A/N: My most recent excuse for not updating is probably my most valid: I started college! Woot! But I have to admit, I was terrified at first. So those reviews from Majestic Wren and Guest were extra appreciated. A little sunshine while I dreaded moving away from my family. Thanks, guys! You're the best!

And this is my longest chapter so far. Like, 3,400 words long. And I'm supposed to be reading The Iliad.

You're welcome.

Warning: Violence.

Nick had a massive headache and a dark feeling boiling in the pit of his stomach. He watched through slit eyes as the rest of his team was kicked into line on the floor next to him at gunpoint. His rage grew.

Good thing he was handcuffed, or there was no saying what would happen to the Reds.

Once the seven members of the Shades were gathered and restrained, the nine—no, ten—Red Creek members huddled up and murmured to one another. Other than the hissing of the air vents and the whispering, it was silent. Nick held still a moment to make sure that nobody was watching and carefully maneuvered his lock-picking set from his back pocket. He just needed one hand free from the handcuffs.

Easier said than done. Charlie, the man who had driven Nick into the woods, noticed what Nick was trying to do and leaned in to help hide his fumbling hands. They didn't make eye contact. Secrecy was key.

The conversation stopped. One of the Red Creek members stepped forward, brandishing a knife and a smirk. Nick glared at him, along with the rest of the gang. Unhindered, the Red walked back and forth in front of the line of Shades, studying each face. When the man got to Knox, sitting at the far end of the row, he knelt down to get a closer look. Nick's handcuffs lightly clicked as one of the metal bracelets released its death-grip on his wrist. He slid the kit over to Charlie. The sound was covered up by a loud slap.

Nick rose up on his knees. He let out all of his pent-up anger and used it to fuel his courage. He spat, "What is it you want, you bas-"

"Ah, ah, ah. Language, young man." The man used the hunting knife to gesture to Knox, who had a handprint-shaped red blotch on his cheek. "He stole my car for a joy ride once." The man rose to his feet and made his way back down to Nick. He pointed the hunting knife at Nick's face. Nick didn't flinch or break eye contact. A tense pause.

The man withdrew his blade with a flourish and shoved Nick down with his foot. "Let's try again. I should introduce myself." He gestured to his lackeys. "These are the Red Creeks, and I'm currently in charge. The name's Axel, but you can call me 'Master' or 'Sir' or 'Commander'.'" Nick fought not to roll his eyes. And lost.

Axel noticed.

Nick ducked, narrowly avoiding a rather unfortunate alteration of his face. The knife sliced a chunk out of the wall behind him, sprinkling drywall over his shoulders and into his hair.

Axel leaned in and harshly spoke into Nick's ear. "Listen, punk-"

"Leave the kid alone!" Nick sucked in a breath. Without looking, Axel snapped his fingers, and one of the lackeys approached someone far enough down the line that Nick couldn't see. But he could hear. A heavy thump, and whoever it was shut up real fast.

Axel stepped back far enough that he could see everyone. "Where is the leader of this shindig?"

Silence.

Axel growled. "Don't make me ask again. Who is your leader?"

Nick cleared his throat. A few of his fellow gang members looked his way out of the corner of their eyes. He ignored their warning. "That would be me." And, cue the smirk.

Axel eyed him coolly. Somebody about halfway down the line stage-whispered, "Shut up, Nick. Tell him the truth."

Axel glanced away for a split second before taking a few steps closer. "Yes, Nicky. Tell the truth."

Nick considered his answer. His teammates were creating a way out for him. But he'd have to peg someone else as the punching bag. Sure, he was the member of a gang, but the gang was his family. He wasn't about to let anything bad happen to them if he could help it.

He leaned back against the wall with a shrug and a smirk. "I did." A nudge from Charlie. Another warning. But Nick was never one to heed a warning. He hardened his eyes. "I'm the leader."

Axel studied him. Nick suddenly got the uncomfortable feeling that Axel knew more than he was letting on. Despite his feigned nonchalance, a small kernel of fear took root in his stomach. After a minute of strained silence, Axel snapped his fingers and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. Two well-dressed lackeys hoisted Nick to his feet by his upper arms and led him towards the opposite corner.

When Nick felt their grip loosen enough, he drove his heel into a foot and his shoulder into a face. The hand cuffs dangling from his wrist sliced down the lackey's cheek as he fell. One down. The second lackey tightened his grip and lunged for Nick's other arm, but he misjudged his balance. All it took was for Nick to spin, and the lackey ran into the wall and crumpled. Nick smoothly pulled the lackey's gun from his belt and pointed it at Axel.

Axel did not look as perturbed as Nick had hoped he would. In fact, Axel smiled. It was a sick grin. Nick's confidence faltered.

Like someone had blown a whistle, five more lackeys charged at Nick. He dropped the gun as one of them tackled him. He held off at first, but all it took was one well-aimed crack across his jaw to stop him. Nick's head snapped to the side, and the shock ran all the way down his spine. While Nick's eyes struggled to refocus around the black dots floating in his vision, his handcuffs were locked around a pipe running parallel to the wall on the ceiling. Only the balls of his feet touched the floor.

Axel's smile grew as the lackeys retreated. He took his time approaching Nick, seemingly relishing the death glares he was getting from the six people restrained by the opposite wall. Nick's eyesight was clearing, and he watched with growing trepidation as Axel spun his knife in his fingers.

"Fun story," Axel said, addressing the whole group but not moving his eyes from Nick. "We found this hidey-hole yesterday while we were collecting what valuables were left from your warehouse. I made the executive decision to stick around and see if anyone would show up." The knife stopped spinning. Axel pointed the blade at Nick, the tip hovering just in front of his left eye's cornea. Nick held his breath. Another centimeter and he would lose an eye. Axel continued. "And look what we've caught."

"What do you want?" Nick couldn't peel his eyes off the blade to see who said it.

Axel waited a moment before lowering the knife to Nick's shoulder and slicing a shallow cut. Nick bit his tongue to keep from making a noise. Axel finally spun around to face the rest of the room. Nick lowered his head and released his breath in relief.

"First, information. Then revenge."

Nick's eyes snapped open just in time to see Axel's fist swinging towards him. He tried to duck, but his handcuffs pulled taught. The fist buried itself in Nick's abdomen, pushing all of the air out of his lungs. He gasped, but with his arms raised and only the balls of his feet keeping him steady, it was difficult for him to catch his breath.

Axel walked around behind Nick, out of his vision. Nick tried to turn and see him, but the handcuffs prevented him from spinning. An arm snaked its way around his neck. Nick struggled, and the arm squeezed threateningly. The knife pressed into his side, drawing a small bead of blood.

Axel's voice was loud by proximity to Nick's ears. "Who is your real leader?" He was addressing the rest of the Shades.

Despite his greatest instincts, Nick answered. "Are you deaf? I am."

Axel tightened his hold around Nick's neck, partially cutting off his airways. "Shut up."

Nick coughed and then rasped, "Why do you care, anyways?"

"I said shut up!"

"What is it that you-" The knife fell to the floor and Axel's grubby hand was covering Nick's mouth and nose. He couldn't breathe. One of the lackeys pulled his gun polishing cloth, stained with grease, from his back pocket. Another pulled out duct tape. They waited in front of Nick as he tried to pull away from the hand keeping him from drawing breath. Axel pulled him backwards to him, so that he was lifted to just the tips of his toes and couldn't even struggle effectively. The pressure was overwhelming. It felt like his limbs were burning. When black spots began to blur his vision, Axel released him.

Nick gasped for breath, swinging limply by his wrists. Then the foul flavor of grease coated his tongue, and duct tape wrapped across his jaw to keep the cloth in place. Nick breathed harshly through his nose, his mouth effectively gagged. He noticed the knife was no longer on the floor.

Axel sneered. "We should test it." A white-hot pain shot up from Nick's thigh. He cried out and kicked blindly. Only a muffled hum made it through the gag.

"Let him go!"

Axel spun back to the wall. "I wasn't born yesterday. What idiots would make a twelve-year-old the leader of a gang?" He smirked. In a less serious situation, Nick would have rolled his eyes again. "Besides, a little birdie told me that your leader is a she." Axel paused. He wagged his finger, and his posture was that of a detective who had just discovered a clue.

Nick watched cautiously as Axel stepped back towards him. "And word has it that there is somebody in the gang who she would do anything for." When his hand reached for his face, Nick flinched. Axel grabbed his chin and studied his face. "Like her own child." Nick's eyes widened. Axel brushed his bangs back with an arrogant grin.

"Isn't that right, Nicky?"

~xXx~

The house—if you could call it a "house"—looks as though it has survived the apocalypse. Or at least is preparing for one. One story, probably ten feet long and twelve feet wide. The windows are all boarded up, presumably with what was the porch's flooring. Not a light peeks through the small slots between the boards or under the door. It looks empty, so I assume she wants me to think it's empty. I mean, it's not like she ran off into the woods or anything.

She has to be in the house.

I take a deep breath and steel myself to approach the hideaway. She's probably been living here for days now; there's no telling what kind of booby traps she could have set. But as I step over the porch's boundaries, no trapdoor swallows me, not even a single arrow whizzes by. I close my hand around the doorknob, hoping my brief stint of luck will hold out, and twist.

The door swings open with a soft creak. The inside of the house is too dark for a human to see, but my enhanced vision means it's easy for me to pick out the empty cans of food on the lone table and the suitcase in the corner. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. This place gives me the heeby-jeebies. I move towards the suitcase to take a closer look.

"Take another step and I'll shoot." I almost jump. Almost. There's a thump behind me, and when I start to turn to look, she continues, "Don't move." The cold barrel of a gun presses into my lower back.

I start to search the small house for escape routes while I run my mouth. "You know, I'm usually the one who hides in the rafters." There's movement behind me, and I turn my head to peek. The safety on the gun clicks off. I get the point and face the wall again.

After a minute, a hand grabs my arm and leads me to the only chair in the small structure. It forces me into the seat. I try not to struggle; that will give her the wrong impression. But it's really hard to fight my instincts when she ties my hands to the arms of the chair. Like, I-wrap-my-ankles-around-the-legs-of-the-chair-to-keep-from-kicking-her-to-next-week hard. It's for Nick, gosh dang it. But I wouldn't trust me, either, if the first thing I did after following me to my safe house was to attack me.

Her work done, Nick's aunt walks around to in front of me and flicks a flashlight into my face. "You've been following me."

"Well—" I squint into the light, trying to make out her features.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is—"

And there's the gun again. "Who. Are. You."

I close my eyes against the harsh light, wrestling with bad flashbacks from my days on the operating table. She's obviously not going to let me get by with "anonymous tip," but it's not like she'll believe the truth, either. "I'm—uh. . ." My eyes, adjusted to the light, are able to make out her facial features. She and Nick share hair product, apparently. And lips. Not that I notice Nick's lips or anything. Or Fang's. Nope.

Then I'm struck with an idea. "Don't ask me my name, but I'm a. . . a neutral in this whole gang war thing."

She kind of hisses. "How did you find me?"

"Listen. Nick is in danger—"She lunges toward me, arm outstretched for a blow, but I instinctively raise my feet and kick her away from me. The action sends my chair toppling backwards. My head hits the floor in the same place that dumb brick hit me earlier. Stupid physics. "Sorry about that. I don't want to hurt you. But you need to listen. Nick—"

She pulls my chair back up onto four legs. "How do you know about Nick?"

He invited me to lunch. By the way, I spent the night at your place. You threw a rock at my head. Remember? "I have sources. But that's why you need to know—"

She rushes at me again, the gun forgotten on the table, and I stand (which is kind of awkward) and swing the chair around so that the legs hit her abdomen. She lands not-too-gracefully on her back on the floor. The chair breaks to pieces, only the arms attached to my wrists. I pull the wood planks off and offer her a hand up. She refuses and throws one of the larger pieces of the chair at me.

Gah, this is what I get for trying to be nice.

I don't stop her from getting back to her feet. I don't even stop her when she runs towards me. But this time, she doesn't have her gun. So once she grabs one of my hands, I grab one of hers.

"I've played this game before. I never lose. Just listen to me before I hurt you—" She tries to sweep out my feet, but I hop over and back her into a wall. For what she lacks in height, she makes up for in power. It's a struggle, but eventually I have both of her wrists pinned to the wall.

"I will let you go as soon as you promise to help me help Nick." She doesn't say anything. "He's in the underground bunker by the warehouse—"

"How do you—"

"And I was just over there keeping watch because of a meeting called because you decided to stop existing. They were ambushed, all of them. The Red Creeks know about the bunker." I realize she's trying to weasel her hands out of my grasp. I don't stop her, but raise my voice in desperation. "Do you hear me? Bess, they've got Nick."

At that, she finally seems be listening to what I'm saying. I loosen my grip a little, and she slides her wrists from my hands. I step back while she regards me, sizing up my words. I wait.

She speaks calmly. "It's a trap."

I nod. "Definitely." I give her a moment to continue, but when she doesn't, I do. "But Nick is family—"

"Nick is as good as dead." Her voice cracks.

My mouth drops open, astounded. "You're not going to just leave him—"

"I don't have a choice!"

"Yes! Yes you do!"

The phone rings. Both of us look in the direction of the sound, the blueish haze through her suitcase. She doesn't move.

"Are you going to get that?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Could be tracked."

Finally, I snap. I grab for the phone, hit "answer", and thrust it into her hands before she can give it back to me. I can hear the breath on the other end of the line, waiting for someone to say something. Hesitantly, she answers.

"Who is this?"

A gasp on the other end, like whoever it was was hoping Bess wouldn't answer. "H—hey, boss." Bess' shoulders tense. There's muttering on the other end of the line. I guess nobody thought she was still alive.

"Knox?"

"I'm sorry! They made me do it! Just don't-" His voice fades as the phone is passed around on the other end. Bess and I make eye contact over the glow of the phone. She turns away. She doesn't realize that I can hear both ends of the conversation.

A more confident, aggressive voice speaks over the phone now. "I want to cut a deal."

Bess laughs shallowly. "What do I have that you could want?"

"Information, darling. And you."

"And what makes you think-"

There's an awful sound over the phone, followed by a grunt. Bess stands rigid.

"You've got a nice looking boy, here. It would be a shame if something were to happen to him."

Bess' eyes harden. "I don't have any children."

Laughter on the other side. "You hear that, Nicky? She's denying your existence! How does that make you feel?" There's harsh breathing for a few seconds. Then a muted cry. I can make out the protesting of the other gang members in the background. All of the blood drains from Bess' face.

"Stop. Let him go."

"Only if you come to the bunker. Alone." Bess clenches and unclenches her fist, silent.

"But I would hurry, because the kid's bleeding quite a lot. And all of this thrashing around is going to make him choke himself on the rope around his neck. Wouldn't it be awful if something really bad were to happen to him?"

A final scream, hardly seeming like a gag could be deadening the sound.

Then the line goes dead.

Bess drops the phone and sits at the table, staring at her clasped hands.

"As good as dead," she repeats.

A/N: Well, that got darker than I expected. I guess The Iliad is rubbing off on me. (Shudder). But if that doesn't get your adrenaline pumping, you should see your doctor; your adrenal gland isn't functioning properly.

Review!