Disclaimer: Vincent just popped back into my life…seemingly in time to make sure I didn't go racing after Jackson as soon as I could. He's very possessive the old boy. He's looking very put off as I said the old part. I've told him unless he knocks me unconscious I'm continuing with my Red Eye fic too, so he's just going to have to put up with that. I hope I don't let anyone down with this chapter…I know you've been waiting but I don't like putting anything out unless I'm satisfied with it and Vincent hasn't been giving me too much of the stuff…

Me: A girl's gotta get some satisfaction! I mean can you blame me….? And haven't you heard, Ripner is the new you! (Laughs) Why are you looking at me like that? Come on, knock it off you're freaking me out…

Vincent: (takes gun and knocks her unconscious, holds her neck gently to keep her from falling off the chair as he leans forward to type with one hand) Please excuse us, I need to have a little chat with miss, Sidhe here to renegotiate the terms of our contract and our roles in it. Perhaps she'd rather I slip into Jade's mind or Seraph's if she's so damned disappointed with my performance, I'm sure you ladies wouldn't be. I'm here to make sure her priorities don't…shift to …other clients.

Jackson: Ah, the old keep-her-attention-where-it-belongs-on-her-muse- ploy. Too bad I thought of it first…

Vincent: (pointing gun at him) I'll deal with you later, upstart. (Turns back to the computer screen) So, you girls wouldn't mind keeping an eye on her…make sure there is no transference or displacement…from where her thoughts should rightfully be…and stay.

Lara's mind raced without actually going any place of remote ability to lend her aid. This situation was beyond her. His grip at the crook of her elbow was close to bruising, a controlled vice at causing pain. He was holding back, a fact made clear by the tightened tendons that flashed deadly on his hand, the elegant fingers. He could be making it worse, she knew, much worse, and she was thankful.

Her steps were sluggish and somewhat misplaced on more than one occasion, because of her fear and because of the drink running rampant in her system.

None of this felt real. Not the man at her side. Not the knowledge of that man's previous dealings at the same club she had worked in for four years, or the horrible, gut wrenching feeling twisting her stomach, that she had just bought her own front row seat to see those dealings first hand.

Even the parking lot lights and those of the nearby buildings seemed a figment of the imagination.

Somehow he had directed her through the dizzying labyrinth of the parked cars in the lot to her ever trusty Honda.

"Do you have keys?"

Of course she had keys.

"Yes."

"Open the door."

Biting her lip, she peeled the chapped bits of flesh with her teeth, hoping the pain would clear her mind, bring her around…She fumbled with the keys twice, her nerves on edge. She could barely focus under the combined efforts of her sloshed state of mind and the immobilizing hold he had on her arm. She would bruise. She could tell. A big, yellow turn black, turn purple bruise. Shit.

On the third try, impatient with her fruitless attempts to get a hold of herself, Vincent ran the hand on her elbow down the length of her arm, to steady her shaking hand. Lara coughed weakly, trying to suppress the urge to just break down. One sharp thrust and the key slid in. He twisted his hand with her wrist, the key turned. Pop! The door was unlocked. Not hard at all, but for all the world Lara felt as if she had just lifted fifteen pound weights in her basement gym, or something heavier. The weight of the world, of people's lives was on riding roughshod on her shoulders tonight.

"Get in."

This was her last chance. To reason with him, beg if she had to. Because if she got in that car, if she got in that car with him now, there would be no exit sign or last warning to get her out of this. Point of no return. A clichéd term…a sappy word she hated to read in novels but now applied to her in a whole new sense. She would watch people die and would probably die herself come morning if she didn't try to talk to him now.

She turned wildly on him at the very last second, before the moment for the condemned's last request slipped through her fingers, "Please…"

His eyes took on an indulgent sheen. As if he knew what she was going to say, as if he had heard it all before, but would let her get it out of her system.

"Please, don't – don't make me apart of this….This – this – this is your thing. I'm nobody. I'm no one…please let me go…"

"No, I told you," He shook his head in that fashion, the same one he had used that night, as if her proposal was completely out of the question, "I need a guide and a driver, and you're a loose thread."

"Call a taxi…" She offered frantically.

"I could but then you'd still be within running distance of a pay phone. No, I don't think so. I'd really rather not deal with city cops tonight."

"I won't tell…I won't, I won't!" Lara stammered feverishly, "No one would believe me anyway…I'm – I'm blind stinking…drunk…Who would believe me?"

He was glancing around fugitively now, checking to see if they had an audience, how long he could allow her these protestations before it got serious, "Someone who knew who they were looking for." His hand tightened, "Now, get in the car." That was it, end of discussion, last chance had come and gone but Lara couldn't accept it. Her lips were set on repeat and she could taste the iron flavor of the blood from her lips as one word continued to tumble from her in blind desperation.

"Please…please…oh god, please…please…" A prayer.

"Are you finished?" Cold, callous…sharp. He was a razor blade and he hurt.

"Please…" She would throw up, she would weep. The bile rose, and the hot tears spilled over. Oh god, what if she couldn't stop herself. She didn't want that, anything but that. Stop me, she begged, stop me; don't let me cry in front of you. You're horrible and cruel and I don't want you to see…

A gun cocked. The sounds emitting from her throat stopped abruptly as she pulled in an achy breath. She couldn't see the offending weapon, but knew by its uncomfortable weight and pressure that he had pressed it into her side, under her ribs.

Lara hiccupped pathetically on the last whimper, gulping it down like a large pill with no water, and sniffled in humiliation. But she had stopped. Thank you. She had stopped.

How typical was it of a woman to cry when threatened? Lara felt her shame hot and heavy filling her face as she turned her head away from him. Why couldn't she be braver? Little girls resisted kidnapping and rape now with calm determination. Why couldn't she bring herself to think of something resourceful? All she could do was cower…and he hadn't done anything…yet.

Stubble at her cheek, she flinched, squeezing her eyes tight, "Get in the car now, I won't ask you again."

He didn't have to. Lara got it. The time of crying like a child had left some bad side effects, she still felt helpless but the gun had held her back from an attack. She would have lost it. The threat of doing so still lurked, but she had gathered enough of her wits not to crumple into a sobbing heap again. She obeyed…with jerky puppet like movements but she obeyed. She moved to walk around to the driver's side, but was tugged back.

"No, climb over the passenger side."

Lara stared at him blankly.

"Now."

Opening the door she stepped over the passenger seat and hand rest, to plop down numbly into the seat. Vincent ducked his head and joined her, slamming the door shut behind him.

Lara sat still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, kept warm by her thighs. Okay, she was in the car. Maybe she could…just sit here. That would be nice.

Vincent's arm twisted behind him with a flexibility that announced an underlying threat of being able to use such abilities for something far deadlier than buckling a seatbelt.

"Do you know the Orange Blossom? It's an herbal garden in China town."

"Yes." The utterance fell like stones into a black pond, swallowed up, deposited into silence. Once, she had gone there once.

She wasn't even sure if he had heard her.

He had, "Good."

Good? How could this night yield anything close to a good? Good heavens, good god maybe but…

"Well?" His brisk tone broke her reverie. She regarded him with confusion.

"What?"

"You've been to the Orange Blossom?"

"Yes."

"Are we in a car?"

Were they? For all Lara knew they could have been in a different world, and she wouldn't have noticed. She was in a car, she was because if she weren't she would be calling the police.

"Yes."

"Then drive."

Lara's hands pulled themselves from the safety of her clenched legs, to skitter like nervous beetles along the curved length of the wheel, then dropped back down again. She turned her gaze on him, happening on a vital point of resistance.

"You'll just kill me anyway."

He regarded her seriously, "Maybe. But your life span isn't the issue here." He reminded her, his voice dropping to a chillingly mocking tone, "Isn't that Farely leaving the place now?" He indicated behind her but Lara refused to turn, to rise to his bait. He had made his point. Had clearly punctuated it, and she still couldn't bring herself to start the damn car.

Suddenly then she knew the reason for her hesitation and it was so stupid she almost started laughing. It was so stupid it could possibly save her life. Without meaning to a snicker passed her lips.

"What now?" She supposed the lethal tone was meant as a warning; instead it served as a good slap on the back and caused a hard rough like bark of laughter to fall out of her.

"Man, look at me…" Lara gestured to her apparel and the distance in her eyes, the fine tremor in her hands. His eyes glided over her like a lightly chilled wine, flowing over her every crevice, "…I'm smashed. Do you really think I'm the best person to put behind the wheel of a car?"

Surely, he could see the divine logic of this?

His eyes glanced swiftly over her a second time. He nodded, but it wasn't one of agreement.

"You'll do."

She gaped at him. He was stubborn and insane; she could really hurt them in her condition…

"You know I could kill us…"

A silvery brow rose. Lara immediately realized her mistake. Threatening him was not the best thing to do in her position.

"I'm not saying that as a threat…" She hastened to correct her blunder, "but I mean I could very well…ya know…" He stared impassively, "we could get hurt is all."

"You'll get hurt either way if you don't stop stalling and drive."

Were your emotions supposed to ricochet up and down, fluctuating wildly in times of intense fear and confusion? Lara had felt so many warring emotions in the last five minutes. Fear, terror, frustration, hope, helplessness…Pick one for god sakes, and try to think!

But she couldn't think. Thinking hurt, thinking was hard, and she couldn't think with him there…watching…Big Brothering her every move. She sighed, putting the key in the ignition, but that's where her movements took a pause.

She knew the brave thing, the right thing, would be to let him kill her. Throw off his time. Perhaps giving the cops enough time to take note and what? Go after him. Something told Lara this guy, this Vincent was a professional. And professionals never got caught. No, and bad as it was, Lara couldn't help being addicted to living, to the thought of survival. That thought pulled stronger than the pull of her conscience. He's going to kill people, and you'll watch, and there'll be nothing, nothing you can do. Could she live with that? The knowledge that she had been powerless to stop it?

She was brought out of her fevered musings by a firmly terrifying squeeze on her knee. Her leg spasmed, as Lara glanced down sharply to find Vincent's hand tightly clasped to her striped suit pants.

He had taken her reluctance for worry, "Just do your best."

And then he smiled. Only it wasn't a smile. It was dark and sinister. The farthest thing from a smile Lara had ever seen. Feral. Frightening. Her leg grew unaccustomedly warm from the contact, and some white blade sharp heat dug into her skin when his nail scratched a few threads on thesoft material.

Prying his hand off, she all but flung it away from her with a curl of her lips, knowing the feeling from the airport years before, and afraid of similar consequences taking place.

"You can't expect me to drive like that. Keep your hands to yourself, okay?"

"Drive." He pointed to the road.

"I'm driving."

And she was. Other than some mild swerving and blurred vision, Lara wasn't showing any other signs of reasonable drunken behavior. Damn, now she didn't have a reason to get them into a ten car pileup. Stop this night…

"What if I get pulled over?" She asked anxiously.

"Don't." His answer was short and harsh like a tact, "You don't want that."

"No. I guess I don't."

That was the last thing said for a while. Lara was all for ignoring the situation completely, pretending someone wasn't sliding material glances over her. Women's intuition should have clued her in earlier, before the scene in the parking lot. It had but she had ignored it just as she was ignoring him now. He had been dangerously attractive and exciting and she had liked it, flirting…she had been dumb. Just like mommy taught you, don't talk to strangers, don't take candy from strange men…Don't accept a drink from strange man and then end up in a car with a gun to your head. She had learned all this in primary school. So why hadn't she remembered those important lessons?

Stupid, stupid Lara.

There had to be a way out of this. Life gave people opportunities everyday, why not for Lara? She thought she was entitled to some extra benefits from the over power seeing as she was in greater need of it now than all the rest of the city combined. Of course there would be opportunities. The problem was finding one, latching on, and running with it. Running far away from here with it, preferably someplace where they had sirens and flashing lights. Until that time however…

Lara snuck another sideways glance at her side passenger.

She'd have to play nice, play willing, play victim. And that was not an appeasing role to Lara Andrews.

God, when she had left the club all she had wanted was a hot bath and eight hours of sleep. That wasn't an option anymore. She doubted even her usual remedies for calm would work at a time like this. Forget a bath, she needed Bach.

She'd give anything to listen to her soundtracks right about now and block all thought of the hit man from her mind, but he had other ideas it seemed. Apparently he wanted some sample of poor conversation.

"You're a quiet one, aren't you?"

Lara tightened her jaw. If she could just get Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata going in her inner ear she'd be fine. But something about his voice drilled in, demanding recognition.

"What, you don't like to talk? I thought all women liked to talk."

She would refuse to respond, she wouldn't be moved, she was a stone wall….

"But you don't, do you?"

She was a stone wall, impenetrable…

"Still think you're in control, Andrews? You think that by being silent you have some hand on the situation, but I'm here to tell you, your silence just proves your submission. Your supplication. By not saying a word you give me what I want…a mute accomplice. It's a trait that should be taught to all women, maybe then their boyfriends wouldn't dump them… You got a boyfriend yet, Andrews?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Lara took the next right a little sharply, breathing hard. Hating that he had nettled her…

"Easy. Easy, Andrews. Don't call attention to yourself."

Lara controlled the car again.

"So…not a talker." He concluded.

Lara felt like screaming. She'd have to talk; she couldn't stand hearing what he said. At least this way she could argue with the points he made, keep them away from getting too true in their analysis.

"No, I'm not. Besides you said you'd kill me if I so much as sneezed. So I figured I better do as you say."

He made some murmur of false gratitude and appreciation that didn't promote sincerity, "You're very obliging."

"You have a gun." Lara reminded him coldly, "You thought I'd rebel?"

"You ran." He pointed out.

Lara swung a glance at him, only briefly, "It's what cowards do, isn't it."

There was a pause.

"That wasn't cowardice."

"What was it then?" Lara snapped.

"Survival instinct. Fight or flight. You've heard of it."

His arrogant tone, his know all disposition, "Yes, I've heard of it!"

"Lower your voice."

"As if anyone could hear me." She snorted, weaving her way through the streets.

"I can hear you, that's reason enough. Take a right here."

Lara complied turning the car into the flashy side road welcoming them into the mystic east of China Town.

The Orange Blossom was a small family run nursery of foreign and exotic flowers and shrubs. Mostly for people into Feung Shui and rooftop herbal gardens and such. The last time Lara had been here her boyfriend, David, had bought her a zebra orchid. Wild flower, wild thing…Wild night, much like this one was turning out to be. Only on that night she knew she would go home sooner or later. Now…home seemed about as far away as the dawn.

"Take the back entrance…right there on the left."

She steered the Honda into a back alley of inky darkness. A few garbage cans were huddled near the exit of the hot house and its outside grounds. She cut the engine and it died with a flash of the silent head lights.

A cat yowled somewhere above them, making Lara jump slightly at the jarring sound. She very nearly crawled out of her skin when Vincent suddenly surged forward…

And took the keys.

"Ten and two." He murmured, turning to her.

She shook her head not comprehending his words, "I'm sorry I…"

"Ever take drivers Ed, Andrews? Middle High, High School?"

Lara gulped, "Yes."

"They taught you how to drive with your hands at ten and two, didn't they? How drive a car properly. You've been slacking, but let's see if we can make up for lost time." He smiled grimly, and indicated with his head, "Ten and two."

He hands twitched, lifted, and lightly brushed the wheel timidly.

Reaching into his pocket he extracted two white transparent cords. The smell of plastic assailed her nose. With a snap and a few clicks the bond had tightened on her right wrist, pinning her hand to the wheel.

These things…She had seen these kind of things before, usually attached to shoes to make sure they weren't separated or stolen.

The second restriction strapped into place, pinching her skin. Lara grimaced

It was a precaution. She was like shoes. Too costly to be stolen, to lose. Safety measures were being taken to ensure there was no possibility of separation.

"Wait here."

She shot a glance that could burn. Where would she go? He had made certain she couldn't move from this spot! Ignoring him was her only salvation, her only sanity. He was cellophane, he was insubstantial…

He was brushing back a lock of her hair. Lara jerked away to the side, nearly cracking her head on the glass of the window to avoid his touch. The wavy tendril that had bourn the outlining caress of his finger tingled all the way to her scalp, where it prickled her uncomfortably.

She thought he might have smiled, that grotesquely inhumane smile, again but she couldn't be sure. She wouldn't look at him. She flexed her wrists instead, the blood already blocked off to her ever increasingly blue hands.

He took note of it, shrugging off the seat belt and popping open the door with a 'whoosh' that filled and permeated the interior of the car with the smells of the nursery. Intense Gardenia, soft Jasmine, brilliant Oleander, and the dry heat of Lemon Grass all mingled and mixed reminding Lara of a freedom she didn't have.

"I'll be back before the circulation is cut off entirely."

A slam of the car door, and he was gone, melting into the musky dark of the alleyway.

She moved. Pulled, stretched, fought. The shoe restraints held firm; Vincent's stand-ins. She tugged against them. If she couldn't fight him physically, she'd fight his representatives. Writhing in their hold, she wiggled until she could brace her feet on the lower part of the dash and use the force to pull on the ties. It was painful. Another few heartfelt jerks like this and she could take her arms out of her sockets, and probably would if she kept this up.

Groaning in defeat, she let her feet slip to the bottom of the car again. Frustrated with her own impotence, she kicked the under part of the dash. The force of the impact shook her half way open sunscreen mirror, out. It was cracked, spider like threads etched across the glass like some abstract artwork.

She had meant to fix it months ago after the argument she and David had had in the car, when he threw a full unopened beer can at her and missed. He'd been drunk, which he always was when he had another girl on the side. Sayonara Davie, go join the navy, and screw every girl at every port from here to Guam, I am sick of cleaning up your messes. Only in so many words. She had meant to fix the mirror but now…

Her distorted image stared back at her, broken, beaten.

Glass, sharp…tough…a weapon.

Lara kicked again. The mirror shook. Again she pulled her leg back and released it.

Wobbled, shook…

She was going to get her hands on that glass even if she had to break the car in the process. She used both feet this time and thinking of Valkeries and Norse warriors, she grunted her frustration and struck out.

It swayed, it fell. Broke into pieces. A medium good sized shard, gleaming on the part of the wheel connected to the dash, glinted the feverish look in her eyes. Close enough to reach, to touch. The tips of her fingers were clammy with the perspiration of her tireless work, and the slick sweat was an ideal sticky substance for the dry glass. Her fingers lightly prodded, the glass stuck, nicked her fingers…but it was hers. It's razor sharp edge digging into her, bringing out blood…

It took her a few minutes to situate the shard in just the right place to scrape the plastic. It hurt, but the pain just told her it was working. She worked fast, knowing any moment Vincent might return…and he would be mad it he found her like this. Lara was determined he wouldn't find her at all. She pressed harder on the plastic binding. If she wasn't careful she'd slit her wrists. But that was a risk she'd just have to take.

She sawed away.

And then her cell in the cup holder rang.

And rang.

The glowing screen on its surface read, "David."

And then three shots cracked against the night. Just three that nearly cause her to drop the glass, but she held tight, cutting deeper. She bled. She didn't care. The phone continued to ring. She didn't care.

Because it was only a matter of time.