Author's note: Thank you so much for reading. I know the last chapter was rough, but I have a direction I want to take this story. I believe firmly in natural consequences, and I feel like I've followed that throughout this story. Noah and Chase would've retaliated after the verdict was read. Elena's been caught up in her parent's relationship with the mob, something she can't help but is involved in by consequence. I'm not putting Elena through a lot to be a sadistic bitch, I'm writing based off personal experience and I'm adding fictional elements to it. Life isn't perfect. This was never advertised as being a fluffy delena fic. It's a dark romance, but I promise, there will be a payoff. Hopefully, you're getting pieces of a payoff along the way, but I have a clear direction I want this story to go, and let me tell you, it's full of angst and pain, but I think you'll really like it. Again, thank you!

Chapter 17

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart is hammering so loudly it startles me awake. I'm blisteringly hot and throw the blanket that's covering me off- then a cold chill settles over me and I reach for the blanket. My heart rate pulses so rapidly that it resounds in my skull, giving me a headache so painful a high pitched ringing sings in my ears— like when you turn the dial of a car radio. I whimper and press my hand to my forehead, afraid to fully open my eyes fearing any light will make the headache worse. "Elena?"

That's it. That panicked voice is enough to make whatever is swirling in my stomach to come up. I squint, flip the covers back off of my body, and fly to a door I'm hoping leads to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before acidic liquid erupts from my stomach. It's painful to retch, so I cry like I did when I was six and home with the flu. Cool hands sweep my hair out of my face and rub my back. When I think I've expelled everything, I sit back and land into a firm and solid chest.

One of his hands strokes my hair and the other holds me around the waist. I sigh into his chest as the pain in my head starts to wane. "I need to get you back to bed."

"Just one more minute," I sigh, feeling my eyes start to close. Minutes pass. Our breathing matches, in and out as I'm cradled in the arms of someone I know. Someone safe. The strokes of fingers through my hair follow a similar soothing pattern.

I'm about to fall back to sleep when I'm lifted from the floor and carried back to bed.

XXX

A rush of cool air breezes across my face, waking me up. I feel a pinch in my arm and turn to see an IV attached to my wrist with medical tape. A clear tube leads up to a plastic bag filled with yellow liquid hanging on a metal stand. Frantic, I sit up and look around the room. The spot next to me is cool but it looks as though someone was there by the wrinkle of the sheets and the head imprint on the pillow.

The familiar dark mahogany furniture and crisp white sheets tell me that I must be at the Salvatore mansion. I gaze out the open window from the massive bed and recognize the view of the expansive lawn and pool deck. I'm on the second floor of the pool house, which is unlike any other pool house I've seen in movies or magazines because this one is an actual house, with two bedrooms, a living area, entertainment room, a full kitchen, a changing room, and three bathrooms. I've only ever been here once because Damon told me this was where his Dad kept his overnight guests, which didn't make me feel good about my current situation.

I lift my legs over the side of the bed and attempt to stand up while holding onto the metal pole carrying the IV bag. I awkwardly roll the pole to the open bathroom door. My body feels heavy and I immediately regret trying to leave the comfort of a twenty-thousand dollar mattress. I slowly make my way to the bathroom, grateful to have the metal pole as support as I drag it along the floor. When I reach the bathroom, I look in the mirror. Mean purple bruises mar my neck and dot my arms, and on further inspection, my stomach and thighs. Reddish pink marks line my wrists, but worst of all, is the bruise on my cheek, just beneath my right eye. I'm sore down there, and I know somehow even though I can't remember, something happened. I try to talk but my vocal cords are strained and hurt. A painful cough comes out after trying to speak.

I use the bathroom, wash my face, and finding a wrapped toothbrush in the cabinet, probably meant for guests. I brush my teeth repeatedly like I can't get my mouth clean enough. I try to think, searching my mind for a memory of how I got here. Did I sleep with Damon? No, that doesn't seem right. Damon may be a jackass, but I know he'd never take advantage of me. He'd want me to remember sex with him, like the possessive ass he is.

Did I get drunk and sleep with Giuseppe? I am where he used to keep his mistresses. But even drunk, I can't imagine I'd ever willingly sleep with him, the thought has me wanting to expel whatever's left in my system in the toilet. I think back to what I remember last. I was on a bus to find out about my father and I found out…what…I sit on the edge of the cool porcelain white tub wearing a large white shirt and boxer briefs rolled up, and think.

My dad is dead and I went to meet with his lawyer who turned out to work for Dominic Moretti. Dom told me that he'd have a package for me and if I took care of it, he'd give me information on my father, specifically letters my father left me. He also threatened Damon— the boy, he called him. Then I went to my old home and…I close my eyes, picturing my front door.

I was taken.

Dammit.

Grabbing the metal pole, I walk back to the room and search for a clock. I find one on a dresser, flipped over, probably to block light. I turn it right-side up and curse. Based on the date and the time, I've been asleep for three days and I was supposed to pick up the package two days ago. I don't know what Dom must be thinking, worse yet- what he's doing.

I hold the pole with one hand, I search the room for my backpack or phone. When I don't find anything, I tug on the door- locked. I twist the knob in every direction, bang on the door and even though it comes out as a rasp, I try to yell every obscenity I can think of to get someone's attention.

A man with a short, grey beard enters. He has a stethoscope around his neck, so I assume he's a doctor. He's flanked by two large men that look like retired Navy Seals, wearing all black. "You're awake."

I slowly back away. "Who are you?"

"I'm the one that put the IV in your arm, my name is Doctor Klein, I'm Salvatore's personal doctor," he kindly replies. "Could you please have a seat? I need to take your vitals."

My eyes dart behind him, hoping to find an exit or just a path to get out but the Navy Seals block the door, their arms folded. I glare at them. One of the right's lips tilt up slightly, but he remains stoic.

"Where's Damon?" I rasp, refusing to sit down, unfortunately, at that precise moment my knees start to buckle and I falter. One of the Navy Seals swiftly catches me and lifts me while the other says, gruffly. "Mr. Salvatore gave us strict orders to make sure you stay in that bed."

He gently places me on the bed, while the doctor drags the pole back to its original position next to my bed. "I'm fine," I argue, even though I know I am clearly not. The doctor ignores me and does an exam.

After a minute, he gently takes the medical tape off my arm and removes the IV. "Mr. Salvatore called me in the early hours of the morning a couple of days ago," he explains while he works. "You were dehydrated, had chills, nausea, sweats, and high blood pressure. The IV bag was to help with hydration. A toxicology screening found that you had high quantities of MDMA in your system along with Rohypnol, cocaine, and your blood-alcohol level was incredibly high. The combination would've made anyone else go into cardiac arrest. You're very lucky."

I don't know if I'd say I'm lucky. Lucky assumes I'm participating in a game of chance when I feel like someone dropped me in the middle of the wilderness without teaching me how to survive.

He sighs heavily and looks me in the eyes. "Mr. Salvatore suggested I do another exam, but he wanted me to make sure I have your consent before performing the exam."

I swallow and pull the sheets over bare legs. Where's Damon? I gaze around the room, the Navy Seals are back in front of the doorway, looking away from the room. I remember pieces of what happened and my sore and the bruises confirm it, but I never want to go through what I went through at the police station back in August, when all of this started, AGAIN. Doctors are mandated to report and if I get this exam, he'll have to report it. I don't think it's a coincidence that I smell like death, Damon wanted me to make that decision on my own, otherwise, he would've had the doctor do the exam while I was out.

I sit back on the stack of pillows behind me. "STDs?"

Another heavy sigh like he's disappointed. "Came back clean."

Well, that's good.

I don't want to ask for what I need next, but I have a small window of time. "Plan B?"

He reaches into his bag and places a small square pack in my hand. Before letting go, he looks in my eyes. "Elena, I strongly suggest you allow me to examine you further."

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine."

His brown eyes crinkle with worry, but he releases his hand. "You need to be sure you're getting plenty of fluids and rest for the next few days. Your appetite should be back- start slow with dry toast and broth. Your blood sugar is low, which is why you were lightheaded. I wrote you a prescription to help if your headaches persist."

"Thank you, Doctor Klein."

When he leaves the room, the door clicks behind him and I know I'm locked in. The silence that follows is so loud it reverberates throughout my skull. I was supposed to be at the diner for Moretti's package. Is Damon hurt, is that why he's gone? Did Dom go after him like he said he would?

No, somehow that doesn't seem right. Damon placed bodyguards at my door— he's not going to be careless, wherever he is. I laugh to myself. Maybe he's at school. The trial was less than a week ago and yet, school seems like a distant memory. It almost seems foolish to think about attending classes at this point. I can't imagine going back and sharing the hallways with….no.

I slip out of bed and amble to the bathroom to take a shower. I smell so bad I'm surprised the doctor wasn't wearing a face mask. The guest house has a separate modern rainfall shower that falls from the ceiling in two places. I turn on the water and wait for it to heat up before I take off Damon's shirt and boxers and walk-in. I close my eyes and lean my head against the dark stone tile, letting the steaming water soothe my muscles. My muscles ache, especially beneath my abs and upper thighs. I remind myself that the soreness will go away, the bruises will fade, and I will never have to think about the cabin again.

I let the water pound on my back, and steam fill the glass enclosure. The beat of the water falling in a staccato much like if it were raining outside. The patter of rain lulls my mind into that place just before sleep when flashes of men in skull masks and naked bodies dance before me. My eyes flash open and I have to lean against the wall for support. I can't think about it. I don't ever want to think about it but it's there, somewhere in my memory threatening to come out.

Where's Damon?

The answer is simple, he's not here. He left me with a couple of babysitters while he's probably at school drinking his coffee and bourbon. With that thought, I grab the bottle of cherry blossom shampoo that one of Giuseppe's guests probably left, and wash my hair, then scrub my body with a loofa and the same cherry blossom scented body wash, and shave using a new razor I found in the cabinet. I turn off the taps and wrap myself in a large white towel. With the towel wrapped around me, I find a blowdryer and a brush and decide to dry my hair instead of what I usually do, which is to let it air dry or braid it.

With my hair dry, I open the closet and find girl's clothes in the drawers. It's confirmed, one of Giuseppe's flavors of the month stayed here, and it looks like he bought her new clothes because the tags are still on some of the items.

Wearing a simple black v-neck and leggings, I sit on the bed and gaze around the room. I could watch TV on the huge flat screen, I could read one of the books Giuseppe's girlfriend left. It looks like she enjoyed romances. I could try to sleep, but the thought that images could come back to me makes that the most unappealing option.

There is one other option.

I knock on the door. "Will the men currently guarding me for no reason please open the door?"

Nothing.

"I'd like a glass of water."

I hear shuffling, the door clicks open and I take the glass of water handed to me and sit on my bed.

"Thanks," I say, my voice a little more clear and strong than it was an hour ago. They both stand in the doorway, ready to go, but I stop them. "Do you have names or am I just supposed to call you Merry and Pip?"

"The hobbits?"

They look nothing like the hobbits. I mean, for one thing, they're massive and the other, neither share the same pale English skin tone as the actors. But they both have the kind, loyal demeanor of hobbits. "It's a compliment, trust me."

"Santiago," the one who handed me the water says. "That's Malohi."

Malohi waves from the doorway, showing a sleeve of dark ink tattoos. His smile is big and takes up his entire face. A total hobbit who can probably kill with his bare hands. "Nice to meet you both," I say, and I mean it. They seem kind and like we'll get along. "Where's Damon?"

They both remain impassive, I'm guessing they were ordered not to tell me anything. "Fine," I wave my hands in the air. "I get it, but your boss is Mr. Salvatore- Giuseppe Salvatore, and I doubt Giuseppe ordered you not to talk to me."

"Damon hired us, not Giuseppe," Santiago corrects. "But Giuseppe has used our services before."

Huh. I didn't expect that. "Damon hired you? With what money?"

I know Damon makes money off his parties, but this has to be costing more than he can make. They both shrug in reply.

"Damon ordered you not to tell me where he is?"

"Do you need anything else, Ms. Gilbert?"

Malohi grabs the handle, ready shut the door to lock me in, but I don't want to be left alone because then I'll have to think and I don't want to think. I'm not good at recognizing my limitations, which comes in handy as an endurance runner, but even I know that I can't make a break for it.

"Have either of you played Slap Jack?"

Santiago looks at Malohi and they do that silent communication thing, step away from the door frame, and start to shut it. "Wait!" I rasp out.

They pause, waiting for me to say whatever I'm going to say so they can leave.

"Damon ordered you to watch me, but I have school and a job that I need to get to and the moment you shut that door, I'm leaving."

Malohi chuckles. "You won't leave," he points to the large windows adjacent to the bed. "Those are locked and we're on the second story. Even if you could open it, you can't make that jump in your condition."

"There's a great climbing tree just outside the window in the bathroom."

I'm lying, there isn't, but I'm guessing they won't check and I don't want to be in this room by myself.

A resigned look comes across Santiago's face, but he looks amused.

I pat the spot on the bed next to me. "There are playing cards in the entertainment room."

Malohi leaves to get the playing cards while Santiago sits on the massive California King bed. "Are you usually assigned to watch over teenage girls in pool houses?" I ask conversationally.

Santiago lifts up his hands, palm up, and shrugs. "Sometimes."

I think he's joking, but I can't be too sure. "When did Damon hire you?"

Santiago gives me what can only be described as an are you kidding me look.

"Fine! I won't ask," I pause and look at him in the eyes. "Do you have a gun?"

Santiago smirks. He's a man of few words and I immediately liked him. Malohi walks in carrying a few bottles of water, a bag of pretzels, and a deck of cards. I teach them how to play and before I know it, the bag of pretzels is gone, a few hours have passed, and Malohi is accusing me of cheating because my hand is too fast and I've won the last four rounds. I'm laughing so hard, I fall back into the pillows. "Being a sore loser doesn't make you very attractive, Mal," I mock. "Maybe Damon shouldn't trust you to protect me."

Mal deals, while Santi checks his phone. "If we can effectively protect heads of state, we can protect a senior in high school."

I decide it's time to slip in a question. "And yet, you worked for Giuseppe."

Mal snorts. "Isabella was younger than you when she gave us the slip. That girl could find her way out of any room, including her own sixteenth birthday party," Mal looks at Santiago. "Maybe we shouldn't look after teenage girls."

"Who's Isabella?"

"Younger sister of a friend of Giuseppe's," Santi explains. "We've worked a lot of jobs for Giuseppe over the years, but her's was the most unusual. You remind me of her, to be honest. Probably why she came to mind."

"What was her last name?"

"Russo," he replies.

I flip my card in the middle of the pile. A Jack. Mal curses before flipping over a queen. He cheers like he's won the Super Bowl, and Santi goes. "Why did Giuseppe have you protect the younger sister of a friend?"

"It was about seventeen years ago. I'd just finished my last tour of Iraq and was looking for something different," he replies, laying a king on the stack. We all curse, my turn's next and the stack is getting better and better. Lots of face cards in this one.

"Was she in trouble?" I lay down a seven of hearts. I curse. Santi cheers. He wins the stack.

"She craved peanut butter ice cream and shredded pork sandwiches," Mal replies. "She liked my wife's cooking."

"Or grilled cheese," Santi adds. "Oh, and remember the time she ate all of Lily's guacamole? Lily was helping Isabella with homework and made a bowl of guacamole with chips. Bella ate the entire bowl. Lily kept asking, over and over, where this girl put all that food."

Mal chuckles, but I'm thinking. "Why did Giuseppe pay you to protect a girl that wasn't part of his family?"
Something about what I asked sobers both Santi and Mal. They simultaneously toss their cards in the middle of the table. "I'm ordering pizza. What do you want, Elena?"

"I want to know why you were told to protect a sixteen-year-old girl," I state.

Santi sighs heavily. "Her father wasn't very nice."

And then it dawns on me. If Santi and Mal were hired outside Isabella's family, they didn't have to take her father's orders. They could actually protect her. Giuseppe might be a ruthless businessman, but he's always been nice to me and has given Damon anything he wants, except his time and attention. Who was Isabella and why did that name sound so familiar?

"I'll eat whatever," I say, picking up all the cards and stacking them.

It was well past seven in the evening, and Damon hasn't shown. During our many games of slapjack, I looked over at the mansion through the windows, wondering if Damon was home and refusing to see me because of what he saw. I'm not going back to school. If Damon is so repulsed by what he saw, there's no way I'm facing the people that put me there.

Damon

Elena's going to kill me.

I went to school today, drank my coffee, and pretended as though nothing was wrong, just as I did the previous day when Elena was passed out in my pool house. In the middle of lunch, when Ainsley Chandler sat on my lap and asked me to feed her her salad, with no dressing, I did it. I even made out with her when she finished her dry as fuck salad. She didn't taste nearly as sweet as Elena and it pretty much ripped my heart out to be doing this with her here, while Elena was stuck with nowhere to go.

Malohi and Santiago both have experience guarding smart girls, and I had no doubt they'd be able to protect Elena. The thing is, I didn't know what I was protecting her from. I had a guess, one I was willing to bet a billion dollars on, but I wanted to know every detail and every factor that may come into play.

"Where's Elena?" I ask Chase, while Ainsley sits on my lap, playing with my zipper. I want to shove her off my lap and warn her that Elena will come after her, but I can't.

Chase looks at Noah and grunts. "Fuck if I know."

They've both been acting like twitchy little rats since they saw me return to school on Monday. I know they were involved and they must know I know something because of the note, but as I said, I need to know all the details before I act- though I do have something planned for later. An appetizer for what's about to come their way.

"She won the case on Friday, you'd think she'd be out celebrating," I comment.

A glimmer of guilt flashes across Chase's face before it vanishes. "She lied. If a woman accuses a man of assault, she's always right, right? It's like no matter what, men are the victims."

I want to punch his smug face when the bell rings. He turns slightly toward the noise, and it's only then that I notice a series of three scratches on his cheek. I'm willing to bet he was involved, but I already suspected him so it doesn't feel like an accomplishment. I know Noah was involved, because rumor has it, he lost his scholarship after he was accused of assault. The school's star football player doesn't have a college acceptance letter— that has to sting. Enough to hurt the girl who happened to say no and fight back.

I'm looking for the other's involved. I have an appointment with the county records office to see who owns property within the radius of where I found Elena. Revenge isn't best served in the heat of passion, but when one knows all the facts. I move Ainsley off my knee. "Are you going to have a party this weekend, Damon?"

I think about it momentarily. I should probably keep things as normal as possible. Noah and Chase are already being weird around me, if I ignore it and continue as planned, I'll be able to find out more.

I nod at Ainsley. "There's a warehouse off of route 56," I explain. "The party is there. Bring your friends, bring everyone."

She smirks and pecks me on the lips. "Yay!" She exclaims, in an annoying and childish way. "We're going to have so much fun."

I tug Ainsley close to me and whisper in her ear, "Be sure Chase and Noah are there."

Ainsley isn't the most popular girl but she has the most connections. In her years of attending schools in Mystic Falls, she's the only person who hasn't managed to offend or piss off one group of people. Her dad is a celebrity lawyer and her mom is a reality show queen. Ainsley grew up in the limelight and I wouldn't be surprised if she had her own reality show in the works.

"Where's Elena?" Ainsely asks.

I never said Ainsley was dumb.

"The fuck if I know," I reply, kissing her on the cheek.

She smirks, complacent with my answer.

"Find out what Noah did last weekend, and I'll make sure you have fun this weekend."

"Seriously?"

"You know me," I reply, squeezing her waist. "I want all my guests to have a good time."

Realization dawns on her, and she hops up. "Give me until next period and I'll find out."

I slap her ass. "Good girl."

I want to dunk my entire hand in a bottle of disinfectant and then take a shower.

Am I happy with my actions? No, but Ainsley texted me thirty minutes later telling me that a freshman was bragging about fucking Elena Gilbert over the weekend. Frederick Brown. Instead of going to my English Lit class, I go to the county's office and look at a map of properties within a twenty-mile radius of where I found Elena. A cabin, owned by a Gregory Brown, is within a five-mile radius of where I found Elena. Coincidence? I don't think so.

I skip my last class of the day, A.P. Chemistry, and drive to the cabin. It's a three-story hunting cabin, deep in the woods. I park at the bottom of the dirt drive that leads up to the house. I find a black hoodie in the trunk and an extra backpack that I load with supplies. Pulling the hood over my head and keeping my head low, I walk toward the house.

I walk around the house first, checking for cameras or security. Most cabins like this, this far into the woods, don't bother with regular home security which is probably why Elena was kept here. Unless you know where to look, you're not going to find this place easily and there's no other property for miles. Unfortunately, all the doors are locked and there aren't any open windows. The backdoor, however, has a weak deadbolt lock. I crouch low and take out a lock picking kit from my backpack.

Elena's uncle taught us both how to pick locks, but she was always better at it than me. She had more patience, though I'd never tell her that. Our camping retreats with her Uncle John were more like junior con artists' camp. How to hotwire a car? Break into a house? Pickpocket someone on the street? Steal from a store? Check, check, check, and check. Some of my best memories were our adventures with Uncle John. The guy taught me more than school ever did.

It takes me a few minutes, but the kit John gifted me that summer does the trick. The lock clicks and I walk in the home. Walking through the home, I look for anything that'd give me a clue as to what happened. I don't find anything of significance on the first floor. The trashes were emptied in the kitchen and garage. The refrigerator in the kitchen doesn't have anything perishable in it, just bottled water and condiments.

I make my way upstairs, bypassing pictures of members of the Brown family standing next to dead animals- one of which is a picture of Frederick standing next to an elephant he shot on a trip to Africa. Clearly, this family has a superiority complex.

It isn't until I walk through the second floor that I smell leftover hints of weed, sweat, and something musky. I open a bedroom door, a room with a bunk bed, and red flannel blankets. I open another, this one has a full bed with a wood frame that makes it look as though it was made out of tree branches. Antlers decorate the head of the bed, but the room still smells like a combination of laundry detergent and stale air.

I move to the next room. This one is immediately different from the rest. There's a photo of a deer in the woods that's tilted to the side. I walk over to it and lift it from the hook. It's obvious by the shadows of faint dust on the wall that this wasn't the original piece of artwork on the wall. The original frame has a much smaller, rectangular stain, hidden beneath the picture of the deer in the forest. I place the picture on the bed and pull out the backing. There aren't wires, but two holes that wouldn't be noticeable unless the picture was taken apart. Feeling like I'm close to something, I search the room. That's when I see it, Elena's charm bracelet laying beneath the bed. She wasn't wearing it that night, but it must've fallen out of her backpack. I pocket the bracelet and continue searching. The waste bin in the room is empty, but when I enter the joining bathroom, it's a different story. Multiple tied up condoms lay in the bin, on top of that, a hot chocolate wrapper and a couple of bottles of vodka. I take pictures of everything, the bed, the picture, the trash bin, the condoms, the bottles of alcohol.

There's something in me that's angry. It's a wave of violent anger I've never felt before. In the garage, I find a few bottles of lighter fluid. I spray everything with that liquid. The picture of Frederick with the elephant, the bed Elena was raped in, the kitchen, even the vintage Jeep parked in the garage. When I feel like everything is covered, I light a match and let it drop. I light another in the bedroom and let that one drop. Finally, I drop one on top of the Jeep Wrangler and run. Once I'm in my car, I watch the house burn before starting the ignition and heading back to the mansion.