After nearly twenty minutes of driving, they pulled into a vacant lot, gravel crunching under the bald tires. It was too dark out for Ian to gauge where they were, but he knew it couldn't be anywhere safe. There didn't appear to be anyone or anything around, only a bunch of abandoned buildings and creepy barbed-wire fences that displayed rusted signs warning people to BEWARE and NO TRESPASSING.
Ian's heart hammered in his chest as he racked his brain, trying to figure out why Mickey and his brothers would kidnap him at gunpoint and bring him to that place. He came up blank.
The dirty Milkovich behind the wheel cut the engine and took a slow drag off his cigarette, the red tip burning in the dark as he turned to regard Mickey in the backseat. "Ready? Let's get this shit done."
"Done?" Ian panicked. "Get what done? What are you gonna do to me?"
Mickey shoved his gun hard into Ian's side, causing Ian to curse and wince in pain. "We're gonna get outta the car now, and you're not gonna pull anything stupid. Got it, bitch?"
Ian pointedly stared at Mickey with his jaw flexed. "Got it."
Mickey leaned in towards Ian, his chest brushing against Ian's arm, and opened the door with one hand while keeping the gun pressed against Ian's ribs. "Get out," he instructed with his face inches from Ian's, his breath warm and smelling like cigarettes against Ian's cheek.
Ian grudgingly did as Mickey demanded and got out of the car, holding his hands in the air as Mickey climbed out after him.
"Move," Mickey ordered with a rough shove to Ian's shoulder, directing Ian bodily towards the nearest building.
Ian halted, mentally scrambling to figure out a way to escape before the brothers could kill or torture him. He moved only when the barrel of Mickey's gun dug into the small of his back.
It was pitch dark inside the building as they made their way up a flight of dilapidated steps. Ian tripped once, causing Mickey to push him forward from behind.
"Keep it moving, shithead."
"Jesus, alright!" Ian snapped, shooting Mickey a dirty look over his shoulder once he regained his balance. "I'm going!"
"Watch your mouth, tough guy," Mickey warned while digging the gun deeper into Ian's back to maintain the upper hand.
The group entered a massive, hollowed-out room that had been a bustling cubicle floor of a once-flourishing office building. The walls were gray, dingy, and covered in random graffiti. Dust and dirt caked the ground and large windows, barely allowing any moonlight to peek through. Fast food wrappers and broken beer bottles littered the space. Among the debris were two folding chairs, flashlights at the ready, and a small food cooler sitting in one corner.
It seemed apparent to Ian that the brothers had planned the whole thing, which added to his confusion over the situation.
"Why am I here?" Ian asked, once again receiving no explanation. Getting pissed at their lack of answers, he bellowed, "Hello!"
"Get over there," Mickey ordered before shoving Ian across the room.
"Why am I here?" Ian asked again while shooting Mickey a baleful look. "Is this about that beer you stole? I promise I wasn't gonna snitch!"
"Sit down and shut up," Mickey answered, motioning towards a folding chair with a wave of the gun.
Ian glaringly locked eyes with Mickey as he reluctantly sat down on the cold metal chair. "Tell me why you're doin' this, Mickey. Is this some sorta sick joke?"
"Whoa, hold the fuck up!" Iggy exclaimed, spinning around to glare at his brother. "What the hell, dickhead? You didn't tell us this shithead knows you!"
"Alright, shut the fuck up," Mickey said through clenched teeth as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I… I won't say anything," Ian stammered after a few moments of tension-filled silence. "If you let me go, I won't tell anyone."
"Fuckin' right, you won't tell anyone," Colin warned. "That's if we let you live."
Mickey sighed, still pinching his nose. "Okay, calm down."
Colin made an intimidating show of cocking his gun while keeping his glare focused on Ian.
"Alright, Dirty Harry," Mickey spat as he grabbed a rope that had been sitting next to the empty chair. He went to work, jerkily tying a rigid Ian's hands behind his back. "He's followin' our orders, for now, so you can put your fuckin' gun away."
"What if he tries somethin' stupid?" Colin argued.
"He won't," Mickey snapped before leaning over Ian's shoulder and looking down at him glaringly, their faces inches apart. "And he won't say shit to anyone. Will he?"
Ian minutely shook his head and said nothing as he stared ahead unseeingly while Mickey finished tying his wrists achingly tight behind his back.
"Why don't you idiots go outside? Call Pops and let him know what's goin' on," Mickey suggested, wanting his brothers to get the fuck out of his sight. He knew he should've handled the kidnapping on his own.
Iggy and Colin grumbled under their breaths before turning to leave.
Mickey gave Ian's restraints a final tug before walking around to face him. He locked eyes with Ian, not liking how he looked up at him, all hopeless and scared and shit.
"Alright, look," Mickey started. "I probably shouldn't be tellin' your ass this, but take what my asshole brother said with a grain of salt. Nothin' will happen to you as long as you don't pull any stupid shit, and my dad gets his money. Got it?"
"What are you talking about?" Ian asked, looking confused. "Money? I don't even know your dad."
"No, but your dad does."
"My dad?" Ian asked with a frown. "You mean Frank? What the hell did Frank do now?"
"He owes my dad a shitload of money," Mickey responded as he patted his pockets in search of his smokes. "It's time to collect."
Ian's frown deepened when the realization dawned on him. "Wait, you kidnapped me because Frank owes your dad money?"
"Bingo, asshole," Mickey said before swearing when he realized he'd left his cigarettes in the car.
Ian closed his eyes and tipped his head back. "Fuck."
Mickey watched Ian with arched brows, torn between asking him what was wrong and not giving a flying fuck. "What? What the fuck's wrong?"
"Frank doesn't give a shit about me," Ian muttered. "He'd prob'ly rather have me killed than have to pay off a debt."
Mickey stared at Ian as he took in what he said. After a bit, his demeanor softened a tad despite himself. He knew what it was like to have a dad who didn't give a shit.
He sniffed and looked away, intent on staying detached. Kidnapping someone should be cut and dried, with no attachment or emotional investment. He wouldn't feel sorry for the kid. Still, as Ian hung his head and sniffled, Mickey couldn't help but feel like the world's biggest asshole.
"You might as well put a bullet in my head right now and get it over with," Ian mumbled. "Frank won't come up with the money."
Mickey ran a hand through his hair and roughly rubbed the nape of his neck, trying to assess the situation.
"Alright, shut the fuck up," he eventually said, deciding to put his head back in the game. He wouldn't allow himself to be fooled by any of it, no matter how doe-eyed and hopeless the guy looked. Mickey was hellbent on making sure his dad got his money, and he would do anything to make it happen, including treating his captive like shit even if he didn't want to. "I ain't here to talk about your daddy issues. Frank's gonna give us what he owes, and then we'll let you go. End of story."
"What if he doesn't?" Ian asked. "Then what?"
"I'll jump that hurdle when we get there," Mickey spat as he turned around. "Now shut that mouth of yours up before I shut you up."
Ian glared at Mickey's back as he walked away.
Just then, Colin and Iggy came stalking back in.
"Dad wants one of us to stay here with the fag for the night while he gets in touch with Frank," Colin declared around a cigarette as he lit it.
"I ain't doin' it," Iggy said as he cupped his hands together and blew into them for warmth. "It's too fuckin' cold for all that."
"I'm not doin' it either," Colin argued. "I got better shit to do than babysit the chick from Brave over there."
"Fuck off, you got better shit to do," Iggy retorted with a suck of his teeth. "Like what, drop a fuckin' Cialis and stroke it?"
"Don't fuckin' worry about what I'm doin'," Colin spat.
"I'll stay," Mickey snapped, interrupting his brothers' ridiculous quarrel. "Can't expect you idiots to do anything right, anyway."
"Alright, man," Colin said, already heading towards the exit, not bothering to argue. "We'll keep you posted. You got your burner on you?"
Mickey sneered and patted his coat pocket where his phone was. "Yeah, now fuck off."
Iggy reached into his coat and pulled out a box of bullets. He tossed them at Mickey, who caught the box awkwardly against his chest. "Just in case the kid tries somethin' stupid." He also tossed Mickey a crumpled pack of Marlboros before turning to follow Colin out.
Mickey snuck a tentative glance at Ian. He wasn't looking forward to spending the night in the frigid cold with the doe-eyed kid, but he knew if he left one of his inept brothers to do the job, they would abuse and torture Ian for no other reason but their sheer entertainment. Mickey may be heartless, but he wasn't that heartless. He shoved the box of bullets into his pocket and out of Ian's sight.
Once Mickey heard his brothers drive off, he looked back at Ian, who stared at the ground, looking dejected and hopeless. "Look, it ain't that bad, alright?"
"Easy for you to say." Ian lifted his head, his jaw tight and eyes glossy with tears. "You're not the one tied to a chair at gunpoint."
Mickey looked away from Ian's watery glare and rubbed his lower lip. "Your dad will get us the money, and we'll let you go. Simple as that."
"Fat fuckin' chance," Ian retorted.
Mickey's eyes averted back to him. Despite himself, he was finding Ian's tough-guy act kind of endearing. He quickly squashed that ridiculous thought and asked, "Don't you have, like, a dozen siblings or some shit? I'm sure one of 'em can get us the money." He pulled a chair over and sat down on it backward, facing Ian.
"We don't have any money," Ian muttered. "We barely had enough money to scrape together for our heat bill this month."
Mickey scratched the tip of his nose with his thumbnail, not wanting to admit to Ian that he knew what that was like. The less they discussed what they had in common, the better. He knew he shouldn't even engage with the kid; his dad would flip his shit if he found out.
"How much money does Frank owe your dad, anyway?" Ian asked after a beat.
"About ten grand," Mickey sniffed. "Give or take a few hundred."
"Ten thousand dollars?" Ian exclaimed, his head shooting up. "There's no way in hell Frank can come up with that kinda money. It's fuckin' impossible!"
"Alright, calm the fuck down."
"Fuck," Ian exclaimed before suddenly bouncing in his chair, causing it to wobble from side to side. "Shit! Goddamn Frank!"
Mickey jumped up from his chair while staring at the breathless and frantic kid in front of him, not expecting the outburst. "The fuck is wrong with you?" He knew it was a dumb question given Ian's situation, but he didn't know what else to say or how to react. None of Mickey's other captives had ever thrown a tantrum.
Ian stilled and hung his head, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "My fuckin' father is what's wrong! Leave it to Frank to pull some shit like this, like he hasn't screwed up my life enough as it is!"
Mickey watched as Ian's face crumpled before the tears spilled. In a daze, he raised the gun and scratched his temple with the barrel, not knowing how to react to any of it.
Ian's chest heaved as he cried, clutching his hands into fists, causing the ropes to tighten excruciatingly. "Fuck," he choked through his sobs before sniffling and hanging his head.
Mickey sat down once he realized Ian's ranting was over. After some awkward silence, he asked, "You good?"
"Yeah," Ian muttered with a mirthless chuckle. "I'm great."
Mickey fidgeted a bit, feeling uncomfortable in the situation. He wasn't used to dealing with other people's emotions, especially from the guys he kidnapped. Ian was different somehow. He was practically a kid, only a year or two younger than Mickey. In some weird, fucked-up way, Mickey felt an odd connection to him, almost as if they were alike in a way: both living in poverty in a shitty neighborhood, dealing with fucked-up dads, and living crappy lives.
"You hungry?" Mickey asked before he thoroughly thought it through. "Thirsty?"
"No," Ian snapped.
Mickey sighed and rubbed his mouth before saying, "I'm tryin' to be fuckin' nice here."
"Are you kidding me?" Ian asked before lifting his wet eyes to meet Mickey's. "This is you bein' nice?"
"Whatever. Don't eat. See if I care," Mickey retorted before standing up and walking to the small blue cooler in the corner. He pulled out a bologna and mustard sandwich and unwrapped it before taking a huge bite. He bristled with irritation, mentally berating himself for even considering being kind.
Ian lifted his head and watched Mickey, his stomach grumbling at the sight of food. "What else do you got in there?"
Mickey stared at Ian pointedly with raised brows as he slowly chewed his food. "You kiddin' me right now? Your ass is gonna be picky?"
"I don't like bologna."
"Jesus Christ," Mickey muttered as he pulled a peanut butter and jelly sandwich out. He'd made the sandwich for himself, but he figured he could part with it if it got Ian to shut up. He unwrapped the sandwich and walked over to him. "Here you fuckin' go, princess."
"How can I eat with my hands tied?" Ian asked.
"I ain't untyin' your hands, so get that idea outta your stupid little head," Mickey said before shoving the sandwich in Ian's face. "Open up." He sighed when Ian hesitated. "Look, you're lucky you're even gettin' this."
"It ain't poisoned, is it?"
Mickey cocked his head to the side and smirked. "Just eat it, asshole."
Ian locked eyes with him as he tentatively opened his mouth to take a small bite.
Mickey stared down at Ian and watched as his soft pink lips closed around a corner of the sandwich before clearing his throat and looking away.
"Thank you," Ian mumbled around the stale mouthful of food.
"Don't get used to it," Mickey snapped, wondering why his heart was beating a little faster.