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A/N:  Sorry for the delay in updates.  I was out of town, and then my muse took a hike as well.  Anyway, expect Chapter 7 very soon!  In this part of the story I begin using Irish slang in Seamus vocabulary, so if you want to know what the heck he's saying, go to the following website: .   It's very helpful.  Thanks again for your reviews, they make me smile.  ; )

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The night was slightly chilly for summer, and Seamus was glad he had brought his jacket.  It was an almost sinful pleasure to be back in his Docs, jeans, t-shirts and chains after years of wearing idiotic prison uniforms.  He had always seen his clothes as an extension of his personality and part of his identity, so to be forced to conform, even in that relatively small way, had been very hard for him.  

Impatient, Seamus glanced across the street to see his lookout motioning that Helen was approaching.  Carefully, he looked around the corner.  She was alone.

He was surprised that Helen was so careless, walking with her head down, apparently lost in thought.  Didn't she know there were all sorts of monsters lurking this time of night?  Seamus watched her approach his hiding spot, the wind off the ocean swirling through her hair, brushing it against her cheeks like a lover's caress.  He momentarily recalled her bleached blonde hair tickling his face as she bent over him in bed, her moans urging him – but those thoughts would have to wait till later when he was alone.  Now was time for business.

Seamus waited a beat, then quietly stepped in front of her on the sidewalk, expecting her to see him and stop.  He was surprised when she barreled right into him, her head hitting his chest.  "Helen. What a surprise."  He saw her eyes widen and mouth open slightly when she saw who she had run into, then just as quickly her "Angel" facade descended, as with an emotionless face she pulled into a defensive stance.  Seamus almost grinned at the picture she presented, all kick-ass and that rot.  "Don't even try.  My gang has got 10 guns trained on your little body, so be a good girl, eh?" 

He saw Helen hesitantly relax and stare back at him confidently.  "I've come to negotiate for my friend's lives." She stated.  Seamus ignored her.  *Of course that's why you came, bitch.  Do I look stupid?*  Partly to intimidate her and partly just to more closely examine her, he walked a slow, close circle around her.  He had watched her fight earlier that night, but this was the first time he had been so close to her in over eight years.  Fighting an urge to both punch her and kiss her, Seamus simply looked.  In the streetlight, her hair appeared an impossible combination of silver and red, and her lips were the same pouty shape he had loved years ago.  As he walked around behind her he could smell her: vanilla and almond, earthy and sensual.  *Jaysus she smells good* he thought, and could feel himself hardening just from the sensory memories her scent recalled.  Suddenly he sprang into action, simultaneously wrapping his left arm around her body just under her breasts and his right hand covering her mouth and nose with a Chloroform drenched cloth.  She struggled briefly, but she was no match for his tight muscles and as she breathed he could feel her body start to relax against his. 

She slumped into his arms, unconscious, and Seamus felt a surge of power as he removed the cloth from her face.  Her head lolled against his shoulder, her breath deep and slow.  He knew that she was completely helpless, that he finally had her where he had wanted her for so many years.  With a quick twist of his hands he could snap her neck like a twig.  He could carve his name into her flesh and she wouldn't protest.  Or he could kiss her full lips, squeeze her tits and touch her in all those places she used to like – and she'd never know. 

"Seamus, quit acting the maggot with your little bird there, let's get the fucking show on the road!"   Joseph said as he approached from the other side of the street.  He was a little puzzled by his friend's inactivity.  As far as he was concerned, the red-haired witch deserved to be killed on the spot.

"Yeah, stop doddering and get in the bloody car!"   This comment by Seamus' cousin Conner seemed to jar him out of his daydream.  He gathered Helen into his arms, her dead weight no match for his hard muscles.  Climbing into the back of the waiting van, Seamus continued to hold her in his lap as the van drove off toward the hideout.

Holding her like he was brought back bittersweet memories.  She used to sit in his lap while they watched the telly.  They both loved to watch reruns of Scooby-Doo (even though he would never admit to it) and she was hooked on watching The Real World.  Helen would lean her head back against his chest, and he would play with her hair.  During commercial breaks, she would turn around in his lap and kiss him, her lips tasting like vanilla and rum, her tongue seeking his and working him into a frenzy.  Bloody hell, how she could kiss!  He remembered that she always kissed as if it were her last, putting all of her love and longing and passion for life into each one.

Yes, Seamus remembered her passion for life that had attracted him to her in the beginning, when they had met at a Metallica concert in San Francisco.  He had seen her in the crowd; a petite blonde with a luscious arse that was poured into her torn jeans.  She was head banging and moving to the music in a way that made him stop and stare.  He had never thought that metal was sexy music, but the way she moved made it so – and it was better than any strip show, because her heart and soul were visible to him at that moment.  She saw him out of the corner of her eye and stopped, a strange look in her eyes.  "I know I was gawking, but you're so fucking gorgeous that I couldn't look away." He had to step close to her and yell to be heard over the music.  She just looked up at him, her face shiny with sweat and radiant with life and smiled, and Seamus knew he was lost.

Jolted once more out of his reverie by the screeching of brakes, he realized that they had arrived at their destination.  Joseph opened the back doors of the van, and Seamus climbed out, still carrying Helen.   Walking down a hall and through a series of doors, he came to the room that he had prepared for her.  It was bare except for an armchair and table in one corner, an overhead light, and chains in the far corner.  Seamus knew that Helen was coming to him of her own accord, but he was a smart man, and so he also knew better than to underestimate her power or her motives.  Chains were likely the one thing she could not break out of.

"Joseph, help here!" he called back into the hall, and his friend came in to help him chain Helen up.  Joseph held her body in place against the wall while Seamus carefully locked the shackles around her ankles and her wrists.  Not wanting to injure her, he had taken care to lightly pad the inside of those that would be holding her wrists.

Stepping back, he and Joseph surveyed their handiwork.  "That's it then" Seamus said.  "I'm goina wait 'til she wakes, and then take care of her."

Joseph gave him a sly wink and left the room, locking the door behind him as had been previously agreed.  Seamus stood in front of Helen, watching her sleep for a few minutes.  Then, after peering cautiously over his shoulder as if someone were watching, he slowly put out his hand and touched her cheek.  It was soft and warm, and he allowed himself the brief pleasure of remembering her delicate and perfect skin on his before stiffening and pulling away.  * Mooning over the bitch that put you away!?  You stupid git! * he thought, striding in anger over to the armchair and throwing himself into it. 

Glaring at the woman across the room from him, Seamus ran his hands distractedly through his hair and settled back. The chair was comfortable, and he was tired.   * Gave her everything, I did.  Bloody lived for her  - and she fucking shows her love by ratting me out.  She will pay for betraying me.  She will pay.  She will pay. * With that mantra playing in his head, Seamus succumbed to sleep.