This chapter is going to be pretty breakneck so hold onto your hats ladies and gentlemen (mostly ladies though let's be honest here) Go Roman, go, go Roman, Roman, go, go Roman…
Hayley1001, Well, in that case I have some very good news for you because there is a whole lot more anger and suspense coming your way in this chapter…in fact a whole lot of anger and especially from our big Samoan undercover cop!
Minnie1015, Yep, I'm sure I'll be able to top that cliffhanger with another one in another story at some point, but that may take the prize for the cliffiest cliffhanger I have broken off on yet. But hey, I've got to get you into my ramblings somehow!
Martha, Haha, never fear, here comes the next chapter and hopefully all questions will be answered (well, until the next chapter anyway!) Thank you, I guess I just figured that if people cared enough to leave a comment then I would care enough to respond. It's the least I can do for my lovely reviewers!
Cheryl24, *Takes a bow* Thank you very much, I think in terms of cliffhangers that last chapter was pretty much the dictionary definition of how they're meant to be! I do love a good cliffhanger though and as much as anything they mean I can take a breath when writing. All hail the cliffies!
Skovko, Funnily enough I'm not very good at writing horrors. I've got a horror-ish type oneshot coming up for the boys in my Police AU series and I'm not ashamed to say that I freaked myself out briefly when writing it and I knew what happened (I'm a wimp!)
Yippi-kay yay motherfucker, Cliffhangers are the ultimate love-hate relationship. Is it a bad thing that I kind of give a malevolent chuckle whenever I write one in? Maybe, but come on, its not a thriller story without them. Necessary evils of the writing world!
Guest, Many thanks, hope you like the big dramatic fallout!
Wolfgirl2013, Thank you, glad you're enjoying it…Dean isn't and neither of Roman, but that might change…
SkittlezLvr79, Haha, I'm not sure if it's good or bad you being rendered speechless! Good because I'm mean so I like you on the edge of your seat and bad because I've got you on the edge of your seat, since that means now I have to deliver *crosses fingers*
Mandy, Aww, much love to you and your grandmother. Mine is in her nineties and I worry about her so much. She's healthy right now, but I feel your pain. Because I'm not updating on Thursday I'm going to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY now, hope you have a lovely day!
Stingerette1975, Don't worry, Roman is working on getting to his boy, but the question is will he get there in time to stop what's happening? Either way Bischoff is going to be a dead man. Hmm, are any of these teases working by the way?!
Daisysakura, Come on, I know you love it really! Besides, Dean being in terrible trouble and Roman having kittens about him being okay means lots of brotherliness when they finally get back together…I mean, if Roman makes it there in time of course…
Come on then, let's do this…
Raw Hatred
Roman is lucky –
Well, relatively speaking since in real terms he isn't very lucky at all, given that his cellmate is in the hands of a maniac who clears space in his prison by killing helpless men.
No.
Instead the big man is sort of lucky in that the three guards who have grabbed him swiftly taper off to one, who keeps his left arm twisted up right behind him to make him think again about going wild or kicking off. It isn't a particularly effective restraint hold and is one that the cop knows how to easily break up, but he lets it happen anyway as they descend into the prison through locked doors and into the solitary wing.
Looks and color wise it seems identical to their own floor, except for the fact there are no men moving about and that the doors are fewer and none of them are open and nor is it two storied or blessed with natural light.
Roman grimaces.
Death pervades the corridor and shivers through his bones because his uce is somewhere there and possibly spending his final few hours in a windowless box contemplating his end.
No god damn way is he going to let that happen.
Doors buzz shut behind them and he is pulled to a halt as the guard that is holding him less securely than he imagines makes them pause beside a tiny and unoccupied dank cell.
"Hold it."
Keys jangle hard and roughly on a belt chain but the undercover policeman only half registers the sound, since he is trying to take in every inch of their surroundings and the fact that it's so quiet.
Where the hell are all the guards?
Not that he has a whole wealth of experience, but even he knows each prison floor should have a half a dozen men and especially on the wing where they stash the problem inmates. The fact there are none is therefore pretty troubling and he frowns,
"You got any guys at all working down here?"
He gets his answer spat back,
"Is that your business you piece of scum?"
It is bitten out with no small amount of raw hatred and the lawman scowls in heated response, because he already knows that the warden has helpers and has already figured out that it must be the guards.
Some of them anyway –
Like the guy cursing behind him and fumbling to get the right key in the lock and whose attentions are therefore turned away from the prisoner that he thinks he still has so well wrapped up.
Roman tries again,
"I wanna know where you took my cellmate."
"I wouldn't worry about his ass."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Metal clicks on metal as the key finds purchase and then scraps over the lock to give the heavy bolts release and the noise it creates turns the bigger man's stomach because he needs to move fast.
"It means he's had his chance, that asshole will be outta here by the morning one way or another."
Roman doesn't much like the sound of that.
Damn.
Hands shift on his arm and behind him he hears the door swing as he is turned around towards it in an attempt to push him in and which is pretty much the make or break chance he has been waiting for right from the moment they walked into the wing.
Roman moves like a dart.
"Hey, what the – ,"
It is a shout unleashed by the smaller prison officer as the tall, well-built prisoner suddenly pivots wildly back, twisting himself easily out of the restraint hold and then blocking the hands swiftly as they scrabble for the belt.
"Sorry man,"
Roman propels him backwards two handed and the guard stumbles in across the threshold of the room, windmilling his arms as he tries not to overbalance but then powerless to stop the man from snatching up his gun, which is slipped from its holster and then pointed towards him with a steely looking gaze.
"Hey you can't – ,"
"Where's my cellmate at?"
"I don't – ,"
Roman grinds the sentence out firmly, brooking no arguments or wasting time,
"Tell me now."
For a second the guard simply goldfishes back at him, like he cannot believe he has been bested by a con, but luckily the handgun hovering in front of him and expertly trained proves the incentive to tell the truth and he raises his hands before slumping a little in heavy defeat,
"Might wanna try the end room."
"Thanks."
Roman bites the word out distastefully and then uses his free hand to swing shut the thick door, that locks into place as the guard surges forward with a look of sheer panic or else embarrassment,
"Hey, wait."
Roman is already halfway across the concrete in a stride that borders on a lolloping run, brown eyes bouncing back and forth like lasers as he takes in the locked cell doors and then discounts every one.
The end room.
He blisters a path towards the brickwork where the confines of the solitary wing slam to a halt and then turns towards the only door left he hasn't looked in and which is lying wide open.
He blinks.
Holy shit.
Initially all he sees is a sudden press of bodies, which number far too many to be packed into the small room. Most of them are wearing the khaki tones of the corrections staff but to the side is a flash of leather and then perched above them –
Bright orange.
Dean.
His brother is balanced on a chair in the center with his hands evidently pinned in place behind his back and there is a long length of rope hanging down from above him which has been tied off in a gut wrenching noose around his throat and Bischoff is standing with one foot up on the kick bar, seconds away from knocking it wholesale over.
"Stop."
Roman booms the word in a furious syllable that echoes off the walls and makes them all jolt but which also startles the shit out of his cellmate who wobbles unsteadily before looking up.
"Uce."
Dean blows the word out like he has been fast hanging onto it and has finally been given the chance to let it out and at the same time he lets his blue eyes fold in sheer gratitude as his body shudders and then rattles the noose.
Bischoff steps forward,
"What in the hell is this?"
He seems furious and in response the guards move to pull out their own guns, but are countered by the point of the weapon poised in front of them which tenses in warning.
"Get your god damn hands up – right up, now – every last one of you."
Roman isn't playing around but he is on the back foot and outnumbered like crazy besides being in stood in the midst of hostile territory in the bowels of a prison that is swarming with guards.
Bischoff knows it too,
"What are you planning to do with that son?"
"Get your foot off the chair."
"Or you'll what?"
Roman paused to suck a steadying breath in,
"I'm an undercover officer working outta the third precinct – ,"
"Sure you are."
"Get your foot off the chair."
Roman straight up bellows the sentence but instead of cowing the prison warden into compliance it instead has a far less welcome effect which seems to push him past the point of no redemption, which he does with a smile.
"Nope."
Then he kicks out hard.
Shit.
In the blink of an eye the copper blonde is falling and it forces the undercover lawman to move, the handgun clattering to the floor as he launches and then carves through the press of compliant prison guards.
"Dean – ,"
He grabs up the legs as soon as he is close enough then wraps his arms around them before pushing them up and the second he does the brutal sounds of choking that had started to fall out subside to painful wheezed out coughs.
"You're alright uce, you're alright I've gotcha."
Dean slumps in over his shoulder a little but his lean frame is positively vibrating with shock and possibly with the knowledge that they are both completely cornered because they are hopelessly outmanned and no longer have a gun.
Bischoff snorts,
"Well, this is romantic."
Dean coughs out a splutter and then a curse,
"F-fuck you."
Roman winces and then shuts his eyes briefly as he listens to the sound of the guards pulling their guns and the buzz of the solitary wing door unlocking as no doubt more of the corrupt men beat a path through.
He has failed them both.
Totally and utterly.
Dean is going to be killed simply because of him and he will probably have to stand there and watch it as a similarly matching fate is more than likely prepared for him.
He drops his head against his friend,
"I'm so sorry babe."
"N-not your fault b-big guy, n-one of this s-shit."
Bischoff however breaks sharply through the moment with a loud and unimpressed sounding bark, that he directs towards his entirely heartless workforce in tones of hard fought victory,
"Pull him back, let's get this done."
Roman feels hands fall down around his shoulders but holds on ever more tightly in response, because he knows if he lets go then his best friend will have nothing and will have run out of options.
Bischoff bellows,
"I said get him back."
His breath constricts in his lungs and then falters as the air in the room seems to suddenly become thin and a whistling stokes up in his ears that blocks the sound out –
But not the sudden voice that cuts in towards him,
"Reigns?"
He blinks.
Huh?
Something has happened.
Blue colored shirts are pouring in through the door and standing tall above the sudden swarm of activity is his shaven haired and abnormally tall boss, who has his gun raised up but is blinking in confusion with about a million other things mixed in as well.
Bischoff gapes,
"What – who are you – what are you doing here?"
Hunter ignores him and instead calls in more men, waving them through the door with a flash of black pinstripe and a steely expression that is familiar and so damn good. Roman watches numbly as his colleagues flood around him, firearms pointed outwards and throwing orders about, that ping off the walls and fill the room with bellows and the sounds of taking charge that make his ears ring.
Mick Foley had done it.
Foley had got them there, but hell his boss must have dropped everything and flown.
"Reigns? Easy now, easy, I got it."
Hunter is there swiftly with his fingers at the rope and scrabbling to pull the noose from its neck based position before finally slipping it free across the copper blonde scruff.
"Fuck."
Dean blows the word out heavily and then folds completely over the bigger man's back, which gives Roman the cue to set him down gently although the younger man's shaking legs briefly refuse to hold him up.
"Whoa – ,"
He slides to the ground in a crumple and the bigger man goes with him to help prop him up, sliding behind him and pulling him backwards until his cellmate is sitting and pulled back into his chest. Dean is still coughing and breathing too heavily and more likely than not fighting back a panic attack, so Roman rocks him gently and tousles the loose curls as he murmurs out in gruff tones,
"I got you, I got you uce."
Hunter is standing staring down at them in bafflement, but neither man has the extra energy to care. Dean looks up wearily,
"We – we fuckin' got him."
"Yeah we did babe, his ass is going down."
"Sami would never have believed all a' this shit."
Roman rubs his hand across the scruffy mop of hair and then grinds his fingers deep into the soft roots like he can press them physically in through his skin and soak up some of the hurt his friend is feeling, but instead he snorts wryly then smiles,
"He ain't the only one."
Who would ever have doubted good old Mick Foley huh? Man came through! Two more chapters now and then we're finished, but we've got kind of a lot to wrap up before then. Hopefully I'll see you in three as ever!
