A/N: Usual disclaimer...blah, blah, blah...Sorry this chapter's so short!

Chapter 5- No One Mourns the Wicked

"No one mourns the Wicked

No one cries, they won't return

No one lays a lily on their grave

The good man scorns the Wicked

Through their lives our children learn

What they miss when they misbehave

And goodness knows

The Wicked's lives are lonely

Goodness knows

The Wicked die alone

Nothing grows for the Wicked

They reap only what they sow"

No One Mourns the Wicked from Wicked

Nick kept his gun steady as he looked at Sandra. "Have you, now?" he asked calmly.

"Oh yes, I saw you run up. I was looking out the window. Torturing prisoners is really more of Bruno's forte." She gestured with her free hand.

Nick struggled to stay calm as fury and adrenaline pounded through his veins. Swallowing, he devised a plan in his head. "What have you been doing to Greg?"

Sandra gestured still, switching the gun to her other hand. "Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. I expect he'll be fine. Though why you would go through all this trouble to rescue such a wimp is beyond me. Did you hear him pleading?"

Nick ground in his teeth in frustration and anger before asking calmly, "Alright, so you wanted to have some fun with Greg. But tell me, why was it necessary to do it here, of all places?" Nick kept his eyes on her as her carefully controlled expression slipped for a second.

"What, here?" she asked in confusion, gesturing with both hands.

This was what Nick was waiting for. He calmly pulled the trigger and watched the confusion on Sandra's face as the bullet drilled its way through her forehead. He was still watching just as calmly as she slumped to the floor, dead, and as the gun slipped from her hand. Ice-cold fury radiated from Nick as he looked down at her body. "No one hurts the ones I love without paying for it."

Grissom and Catherine were not the only ones to have heard the gunshot. Greg stiffened in surprise. Was someone finally here for him? His heart leapt and he struggled against his bonds with renewed vigor. Bruno, however, was apparently tired of playing games because he drew his gun and pointed it at Greg. "Be quiet, or you die."

Greg instantly lay still. He heard the approaching footsteps and Nick's voice calling tentatively, "Greg? Greg, where are you?"

Greg could no longer resist. He shouted, "Nick! Help, I'm…" He never got the rest out. Bruno hit him on the head with the pistol, and he passed out.

Nick heard Greg's cry. He ran forward, gun drawn, only to see a mountain of a man holding Greg with one arm, his other hand holding a gun against Greg's head. "One more move and the CSI dies," snarled the man. Nick froze. "Drop the gun," commanded the man. Nick complied, then stood, hands up. "Good. Don't move," said the man as he checked the window.

Nick took this opportunity to visually examine Greg. Even he, who had seen so many crime scenes, seen so many horrible things done to people, was shocked at how bad Greg looked. He looked like one massive bruise, bloody and torn. His face was puffy and swollen, the remnants of his shirt soaked in blood, and though his arm was bandaged, blood was seeping through.

Suddenly, Bruno straightened, muttering, "Shit." A few seconds later, Nick heard Catherine and Grissom calling his name, as well as Greg's. Nick knew what he had to do. Summoning his courage, he tensed, ready to spring, and shouted, "Griss!", diving to one side as he did so. He was half a second too late, and the bullet that Bruno fired tore through his arm. Through the haze of pain, and in a sort of slow motion, he saw Grissom enter and fire at Bruno. Bruno fell, his grip on Greg relaxing, and the younger man tumbled to floor in a heap. Nick nodded slowly. They had saved Greg. His job was done. He was smiling as he slipped into unconsciousness.