Author's Note: I know everyone probably thought that I feel off the face of the earth since I haven't updated in 5 months, but I'm back! Thanks to all of you that have continued to check the story and encourage me to write. I truly appreciate the support. About this chapter: Things are starting to get a little darker and angstier (I don't think that is a word). I know I promised smut, but that is coming in about 1 to 2 chapters. I've invested a lot of time in this story and I don't like the idea of the characters just having sex without any plot development (this is not a PWP fan fic). Also, this chapter contains an inner monologue which I hope is not too confusing. I hope to have another chapter posted within 2 weeks.
Shameless plug: I am also working on A Knight's Tale fan fic that will be posted soon.
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When Dylan opened her eyes, she was still alone in the bare room, still chained to the wall, and still confused in her reaction to Seamus' emotional explosion. The only thing that had changed was her physical condition. She could no longer feel her hands or move her fingers, and her arms seemed to have detached from her shoulders sometime during her nap. With a low moan of pain, she slowly turned her stiff neck to the right and saw that her arms were indeed still attached, but that her fingers down to the middle of her forearm had turned a bloodless white. Not only that, but a growing pressure was reminding her that she would have to pee soon. "Shit" she said under her breath, "this is not so good." Then "Stupid Seamus," as she thought of who had put her in the chains, knowing she was not strong enough to get out of them. Lastly, a tired sigh and a sarcastic "Brillant Dylan" as she remembered who had "allowed" herself to put in chains to begin with.
Dylan did manage a small smile though when she thought of why she was putting herself through this hell: her two best friends and their future happiness. She had only to close her eyes and she could see them before her, beautiful and athletic, happy upon measure, as they deserved to be. They would get married, have children, and live to a ripe old age. As the only family she had left, they were more important to her than her own life. *After all, what chance do I have of marriage?* she thought bitterly. *The only guys who are attracted to me are usually just in for a quick "bam-bam-thankyou-mam", often with a nice serving of "I'm a homicidal maniac and now I'm going to kill you" thrown in for good measure.* A grimace twisted her full lips as she remembered being shot at by Knox, her near-drowning with Neal, and Justin the mechanic who had thought it would be fun to try and stab her after he saw her talk to another guy at a bar.
Dylan knew that part of her problem was her ridiculous obsession with bad boys. *But doesn't every girl want a bad boy who will take them on a wild and crazy ride?* she tried to assure herself. *And even if I was to find some nice guy who would like me, he could never know about my past or who I really am, because nobody could love me after that.* Dylan tried to resist, but memories of Helen Zass began to trickle through the dam she had built up to keep them at bay: her father's alcoholism and violent temper, her parents death in the car accident when she was 7, the years of abuse at the shitty foster home in Arizona, running away to San Francisco to stay with an older friend, and the alcohol and coke she had consumed in trying to forget it all. She resolutely fought to find some good in her past, in her youth, and discovered that the first true happiness she had experienced was after meeting a certain green-eyed Irishman. *Seamus really loved me, the bastard* she remembered with fondness. Seamus had helped her get off of coke and showed her that she was worth something, that she deserved love, care, and respect, that she was more than a good fuck; she was a good person.
At the time, she couldn't figure out why a guy like him would want a ruined girl like her. He was intelligent, artistic, sensitive (when his mates weren't around), dead sexy, and an exceptional lover. She was ugly (the bleached blonde look she had adopted when she ran away from the foster home did nothing for her), tired, untrusting, and bruised on the inside from years of hateful words. Somehow, Seamus had loved her and accepted her, even the darkness of her past and the emotional baggage Helen had carried with her.
He had been like a savior to her, so how could she not accept everything that he was in return? She hadn't known about his family's "business" until they had already been together for a year, and by that time she was hooked on Seamus. He was like her new drug of choice, except that he built her up instead of destroying her like coke had. Looking back on the situation, Dylan thought *I should have known better. But the family was so used to their façade of normality that no teenage girl could penetrate it without their consent.* And even when Seamus had told her about O'Grady mob and their connections throughout the United Kingdom and the United States, Dylan had found it easy to ignore. Ireland and Boston were far away, and the criminal intrigue couldn't possibly touch the intense passion that she and her lover shared. Besides, didn't mobs just hire hit men to do the dirty work for them? They didn't actually kill people themselves, right? Dylan had been so sure that Seamus would never kill anyone… *Oh, let's be honest, Dylan* she said to herself. *You fucking knew that Seamus had a temper. You knew he could be violent when provoked. You knew that he really fucked up some guys in that biker club after they came after you.* Dylan winced involuntarily as she admitted the dirty truth to herself. *Joseph had told you about that other guy that Seamus had supposedly killed, and you didn't care! You didn't even care that he was a murderer, because he loved you and therefore you could pretend he wasn't a bad person *
"But I saw him murder De Franco! I couldn't ignore that!" she said aloud, her words barely audible because her throat was so dry. *But you've killed many people too, Dylan* said a small voice in her head, *more than he ever did*. "But the people I've killed were evil fucks who would have done bad things to innocent people if I hadn't have stepped in." she insisted out loud. "And besides, it was my job!" *Listen to yourself*, said the voice. *You try to justify the things that you've done, but in the end, you're just as bad as he was! You're a murderer too!* "But he killed innocent people!" she cried, long overdue tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes. *But do you know they were innocent? Did you even bother to ask? They were probably just as bad as the people you've killed.*
"No!" Dylan gasped, the tears now running freely down her cheeks. She mentally grasped at the last few flimsy pieces of the veil of self-worth she had woven for herself years ago. "I'm a good person" she said firmly, but it came out more like an uncertain whisper. *So was he* said the inner voice. *And like the heartless bitch you are, you turned him in, betrayed the one person who loved you!* Suddenly, the fluorescent lights in the ceiling were turned off, leaving Dylan in the darkness. It was the final straw. Dylan visibly collapsed, her numb wrists bearing her weight as her legs buckled and she succumbed to wracking sobs.
"Seamus" she croaked, but no one answered.
An hour later, totally spent by her tears, Dylan completed her humiliation by pissing herself.
