Chapter 5
A/N: Ok, due to length, I did NOT put the Web-14 part in last chapter, but I suppose that will have to do. Now this is the part that needs the Web-14 section, which denotes it as including: This site contains slightly offensive material. High chance of mild swearing, partial nudity, violence and adult themes. So you've been warned.
Heh-heh.... giggles nervously Enjoy the fic!
Toria felt her head aching, rattling inside the trunk of the limousine. The darkness was complete, total, pressing in on her eyes, and she wondered groggily if she even bothered to keep them open. It was so dark, would there ever be light?
She shifted, trying to free herself, but the duct tape was tight. Her wrists were bound behind her, only her fingers able to move. They were digging into her back, every jolt in the road making the pain escalate. She threw herself heavily onto her side, and saw that it wasn't her wrists that had been digging into her back.
The faint glow of hope shimmered in the closed dark of the trunk – a cell phone. One of the many Kaiba had given her, so they could be together during his business trips. She memorized its every detail as time froze, the purple cover, the crystalline buttons, the tiny twinkling pixilated writing that cheerily said spelled out: TEXT MESSENGER ON.
A beacon of hope in the darkness.
Using her chin, she ushered the cell phone closer. Then, from her chin, she tossed it down to her elbow. Then down to hands, where she gripped the corner as well as she could.
A girl like her had memorized her text touch pad within days, and she could tell from the little buttons exactly which ones she needed to hit to call for help. Her fingers were stiff and numb from lack of blood, but she managed to press the right buttons. The gentle, reassuring beep of the cell phone seemed to match the heavy beating of her heart. The breath in her chest was ragged; she felt the ground speeding past underneath her, the rise as the front wheels hit a speed bump, the sickening crack of her head on the roof of the trunk...the nausea as she tried not to throw up...and succeeded in passing out instead.
"Now the Bartlet Project has proposed a new Bandai equipment systems analysis check with five million dollar funding," droned a stuffy man, his eyes dull and expressionless behind glinting glasses. Kaiba barely listened to his supposedly witty banter, absorbing facts.
"There's nothing wrong with the systems," he growled. "I've checked them myself and had a hundred subjects test them as my Battle City Tournament."
"But the Bandai Corporation doesn't want to be held responsible if something should go wrong and clients were to demand compensation from the company..."
Kaiba felt his anger smolder, but calmed it. He had been doing that a lot lately – controlling his temper. He gave a mental smile, but showed no outward change in his stoic appearance. This was Toria's fault – her slow training was beginning to sink in. His mind blocked out the executive spokesperson, trailing to methodical thoughts of his girlfriend...Her shining dark hair, slim shape...and dark secret. His heart hardened at the thought of last night, her body turned to stone in his arms. She had woken the next morning, disoriented but ready to keep going. He had suggested she stay at the mansion and keep a low profile under her father was put away – but she had insisted on getting dressed, making him breakfast, and going to school. She had a French test, she said. Couldn't miss it. But he sensed that she just didn't want to feel weak.
His mind was about to turn back to the presentation when a shrill beeping sounded from the inside of his trench coat. He reached for the cell phone, wondering what those blasted PR people wanted now.
But instead he saw the miniscule words typed on the screen. In violet letters:
BlackWitch to WhiteDragon: help c.s. trace limo help now
His mind raced. C.S. were the initials of Cole Shinatashi –
He pressed the hidden tab on the collar of his trench coat.
"Mokuba – use the satellite system to trace Toria's cell. This is an emergency."
He heard the faint voice of his brother in his ear. "Tracing – but why?"
"Just do it!"
The board of executives stared at him.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Kaiba?" asked the stuffy, spectacled executive at the front, his presentation laser pointer not moving.
"This meeting is adjourned. Send me the data in an email to the company's computer network. I've got to go." He snapped his briefcase and laptop shut, exiting the room in a flare of white trench coat. As he swiftly strode to the atrium and called the valet to get the chopper, he muttered, "I've got a witch to save."
Toria's face rolled over onto the soft shag carpet of the floor, staring at the white, glittery ceiling. The bright lights stung her eyes, and she shivered, first with cold and then with the horror of fear as she realized she was naked.
She blinked, determined to get her bearings, and sat up quickly. The room spun ominously – but she saw the clean, neat beds and bare dressers of a hotel room.
More ominously where the figures she saw in the hotel room – the thugs who guarded the door, leering and guffawing stupidly, and the faces that would forever haunt the dark corners of alleys – her father, and his friends...
When she was younger, they had come over for dinner, sat next to her, complimented her mother on the asparagus...
Faces blurred, but still, she knew their names – Mr. Clay, Mr. Owens, Mr. Barks – always blurred, never quite in focus. But they were in focus now. Mr. Clay was huge and hearty – he ran Texas oil wells. Mr. Owens owned a logging company – rainforest development. Mr. Barks worked with radioactive chemicals. They were all great candidates for Mr. Shinatashi's private cabinet.
They laughed drunkenly. Due to the large collection of empty miniature vodkas on the bed, they had been raiding the mini-fridge.
"You remember my friends, don't your sweetie?" whispered Mr. Shinatashi, leaning in close. Her stomach tossed sickly as she smelled the liquor on his breath. "Clay...Owens...and Barks..." He gave another chortle. Her eyes darted to the shredded remains of her fuku, the pink and blue Japanese schoolgirl outfit that matched Tea's. The duct tape pulled painfully at her arms and legs. There was no way to protect herself.
"You stay away from me," she said, trying to command power into her voice. But it seemed her inner warrioress had failed her. "You touch me, and you'll be sorry."
"Hah," sniggered Owens, who was short and round. "Well, I may be sorry, that I didn't play with you even more while you were sleeping!" Toria suddenly realized what had happened. She had been unconscious. They had already raped her...now she would be awake, and would remember everything...
Goddess, where are you? Kaiba? Anyone!
"You filthy pervert," she hissed at him. "Some day you will get your due, and I won't lift a finger to help you."
"Pervert?" Clay chuckled loudly. "Haven't heard that one before...Most girls think my name is 'Don't stop.'" He reached for a vodka bottle, smashing it on the edge of the bureau. The broken end of the bottle glinted in the fluorescent light. Clay knelt down over her naked body, rubbing himself against her bare chest...And with a thick, knobbley hand he turned her over onto her stomach, gouging a deep cut into her back with the broken glass.
Fire seemed to pour out of her body, red fire that soaked the carpet. The pain flooded through her mind, but she refused to scream aloud, refused to cry...She had done enough of that in the last few days.
The slap. The punch. The bruises that would rise on her skin. The cracked shattering of something deep in her person as Barks rammed her against the wall, a deep gash spreading on her forehead...She felt Clay hold her down, allowing Shinatashi, Barks, and Owens to unzip their pants, their fancy three-piece suits. Then the feel of carpet on her sores and bleeding cuts, the lint searing her wounds...
She felt her naked body slammed against the bureau mirror, the glass shattering, and faintly saw it running red with blood...The pain was unbearable, and she let out a soft moan as she heard the sound of four pairs of pants being unzipped. It was coming. Another nightmare to dwell on. Barks threw her down onto the floor, the gashes spreading with the force of the impact. His rough hands, all over her, Shinatashi reaching down, lower, past her abdomen, his fingers like the touch of a snake's coils...
She tried to block out what would be coming next...But it didn't come.
Kaiba burst through the doorway, the mahogany panel shrieking like a gunshot as it hit the wall. For millisecond, there was utter calm and utter silence, except for the low gasping of Toria's slow, uneven breath.
For the third time in three days time seemed to stop. Kaiba's hard blue eyes absorbed the perverted and twisted scene quickly. His love, the girl he cared about most in the world, was lying stripped on the shag carpeting, her body bleeding and broken, a shadow of her former proud and fiery self. Her dark hair splayed around her, lifeless and smeared with sticky congealing blood. Her eyes closed, the violet embers gone, not seeing him. A wild horse, chained, clipped, and branded, barely alive.
He didn't see anything else.
Neither did the four men.
His foot kicked out, colliding with Owens' unsheathed groin, not listening to the grunt of pain as he keeled over. With a swift punch to Barks' jaw, he had him on the ropes, and pinned him to the wall, knocking the wind from his lungs. His thoughts were primitive, unplanned, instinct – something he rarely experienced. He only wanted to hurt them as much as they had hurt him – as much as seeing her like that had hurt him.
Pain.
Reaching for the tallest, a beefy Clay, he knocked his skull on the corner of the bureau, pleased to see a trickle of blood leaking from his mouth. He with a hard kick to his abdomen, he fell to the floor, groaning.
Feeling white lightening rise in his throat, he turned to face Shinatashi, his hard glare combating the sickly, pleading, drunken smile of her father.
"Well, Kaiba, right? Not gonna 'bust up' your girl's old man, are you?"
Without another word, he punched him hard in the ribs, hoping they would break. Kaiba's dark hair obscured his vision, but he still found his mark – his fist riddled Shinatashi with blows, until blood dribbled from his mouth. With the hard ferocity of battle, he shoved him against the wall.
"You touch her again, you'll have me to deal with. You'll pay for what you did here today. All of you."
He let Shinatashi slump to the floor, suddenly abandoning his war as quickly as it came. He knelt beside Toria, her curves no longer stunning but mutilated. He tore off his white cloak and gingerly wrapped it around her body. His heart ached at her limp form, supporting her drooping limbs with his strong arms.
"No," she whispered, her lips cracked and stinging with blood, "No, don't, don't hurt me..."
He gave her a gentle, whispering kiss, trying not to injure her more.
"It's me, it's Seto."
"Seto?" Her voice seemed so far away, misty, like life was ebbing away as he held her, willing it not to.
"It's Seto. I'm here." He swallowed.
"Seto, t-take me home. Please." A single tear slid down her cheek, and she winced in pain as it touched her bruises and cuts.
"I will. You'll be fine. I'm taking you home." He paused, wondering why his voice was so steady when it felt like shattering into a million pieces. "To our home."
He stood, her weight heavy with the burden of pain in his arms. He strode to the doorway, cradling her limbs in the softness of the white flowing fabric. Then, his voice like a knell, he turned to the four beaten men.
"You'll pay for what you've done, you bastards."