain was like a living thing, snapping at his senses and it possessed sharp claws, forcing him to cry out, forcing his chest to heave, forcing him to fight the chains, as the pain reigned supreme. And the metallic smell of his blood filled the air.
Hedeon took his time with the next cut. It was slow and controlled as it crossed both of the other cuts, and yes, it was meant to be painful. And yes, he screamed, cursed the man as he fought the chains.
"You're my property and now you wear my mark. I mark all my property with an H," he said smugly. "Everyone for miles knows my mark. And no one in their right mind will help you escape. And, oh, yes, you will fight for me. You will win for me or you will be very, very sorry."
"You can't make me fight, and I am going to KILL you." He was so angry, and the hate was so strong in him. He reached for the darkness inside him.
"Oh, I'd like to see that, and, I will make you do anything I want you to do. You'd be surprised what you will do to avoid my blade, my punishments. A few days together, and you'll do whatever I tell you to do. You'll even ask me to cut you, will beg me to cut you. You'll see."
"I won't ever ask you to cut me." The rage in him was so intense, that it was a living breathing thing. He could snap this man's neck like a twig, if he could just get his bare hands on him. He tested the chains again.
"You say that now but understand, I like the blade. I like scars." He slowly ran his knife across the old scar on his abs again. "I would say this one nearly killed you." Slow and carefully, he touched the old scar with the blade, then ran his fingers over it, almost lovingly.
Oliver held his breath, waiting for the blade to plunge into him, wishing for the man to just get it over with, just end this.
"But I like to think of your chest as a blank canvas, rather like a picture I am painting." Then in a swift move, he slowly opened his skin on his left side beneath his chest and moved the blade downward into his abdomen, slicing him open, skimming his rip cage. A gaping wound appeared in the middle of the cut, and he made the pain last, made him scream in agony, made the blood run freely down his chest, his side. The iron smell of his blood filled the room.
Oliver was in misery, and he could see the man was enjoying what he was doing to him, getting off on his pain.
"Stab the blade in my heart," he demanded. "Finish me."
"Now what fun would that be? We're just getting acquainted. And you bleed very nicely." Again he cut him in the same place on his chest, just a little deeper on the edges this time, making him scream. He was going to pass out from the pain.
"No, you don't. Stay with me. You don't get to black out." Hedeon picked his head up by his hair and said, "Pay attention. This how it works. I will cut you badly every time you lose a fight and cost me money. I will cut you when you displease me. Try to escape, and I will cut you so badly you might just die, but no, you won't die, I'll make you linger." He ran the blade carefully across his chest, not cutting but implying that he could, as he said, "I can skin you if I want. No one will stop me. You belong to me. No one will help you here. No one will save you, here. Get used to the idea. I'll do what I want with you."
And then the man didn't just cut, he stabbed his chest in the gaping hole, going deep enough just to inflect pain and not puncture his lung. And he twisted the blade, savagely.
It was unexpected and it hurt beyond painful, ripping through his already damaged flesh, the knife disrupting all the nerves ending, as the man stabbed him in the same spot again. Then he pulled the knife out slowing and cut him again, laying the flesh open.
He was gasping as he said, "If you break my ribs I won't be able to fight."
"It's not time for you to fight, yet. Don't worry you won't die from this. I know exactly what I'm doing here. Ask me to cut you. I want you to ask me for the pain."
"NO!" But he couldn't stop the scream that erupted from him. He couldn't control the intense pain that engulfed him, the clawing pain that lashed him. And then he cut him again, and again and made him scream, made him beg him to stop, made him scream until he couldn't scream any more but he refused to ask for the blade.
Then he left him to hang, bleeding, with the words, "You're mine now. I'll do with you what I want. And, Oliver, before it is over, believe me you will ask for the pain."
The cage he woke up in was too small, too small for his large frame. He couldn't even sit up, couldn't hardly move, and he had to lay on his side, and he smelled like blood. Someone had bandaged the wounds on his chest and back and the wounds were now a bitter ache, the pain constant and pounding with every beat of his heart. When he looked at the wound on his chest, he could see someone had stitched it with ragged stitches, but it was still gaping and bleeding.
But as time pasted the cage became worse than the pain in his chest, for he couldn't stretch out. He couldn't sit up. He couldn't lay down, not even with his knees bent. His body was cramping from the small space, the almost same position, he was forced to lay in. The wire of the cage hurt the marks on his back and amplified the pain in his chest. There was no food, no water and all he had was his own dark misery and his hate and the never ending pain.
Finally the door opened, and a stone faced man walked in and said softly,"Welcome to hell. You need to just do what he wants. He's going to win, anyway. And he will wait you out. You're just making your suffering last longer until you do what he wants."
"Please, help me."
The man shook his head, his expression sad. "I can't. I shouldn't even be here. If I get caught it would be me back in that cage and there are worse things he can do to a man. I would know. I just wanted to warn you."
The man stood and lifted his shirt baring his back to show a huge thick H scar across his left shoulder. His back a road map of scars, knife wounds, as he turned and showed his chest that was scarred repeatedly, before he said, "I wasn't a good fighter. I hope for your sake you are. But don't fight him or he will do this to you."
Then he left him alone.
The hours passed, night turned to day and back to night. And the longer he stayed in the small cage the more it was torturous to his body because he couldn't unfold his large frame. As time pasted, for him to stay in the cage became agony. More time passed and he finally swallowed his pride and cried out, calling for a guard, begged him to call Hedeon to let him out.
Finally the guard came. "Please," he begged. "Tell him, I will do what he wants. No more, don't do this to me anymore. If he wants me to fight, I will, just let me out of this cage. PLEASE, tell him to let me out. I need out!"
"You know what he wants, are you ready for that?" asked the guard in a dark voice.
"No, but yes."
And he left the room.
More hours passed, the small cage was really killing him, had broken him. Finally, Hedeon returned, and he had brought his knife and four men with long stick tasers. He knew he would lose if he fought. There would be no escaping this.
Hedeon gave his a sly smile before he said, "You know what it takes to get out. You'll ask me to cut you. You'll take the blade without restrains. If you resist, they will put you down and you'll go back in the cage for at least two days before I'll even think about letting you back out. So, on your knees and ask me to cut you."
He had to. He swallowed hard.
He didn't want to, but he would trade one pain for another to escape the small cage.
Screaming, siting straight up, he came out of the dream desperate, hyperventilating, the pain from the knife's blade still tormenting him, his legs cramping, his very body cramping from the small space. He hurt everywhere, and the pain was still very real at this moment, still overpowering his senses.
"Oliver, Oliver. Wake up. Come back to me. I am right here. Can I touch you?"
"No," hissed, "No, DON'T. No, NO. Not, yet! Don't touch me!" Hedeon's blade was cutting him, the tiny cage was cramping him, and the smell of his own blood filled the air. He was panicked.
"Shh, okay, it's okay. It was a dream. A nightmare. Wake up, Oliver. It's okay."
But it wasn't.
No, in his mind, he was still in Hedeon's dungeon, back in the cage. Hedeon opened the door. He forced himself to crawl out. He was weak, but he could do this. Carefully, he went to his knees. He had no choice, even with the anger burning him. The small cage was worse than the blade. He would go insane if he stayed in the small cage.
"Ask for it," Hedeon said smugly, ripping his bandage off his back.
His words were bitter as he said, "Cut me. Just cut me."
He fisted his hands and braced himself, as first the man drug his blade across the H lines, not cutting just touching, which was painful enough, his skin making it worse by flinching, but that was nothing compared to the liquid pain of a sharp knife slicing across his back, nothing as bad as the re-cutting of the same lines across his right shoulder and down his back. But, this time he barely screamed.
He understood that Hedeon wanted him to scream, so he defied him. It was something he could control. And he needed to control something right now. It was hard but he would not scream for him. He would cheat him of the privilege of hearing him scream.
Another, yet, another cut of pure, slow liquid pain and one more that crossed both marks, re-cutting the barely healing H on his shoulder that ran long down his back. He screamed on the final cut, but he bit it off, sharply.
Then, Hedeon ripped the bandage away from his chest and he knew, heaven help him, he knew.
"Ask again. Ask me to take those stitches out."
His breath was coming in hard gasps. He was still trapped in the past. His hand went to the scar on his chest, and he expected to feel blood, for even now the hot, aching pain was still there. And the H scar on his back was throbbing, aching from Hedeon's knife, long healed but throbbing with his every heart beat.
And, he knew Hedeon was going to cut him again, widen the scar on his chest.
She was trying to bring him back, talking to him. But, he couldn't seem to find his way back to her, to find a way back from the terror, the pain, and back from Hedeon's sharp blade. He could see the blade removing the first stitch and he whimpered.
"Oliver, shh. Listen to me. You're not there. NOT THERE! I don't know where you are but you're not there now. You're here with me. Breathe, Oliver. Use your good memory. Remember the sunset, me, my scent. Smell me, Oliver. Step away from that memory."
She still wasn't touching him, was probably afraid to touch him.
He'd be afraid to touch him.
But, yes, he could smell her, not his blood, but her, as he scrubbed his face with his hands and his brain engaged.
He realized Felicity was talking to him, that he wasn't there anymore, that he had escaped the blade, that no one could hurt him like that now. But still his heart was hammering, his breath was coming in short gasps. And he made himself reach out for her, reach for her touch, her scent to ground him. He reached for solid prove that he wasn't there anymore. And he let her pull him into her embrace and put his head on her chest and listened to her heart beat.
She grounded him, returned him to now as she soothed him with her hands.
"Where were you?" She asked in a small voice.
He hesitated then told the truth, as he said, "In hell, Felicity. I was trapped in hell in a small cage."
She reached to rub his back and touched his H scar, and he came straight up out of her arms.
"Don't touch it right now. I can't stand it. It's throbbing."
"What?"
"The scar on my back. The H. I'm sorry, but don't touch it right now. It will calm down soon. I've had this dream before. And don't touch my chest either. It aches."
"Where can I touch you?"
"No where, I just can't handle it right now. Just let me hold you loosely, but don't touch my chest or my back. I'm sorry but I can't take it right now."
"No, it's okay. We'll work it out."
And he held her until she finally fell back to sleep in his arms, not quite touching him, but for him, sleep was done for the night. No, he didn't dare sleep again and invite that sadist, butcher, named Hedeon back into his dreams.
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Thanks for the read. Love to hear your reviews.
