(a/n) Yeah, things get a bit brutal toward the end. Be prepared, it's violent. –Loke

Somewhere In Between

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Chapter Six: All The King's Men

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(Note: for the sake of flow, a few hours have elapsed in PC since the last chapter; it is now steadily approaching midnight.)

"See ya, Max," called Jason over his shoulder to the guard who was calling it a night as he worked the lock on his penthouse door. Locking it again behind him, Jason looked around his living room, not really prepared for how vacant and cold it felt without Courtney there. Granted, the penthouse had always been just a place to hang his hat, but the day Courtney moved in with him it became a home, their home, and without her… well, it seemed to slide right back into being just a place again. He didn't much like the feeling.

Discarding his gun to the top drawer of his desk, Jason then shrugged off his leather jacket and followed through on his routine, hanging it up in the front closet. As he did, he allowed his fingers to linger a moment on the faded denim of one of Courtney's coats. The Enforcer couldn't rightly help the smile that tugged at his lips; she may have been away, but she wasn't gone. There was too much of her in this place for her to ever be gone.

Shutting the closet, Jason wandered to the bank of windows across the living room and allowed his gaze to settle on the warm glow of Emily's brightly lit apartment just opposite him. He peered inside with cautious eyes, not wanting to play the part of the voyeur, but only wanting to make sure his sister was safe. When he manage to wrangle that particular unit for her, he was hesitant at first, wondering if having apartments adjacent to each other would be crossing the line into overbearing and controlling. But as quickly as the fear was realized, it was dismissed. Yes, Jason had faith in Emily and her independence, bounds of it. But moving out of the Quartermaine mansion was a big step; he just wanted to make sure all went well for her. And now, with this new looming threat, well, the idea made more sense than ever.

This allowed Jason to do for Emily what he couldn't do for Courtney: watch over her with his own two eyes.

-----

A reassuring click sounded lightly through the vacant living room, and Johnny checked the knob one last time just to be safe.

"Well, I think I'm just going to turn in." At Emily's voice Johnny turned around, noticing the girl had apparently showered and changed into her sleeping clothes, a silky flowered short robe drawn tightly around her lithe form. The image wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"I made up the back bedroom for you," she said, motioning behind her toward the hall. "You are staying, right?"

Johnny couldn't quite figure if it was disappointment or relief that flashed in her eyes when he nodded 'yes'. Did it matter? "It's apart of the job description," he told her, stepping down into the sunken living room's sitting area and leaning casually on the sofa's arm. "But the couch is a better idea, I think. Closer to the door and all."

Emily's eyebrows went up a bit and she made a face, one that seemed to ask "are you sure", to which Johnny only gave another small nod. Not even a second later, the brunette turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall, reemerging a few moments later with an armful of bedding.

"These should do, then, "she said, handing off the blankets and pillow. "If you need anything else, the closet is in the hall, right next to the back bathroom."

Again Johnny nodded, giving her a small smile of thanks before she began her trek back to her room. But before she could reach the hall and before he even knew what he was doing, Johnny heard his voice say her name.

The girl turned around, expectancy on her face.

For a moment, he wasn't even sure what it was he had wanted to say or why he felt the need to say it, but he doubted that would stop him, not with stellar impression of a runaway train his mouth had been doing lately. "Look," he started, cursing himself for even opening his trap to begin with. "I know this isn't easy for a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" she echoed, a chill rising in her otherwise gentle voice. "What does that mean?"

The guard reached behind his neck, rubbing at the back of his collar with an unsure hand. "You're independent, I get that. You don't like being told what to do or being dictated to, and I know this has gotta be killing you, having to be locked up like some--"

"Princess in a tower?" She finished for him, putting emphasis on the nickname he had so boldly given her earlier that evening.

Johnny snapped his head up, relived but a little apprehensive to find a small, amused smile gracing her features. "Yeah, about that…"

She waived a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it," she said lightly, "It's not the first time I've been called a princess. I'm sorta used to it."

"I didn't mean to offend you." He didn't want her to think he was being malicious, because he wasn't. The remark wasn't meant to cut her down, not in the least. He wasn't even sure what the intent had been at all.

"You didn't, Johnny," she said a little firmer this time. There was a quiet finality to her words that allowed Johnny to accept it as the truth. She was a lot like her brother in that respect.

A few moments of odd silence passed between them and just as Emily opened her mouth to no doubt voice her goodnight, Johnny beat her to the punch. "It suits you," he said softly, still looking at her intently.

Emily's brow furrowed lightly and once again Johnny cut her off before she could speak, puzzled yet again by his sudden lack of verbal control. "The nickname. Princess." he said, noticing how the girl shifted under his gaze. "It suits you."

She shook her head and lowered her eyes, her delicate fingers absently fiddling with the belt of her robe. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Johnny. I'm nowhere near being a princess."

Suddenly Johnny felt very foolish. Okay, where in the name of all that is holy did this conversation come from? Johnny didn't think he'd ever wanted to belt himself as badly as he did right then, watching as, yet again, his stupid mouth made Emily uncomfortable. She had her head bowed and everything, shrinking away from him like she wasn't worthy of the things he'd hinted at. It puzzled him. How could this girl possibly not know her own worth? Did she really not realize how important she was? "You are to you Jason," he said, suddenly feeling it his mission to set her strait, to make her see. The importance of it startled him a bit.

He heard her laugh then, small and self-deprecating. It stung his ears. "Yeah, more like a royal pain in the ass." She met his eyes for a moment but then glanced wildly around the apartment, a hand following the vague traces of her eyes. "Look around you, and then look at yourself, Johnny. This is all because I seem to draw trouble in; it always finds me even if I don't go looking for it. Take today for instance," she huffed quietly, averting her eyes again. "I didn't seek out Alcazar, but there he was, trying to…to… hell, I don't know what. So let's stop deluding ourselves with this 'you're a princess to Jason' crap, because it isn't true. On my good days I'm an unnecessary headache. I'm constantly getting into one mess after the other, and I give my brother more grief than not. Do you even realize how much less complicated his life would be if it weren't for me?"

Johnny gaped openly at her. How could she ever think that? Sure, she had the little sister factor going for her, but let's just face it, Emily Quartermaine was royalty to Jason, plain and simple. The girl had seen her fair share of blunders and stints of unbelievable bad luck, but none of that mattered to her brother. Even a simple employee like Johnny could clearly see the clout Emily possessed in Jason's life. He adored her and treasured her. That was the whole reason they were even having this conversation to begin with, because she was precious, worth being watched over. It wasn't exactly privileged information in PC.

Straitening his back to stand, Johnny fixed his eyes on the top of her bowed head, a soft earnestness to his words. He couldn't allow her to believe any of what she'd said. "Emily, your brother loves you very, very much. You mean more to him than you think. A lot more. And if you can't recognize that… well, then I feel very sorry for you, because from where I'm standing it's more than a little hard to miss."

It was then that her eyes reached his again, the brown orbs pinning him to where he stood. A fierce regret ignited in his gut as Johnny watched her delicate features lax into smooth, impassive contemplation. The impossible resemblance she held to her brother at that moment threatened to halt his blood in his veins. He couldn't discern a single emotion on her face, and wondered blankly how a person's eyes could suddenly become so hallow, yet still be so charged.

She was studying him, going over his face with her eyes, seeking out his gaze in curious flickers that made him struggle to keep an even presence. But the deeper her eyes probed and the thicker the silence became, Johnny wondered if maybe he'd been mistaken. Maybe he was reading her—along with everything else—wrong, and she wasn't contemplating his words, but him instead. Stunned silent by his audacity to even broach such a personal subject, form an opinion on it, and then daring to voice that opinion in such an abrupt manner. For the first time in years, Johnny found himself looking into the eyes of a woman and not having even a vague idea of what was going through her head. He should have disliked the feeling, but he couldn't bring himself to. Instead, a prickling fascination filled his mind. He could barely believe how much of an enigma this girl was. He knew not a single detailed thing about her or her life but yet something in her eyes made the guard feel as if he'd known her forever. It was a disquieting feeling, heavy with unknowns—a thing he really didn't care much for—and Johnny looked away, settling instead for the tops of his shoes. He couldn't help but feel he'd just crossed a line, a very distinct line.

There was a brief silence that wasn't so much tense as it was baffling for the guard. He really didn't know what to make of her or it at all. For the first time in a long while, he had no idea where he stood, good or bad.

But then, mercifully, Emily sprang the quiet back to life. "Goodnight, Johnny," she said softly as she withdrew, "I'll see you in the morning."

He forced himself to meet her eyes again, and to stop being so ridiculous. He really had to get a grip here. He found that tumbling ball of regret in his gut stilled slightly when he noticed the impassive mask had cracked and faded from her face. Softly smiling eyes were reassuringly in place once more. "Absolutely," he nodded obediently, calling up the effort needed to flash a small, genuine smile her way.

When the girl smiled back just as warmly before walking off back toward the hall, Johnny felt a strange relief flood him, as if the temporary hitch in his world's order was set straight with those last few exchanged words, words that were routine and thankfully devoid of deeper value. The proper way of things had been restored. The anomaly had passed.

This is how it should be, O'Brien, he scolded himself, listening to the soft footfalls of her retreat, light and impersonal, just like always. You can't afford anything else.

When he heard the faint click of her bedroom door, Johnny slumped down into the couch cushions in a heap. What the hell was that all about, and what in God's name was wrong with his mouth? Why could he not control his words around this girl? Why did he suddenly care so much about how she perceived herself? And how had she managed to make him second guess himself so completely when faced with her emotionless stare for just a few scant moments?

Maybe it was just the pressure of it all, the drama with Mrs. C, his own lapse in judgment, believing his number was finally up for half a day. Maybe it was that burned innocence shinning in her eyes, the fact that she was who she was. Her gentleness, her harshness, her smile, her frown…

Maybe it was any of those things that had caused his slip. Maybe it was all of them. Maybe he was going insane.

Somehow, the latter seemed far more feasible.

But the guard quickly reminded himself that cracking up wasn't a viable alternative here; he had a job to do. Protecting her was that job, not making friends with her, not caring. He was there to safeguard his boss's only sister, not to become… attachedwhatever that meant.

Clenching his eyes closed in self-disgust, Johnny shed his jacket and loosened his tie, settling into the couch cushions with a ready hand rested on his unholstered gun.

For Christ's sake, it hadn't even been a full twenty four hours. How was he supposed to survive an extended tenure as her guard if things continued on like this?

Sighing, Johnny pushed his head deeper into the pillow. He needed to get a hold of himself here, and stop letting this girl get to him or he really was gonna lose it, and maybe not just his mind.

-----

(Note: again, some more time has passed, a little over an hour this time.)

Freshly popped Bud Light in hand, Jason leaned into the window frame again, continuing to watch over his sister's now darkened apartment. Part of Jason felt he was overreacting to the added threat of Alcazar; a thing never liked being accused of. But on the flip side, this was Emily. Little Emily, the sister he'd never get used to viewing as an adult.

Till the day he died, when he thought of Emily, the first image he'd conjure would be of a little, doe-eyed, brown-haired girl, standing in the door of his hospital room, carrying a bouquet of flowers. It was that image, and one of a paralyzed Emily propped up in her own hospital bed thousands of miles from home, wearing a broken smile and greeting him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen, that prevented Jason from ever—ever—taking her safety for granted again. He'd been careless then, too wrapped up in his own life to be there when she needed him most, and Jason hated himself for it. He never wanted to see his baby sister's eyes look that beaten ever again, not as long he lived.

Sighing, Jason took a long sip from his bottle and let the liquid warm a trail down his throat, not quite ready to abandon his vigil over the girl that lay sleeping across the way. He couldn't be Courtney's watchdog tonight, but he could sure as hell be that for Emily, overreacting or not.

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5.2.5.6.9.

Miguel's gloved fingers skated over the electronic keypad of Brighton Terrace's security gate, entering the code swiftly. Sparing readying glances at his flanking henchmen, Miguel stood stock still as his darkly clad men moved forward through the wrought iron gate and past the entrance's glass doors, drifting stealthily through the building's vacant lobby in a neat pack of five.

Once he saw them disappear into the elevator, Miguel turned on his heel and crossed to the unmarked black van parked across the street. And as he crept inside the driver's side, if one were to look closely enough at the menacing man, they would have seen the tiniest of smiles shading his cloaked features.

Taking what you wanted felt wonderful.

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Silence hung eerie and thick over the darkened penthouse. Emily lay in her oversized bed curled up on her side, still clad only in her short robe and nightgown, lost in simple but troubled sleep. Her angelic features twitched ever so often, tightening the young woman's brow in a worried frown. And her delicate hands clutched greedily at the simple white pillow she held tight to her sleeping body. It may not have been idyllic, but Emily Quartermaine was out like a light, and none the wiser.

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Pedro, being appointed leader of the gang, stepped off the elevator first, quickly followed by two guards on either side of his brawny form. His jumpy, snake-like eyes slid over the walls, and quickly scanned the numbers adorning every unit door until he finally came to a stop at the end of the lengthy hall.

'PH6' gleamed in polished brass numbers above the henchman's head as he reached into his jacket pocket and came up with a small black canvass case. Kneeling down before the door, Pedro wasted no time going to work on the lock.

-----

Johnny, having succumbed to the stress of the day rather quickly, had drifted as well. Down the hall from his sleeping charge, the bodyguard lay awkwardly on Emily's plush plum colored sofa, a pillow half under his head, a blanket midway between his lap and the hardwood floor, and his hand still curled loosely around the grips of his firearm. His dress shirt-covered chest rose and fell in deep, rhythmic bursts. And the guard seemed to be emitting a low, rumbling sound in time with his steady breaths.

It wasn't too loud.

But it was loud enough.

The quiet rumbling proved just enough to mask the nearly inaudible 'click' that came from the direction of Emily's front door.

As well as the careful footsteps that followed.

What did manage to rouse the bodyguard, though, was his face being suddenly bathed in blinding white light.

He batted his eyelids against the intrusion, blinking away sleep and the fuzziness that went with it. What the… flashlights? He tried to look away but soon found the light encircled him perfectly; it was directed at him from every side. It was then that realization settled in.

Panic wasn't far behind.

Pointed at his prone form were an undeterminable number of flashlight beams, wielded by the same quantity of thus far completely silent and faceless intruders.

The bodyguard was by no means dense and he put the picture together with expert clarity. There were men, undoubtedly assailants in the apartment. And there was only one reason why they would be there…

Johnny's frantic mind unexpectedly conjured up an imagined image of a sleeping Emily down the hall, tucked safely in her bed. He couldn't let them get to her. He promised Jason and he promised himself. Damn the numbers and damn the consequences, the only way these men were leaving with Emily Quartermaine was if they killed him first.

With lightening quick reflexes, Johnny slid his finger over the ready trigger and clamored to his feet, leveling his gun at the encompassing light in one swift movement. He swiveled in place over and over as he strained to focus on a single target through the haze of white light which engulfed him. But it was useless; the flashlight beams were coming at him from every angle, effectively swallowing up anything and everything that could be used to his advantage.

But as the guard would soon find out, not being able to see was the very least of his problems. Above his erratic breaths, Johnny heard the distinct, metallic sound of a gun's hammer being cocked back—several of them.

Oh, shit.

-----

What happened then came so quickly that, later on, Jason would be surprised he had remembered any of it clearly.

The bottle dropped. His beer, he remembered it falling from his grasp and shattering at his feet as his eyes grew large with disbelief.

Across the way, in his sister's new home, four—no five, beams of light penetrated the dark at once, scanning the shadowy penthouse wildly before zeroing in on a single spot. A moment later, a figure rose up within the circle of light, fighting desperately to train a weapon on something solid amidst the glare.

It was Johnny. And he was outnumbered.

Jason's feet felt leaden as he watched in awed silence. His breathing came to him in short, sporadic bursts and his heart thundered within his chest.

It was happening. Jason's worst fear was being realized.

They, whoever they were, were coming for Emily. And their first step was disarming her bodyguard.

At that moment, the moment when fear became reality and reality morphed seamlessly into unimaginable horror, Jason's world was plunged into warp speed. He stumbled backward and broke into a run, stopping only to retrieve his handgun from the desk before flying out his door with such force it was nearly ripped from its hinges.

Sonny. The thought tore through Jason's mind. Five beams of light and just him, no Max… no Johnny. Jason suppressed a cringe. He needed backup. He needed Sonny.

Jason never once stopped as he frantically forced his way into Sonny's penthouse, relieved to see his friend still up, and getting familiar with a glass of rum.

Startled and wide eyed, Sonny bolted up from his chair, tumbler in hand. "Jason, what the hell…?"

"No time," breathed Jason harshly, suddenly brandishing his weapon to further illustrate the moment's urgency. "We have to go now, someone's in Emily's apartment!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jason…calm down a second." Sonny moved closer to the open door that framed his friend's heaving form, not really comprehending what Jason was saying. Emily was being guarded; this had to be a mistake… "What about Johnny?"

Jason only let a beat pass before giving an answer that chilled him to the bone. He only hoped it wasn't true. "He may already be dead, and if we don't move our asses right this second… my sister could be next."

At those words Sonny's face went ashen. Oh, God. He sprang to life and clamored to his own desk, worked the lock on a bottom drawer and came up with his gun.

Tucking it into the waistband of his pants, Sonny wordlessly fell in step behind Jason, both men moving as fast as their feet could carry them, both hoping that they weren't already too late.

-----

"Drop it, now." The voice was cold and accented. Mexican… no… probably more like South American, Johnny noted. Because South American equaled Alcazar.

Well, this kept getting worse by the second.

And as he felt a sharp jab to his back with what he assumed was the point of a gun, Johnny reckoned that things weren't going to start looking up any time soon.

"I said drop the gun," spat the voice, an unsettling climb to his tone. "We wouldn't want this to get messy now, would we?"

With gritted teeth, Johnny refused to comply. These bastards would have to pry this piece from his cold, dead hands if they wanted it. Any if it came to that, Johnny had every intention of taking a few of them with him. Anything to give Emily a fighting chance. "Screw you, asshole," Johnny hissed, pivoting toward the voice. It sounded like it was coming from—

Two muffled bangs sounded out and Johnny swallowed and then blinked, rapidly, breath hitching in his throat. Thankfully, a cold numbness pulsed through his body and, for one glorious moment, Johnny believed he was in the clear. But the relief was short–lived as not even a split second later, after a stretch of horrible, stomach-churning stillness; a searing pain erupted in Johnny's left side and again in his lower back, and fiery shock waves blazed through the areas at the speed of light. His eyelids dropped shut of their own volition and before his knew it; his legs had betrayed him, allowing his knees to meet the floor in a startling crack of bone on wood. The rest of Johnny's body wasn't far behind, and within seconds, the bodyguard was laid out awkwardly on the floor.

Johnny felt the gun being torn form his grasp and through his haze he tried to hold onto it, but the sensation building in his body refused his fingers—or much of anything—the luxury of working properly. His hands clenched reflexively into fists, knuckles going white from the pressure and fingernails carving bloody crescents into his palms. Stabs of white hot fire twisted his form as he strived for relief. But the movement had the opposite effect, and he winced away from himself again, a sickening pattern slowly emerging as he fought desperately to deaden the suddenly explosive pain.

He was shot; a past experience excluded all other possibilities. And by the lack of sound the gunshots produced, Johnny figured at least one of the men was packing a silencer. A silencer meant no noise, and no noise meant that no one was coming to help them.

Son of a bitch…

The burning in his side and back coupled with the piercing flashlight beams trained on his face weren't making it any easier to think, but still the guard forced himself to stay lucid. While everything in him wanted to get to his feet and get to Emily, he knew he had to survey the damage to his body first. How bad was it? The answer to that question could be the difference between finding a way to get to Emily to save her, and simply bleeding out right there on the hardwood floor, ending it for them both. If he still had workable time at his disposal he could stall them, keep them from getting to her, and if not… well, then he'd just have to do what he could while he could…Kamikaze style. He only hoped with every stray thought he could manage, that whoever got the shot off had only nicked him, even if the intense pain he was experiencing told him otherwise. Hoping against hope and taking a shallow breath—the only type he could manage at the moment—Johnny forced himself to be still. Slowly, he reached around and felt for the source of his discomfort. His shaky fingers slid over the covered surface of his side, instantly meeting with something warm and wet. Liquid; sticky, thick and disturbingly abundant seeped between his fingers, and he cringed at the feeling, fighting back the taste of bile that crept into his mouth.

A strangled noise rose in his throat and Johnny's eyes clenched tighter at the sharp pain the contact elicited, as well as the now unavoidable truth. These bastards were here for Emily, he had been shot – twice, disarmed, burning pain was making moving more and more impossible with every second that passed, and he was losing blood at an alarming rate.

Unless Jesus himself came strutting through that door right then, with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder, both he and Emily were screwed. Royally.

Through his gasps for breath and the inferno rising in his side, Johnny managed to register a sudden movement around him, a shift in the blackness.

"Toss it, every inch" said a voice, the voice, in a hushed whisper, sending various pairs of footfalls scattering. "This place is huge. She may have heard us and could be hiding."

Eyelids slipping closed again, Johnny could only pray that they were right.

-----

She felt the bed shift.

That was the only thing her mind could register before a gloved hand slipped over her mouth and a heavy weight saddled her body, crushing her into the mattress.

Her eyes went big and panic like she'd never felt assaulted her mind. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…

Her mantra of fear-stricken disbelief subsided only when a sickening voice whispered in her ear, warm, unnerving breath beating against the skin of her face. "Don't make me hurt you," said the voice, a heavy accent dripping from every syllable.

A dry sob caught in her mouth and Emily screamed into his hand. Her reward was a matching hand being clasped viciously around her neck, squeezing just hard enough to make breathing very, very difficult.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," growled the voice. "I don't like having to disobey orders."

'Disobey orders', what the hell does that mean? She tried to piece it together, but to be fair thinking clearly wasn't really all that easy at the moment. She settled instead for tried and true reactive impulse.

Both of the man's hands were focused on her head area, and that left her arms free. Pushing up suddenly with force she didn't think she possessed, Emily rammed the heel of her palm into her assailant's masked face. He cried out gruffly and fell back onto the disheveled bed, clutching his nose with both hands.

Emily jumped at the window of opportunity and scrambled to untangle herself from him so she could get to the door. She was almost free, almost at the edge of the bed when a furious grunt sounded out behind her, just as a hand grasped at her mouth for a second time, another cruelly burying itself in the roots of her hair. She yelled in pain, but the sound was muffled again, drowned out by the leather of his gloves.

"The boss warned us you may be a handful," said the man, strangely amused. "Good thing we came prepared."

Tears painted silent tracks down her cheeks and onto her attacker's gloved hands, as realization settled in with heartbreaking intensity. Something very, very bad was going to happen to her and she didn't have the power to stop it. All that talk about begin able to handle herself; about being fine on her own, and when it really counted she was reduced to being just another feeble girl shivering in fear, unable to prevent the unthinkable. The helplessness she felt fueled a sudden spike of anger in her body, forcing another wave of vain struggles against her captor as he removed the hand from her hair and fumbled for something in the dark. Defeat shattered around her once more when her efforts were rewarded with a cruel laugh.

"Save your strength, angel," whispered the voice in a way that made her cringe in disgust. "We have quite a trip ahead of us."

With that Emily felt the man take away his hand from her mouth. She moved to scream for Johnny—if he was even still alive to hear her—but again her efforts failed as a sweet smelling cloth was instantly clamped over her mouth and nose. She knew that smell. Chloroform…

Terror leaped to the fore again. If she didn't get away right now, she wouldn't be able to at all. In a few moments there would be no escape for her, no way out…

Violently, she struggled against his hold, yet again, and tried hard not to breathe in the sickening aroma. But soon, no matter how desperately she fought, Emily felt her heartbeat slow to a crawl as her world was gradually wrapped in a debilitating darkness.

-----

The movement from earlier got closer, and a pair of black boots entered Johnny's muddied vision. He had no idea how much blood he was losing, but he could feel a powerful chill creeping through his body, while the floor beneath him was warming slightly. And his vision was starting to get very spotty. All not good signs.

The boots were joined by the bottom half of a squatting figure, a gun dangling from its gloved hand. "Where is she, hmm?" asked the man, squashing Johnny's broken attempt to get to his feet with one hand. "Ah, ah, ah…" chided the man, brining the tip of his gun's barrel to rest upon the wound at Johnny's side. "You could hurt yourself."

Another jolt of pain sliced through Johnny's side as the gun's tip pressed into the seeping wound. Holy shit that hurts! He tried not to recoil at the pain but it was useless, the contact was too much. Johnny gasped.

"See, it's already been nearly five minutes and, in case you haven't noticed, this place is ridiculously large. In fact, it kind of puts us at a bit of a disadvantage. See, if little Miss Quartermaine is hiding somewhere, then finding her could take up an unfortunate portion of my evening, and I do so hate wasting my time. Now, why don't you be a good little boy and help along the process so we can be on our merry way," breathed Pedro, bringing his head closer to Johnny's, something clearly evil glinting in his serpent eyes. "Tell me where she is and I won't make that unfortunate throbbing in your side increase, tenfold."

"Go to hell." Those three words were the last that Johnny managed to force past his lips before he felt the full weight of Pedro's threat being carried out. The bodyguard screamed out and frantically tried to knock away Pedro's weapon. Johnny's movements were futile, and he was stilled by a pair of brutal hands clamping around his wrists, holding him down, side exposed and vulnerable. This so wasn't good. But—if anything—it bought her just a little more time. To do what, Johnny hadn't a clue.

"See, this is why I hate Americans, Rico" drawled Pedro, smiling cruelly at the man restraining Johnny as he applied even more pressure. Pedro's smile only widened at the strangled cry his torment ripped from the guard's constricting throat. Johnny's once white dress shirt was now dyed a morbid crimson; soaked nearly through and through. And his chest moved in shallow, uneven heaves, a slight tremble evident in his straining limbs. His face was pallid now; the dark red smudges of slowly drying blood the only color anywhere on his face. "They are insolent, rude, and they never learn."

After giving a hateful laugh, Pedro then removed his blinders from Johnny's vision, clicking off the flashlight and tossing it to a man behind him. "No need for that," he said darkly. "I think I've got you sufficiently incapacitated, don't you?" When Johnny's only answer was a gurgling breath, Pedro's face bunched in a disapproving frown. He jabbed his gun forward again, viciously. The move was rewarded by a weak, agonized moan. "You should really answer when people speak to you. Nobody likes a bad conversationalist."

Johnny pried his tightened lips apart to say something when someone else's voice claimed the silence. "I found her, Pedro" yelled out a male voice in hurried Spanish, causing the head of Johnny's tormentor to snap up. They found her… Johnny's whole body shuddered in panic, and the bottom went out of his stomach.

Oh, God, no…

But there was no use praying any longer. There, beyond Pedro's shoulder, a darkly clad man held a limp Emily in his arms. "Emily!" Johnny's rasping voice struck the air. The weakness of if sickened him. "Emily, can you here me!" he yelled with every last ounce of energy he could muster. "EMILY! Emily, please…" Vicious hands gripped his arms roughly, jerking him backwards and Johnny's head fell limply forward from the force of it. Coughing wetly, the air left him in an exhausted huff and his vision began to blur at the edges. This was just too much. He was fading fast and he knew it. He could barely move a thing, how in the hell was he supposed to save her? Johnny's eyelids grew heavier and he strained to keep them open. This just couldn't be happening…

The man carrying Emily glared daggers at Johnny and shifted her drooping form in his arms. "We must go," said the man, "now, before she wakes up."

Johnny's gut clenched violently. No, they couldn't leave! They couldn't take her! He struggled to get to her, twisted himself violently against his holds but it was all to no avail. The bodyguard's world was slowly dimming… hope being steadily extinguished as the light began to leave him.

Giving a rough nod, Pedro drew himself up and retrained his murderous gaze on Johnny's haggard body. The girl's bodyguard seemed to be straddling that thin line between lucidity and oblivion. He wouldn't be a problem now. Pedro motioned for him to be released.

"I guess we didn't need your help after all," drawled Pedro, coldly. "Thank you for your hospitality. Sorry we can't stay, but you know how it goes. Business first." With that Pedro gave a pitiless smile and made a point of delivering a brutal kick to Johnny's side before letting loose a sharp whistle, and taking his leave of Emily's apartment, vile pack in tow.

All Johnny could do was watch, bent double, rendered useless by the intolerable pain attacking his body, and trying to fend off the haze invading his consciousness, as a totally helpless Emily was carried away from him and into the night.

-----

Jason and Sonny skidded to a raspy halt in the street outside Emily's building, the scene meeting their eyes seemingly unbelievable.

Emily, limp and unconscious, was being hastily loaded into a black van not twenty feet from where they stood, by a pack of darkly dressed men. A volatile mixture of anger, fear, and murderous intent rattled through Jason's body like liquid lightening. He sprang forward, eyes blazing, gun leveled dangerously. Sonny matched him stride for stride.

"Put her down!" he yelled and Sonny couldn't rightly remember ever hearing Jason's voice sound quite like that before. Quite so desperate, or quite so deadly.

All heads swiveled toward the armed duo, actions frozen in place. Emily was only halfway in the van.

Jason stepped to the stilled picture, but then, as if someone had hit fast forward, the scene shifted, the players converging rapidly. Emily was taken roughly into the van by one of the men, leaving the remainder of the group outside to face them menacingly. Jason suddenly found him in Sonny in the midst of a standoff, four guns to their two. He didn't much like the odds.

"Give me my sister." Every word was a struggle, quaking with barely contained rage. He knew the order was a long shot, but he didn't know what else to do. "Hand her over or I start shooting."

A laugh struck the air then, hollow and malignant, followed by the sudden gunning of an engine. Quickly the group began to pile into the van's side door one by one; Jason watched this with widened, frantic eyes. Another few moments and Emily would be gone. He had to do something, outnumbered or not.

It was do or die time.

Sparing only a side-glance at Sonny, Jason leapt forward.

A split second later, the tranquil, early morning air of Port Charles was shattered by an explosion of rapid gunfire, and a thick, gravely cry.

"JASON, NO!"

-----

TBC…