Burn Notice - The Man He Is
A/N: Enjoy!
Bursting through the door, Sam grabbed for the rug, throwing it to one side as Fiona gasped.
The bloodstain on the floor was massive. Sam shook his head, looking around the loft for any indication about what had happened. Fiona quickly shifted from horror to war mode. Someone was not going to be happy when she caught up with them.
Tossing pillows and blankets off of the bed, Sam's foot kicked Michael's phone away from the blanket on the floor. Picking it up, he saw all of his calls to Michael.
"This is not good, Fiona. We need to find Jesse." Nodding, Fiona began dialing Jesse's number as they left to go track him down. He didn't answer.
Glancing at Sam, they hoped that Jesse and Michael hadn't gotten themselves in trouble with a third party. Finally finding Jesse at a cheap motel, Fiona and Sam approached his room. Breaking the door, they found him passed out on his bed, his gun on the nightstand.
Sam secured his gun, while Fiona pushed him off of the bed.
Groggily, Jesse rubbed his eyes and took stock of Fiona and Sam's profiles.
"What do you to want?" He said, his voice completely void of any emotion.
"Where is Michael?" Fiona asked, picking up a water bottle and throwing the contents in Jesse's face.
"W-what?" Jesse slurred, Sam looked around and took in the appearance of Jesse's hotel room, his observations led him to believe that Jesse hadn't been outside of the room for the last two days, the bottles of beer told Sam that Jesse had stocked up and then drowned himself in his beer.
"He's been missing for two days. We saw the blood at his loft. What did you do, Jesse?" Sam asked, glaring at Jesse.
"I shot him." He answered flippantly.
"Oh my g-" Fiona groaned, turning away to compose herself before she shot Jesse.
"Is…Is he dead?" Sam asked, hating to voice his fears aloud.
"He wasn't when I sold him to the Serbians." Jesse said, however, upon voicing that aloud, he got a shocked expression on his face and then he covered his face with his hands, "Oh crap. I-I sold him."
"You SOLD HIM!?" Both Sam and Fiona yelled at the same time. Sam jerked Jesse to his feet and slammed his back against the wall.
"I-I was angry. I wasn't thinking." Jesse was suddenly overwhelmed with all of the emotions he had been attempting to avoid by drowning himself in beer.
"I-I figured he'd escape. I figured it would be a little payback and then I'd forget about you all. He shouldn't still be with them…I-I couldn't kill him. I tried. But I couldn't do it."
"No, you've just sentenced him to a fate worse than death," Fiona growled at Jesse.
"Where did they take him? Which Serbians did you call?" Sam asked, letting go of Jesse's collar and letting Jesse slump to the floor.
"It was Djovic. I s-sold him to Djovic." Jesse said before Fiona slapped him and then Sam jerked him up from the floor and pushed him toward the bathroom.
"Get cleaned up. You're going to help us get him back."
His mind was foggy. Time was irrelevant, his shoulder burned, and he was hot and cold all over. He couldn't get his breathing to even out, he knew at least one rib had been broken in the last session with the Serbians.
They hadn't asked him any questions yet; he knew that right now they were just extracting vengeance for his meddling with their affairs.
The cut along his brow from the tumble down his stairs with Jesse had stopped bleeding, but the blows to his mouth had left him spitting out blood long after the session was over.
Right now, he was sitting, tied to the chair. They had taken his shoes, his shirt, and left him shivering in a room with no heat. After the first session, they had poured Rakija in his shoulder and over his head, although he doubted it would do much to fight the infection he could feel burning through his system.
He hadn't had any water or food and his stomach, despite being empty, was threatening to betray him at any moment. He just hoped he could save it for one of his captor's shoes.
He knew they planned to ask a few questions before killing him and was taking it as a good sign that they hadn't started asking yet.
He'd managed to loosen the bonds on his hands and feet but was waiting to make his move when the guard came to check him before they began the next session. They had set a pattern, the guard would come in, verify he was still tied, and then leave the room, he had ten minutes before the muscle came into the room to beat up on him.
If he could knock out the guard, he'd have ten minutes to get as far away as he could before they realized he was gone.
Sure enough, his time came. The guard came in, by now well acquainted with the routine and as he was checking Michael's feet, Michael brought his knee up into the guard's forehead. The guard went down, and Michael used the time to grab the chair. The guard was just getting to his feet when Michael slammed the chair down as hard as he could, holding his breath as his shoulder screamed and the world tilted.
The guard lay unconscious at his feet, the chair lying in broken pieces around the guard's head.
Michael carefully made his way to door, looking around the corner, he verified that it was clear and began making his way back the way they had dragged him. He'd been blindfolded, but he knew how many twists and turns they'd taken and was confident that he could figure it out.
He'd made it through most of what he could now see was an old, abandoned office building/warehouse when he heard voices. Knowing his time was running short, he picked up the pace.
Just as he made it to the outside door and stepped into the afternoon light, he found himself surrounded by Serbians with guns. Before he could react, someone behind him tased him and his whole system caught fire.
Slowly regaining consciousness, he faintly became aware of his hands being chained to the ceiling, his shoulder bleeding again, the pain from the strain tenfold.
"You think you are very clever, Mr. Westen." Djovic said, a slight smile on his face, "Well, we will make sure that your cleverness is accounted for and that will have been your last chance to escape."
With a pat to Michael's face, Djovic turned and left the room, muttering to his second in command something about when the Questioner would arrive.
His feet barely touching the ground, Michael found himself at a loss for options. Pushing back the hopelessness, he began working on his next plan, his mind also drifting to his friends and hoping they would find him, but his heart fearing that he had burnt too many bridges and that they wouldn't care. Fiona's words kept ringing in his head, maybe he deserves this.