Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warning: Spoilers, of a sort, for Hunted, but only meensy… especially considering that in this story, Hunted hasn't happened yet… you'll get what I mean. Oh, and language.

Author's Note: Okay, getting into some rough and guts now. To prpleflipnhippo, I apologise in advance. But I hope you still like the chapter!

Chapter 4: Caught

"There's nothing here," Sam spat disgustedly as he threw down the papers he had been reading. "Whatever Mahone's been doing, maybe he just doesn't keep his records here."

Anya looked up from Mahone's leather chair behind the desk. She nodded. "You're right. There's nothing here. Maybe somewhere else in the club?"

Sam shrugged. "Anywhere else here that might be used to store them?"

Anya gave it a thought for a moment. "There might be. Wanna take a look around the place?"

"You can. I'll keep looking around here for a bit. There's no way we've been through them all, considering I think I've read the same papers a few times over."

She swung her feet off the desk, nodding. "All right. Just don't tell Ash. He worries too much."

She was gone in an instant, and Sam took the vacated chair. But he didn't pick up any papers. He was sure there was nothing out in the open. But hidden? There could well be.

He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on the table and studied the room. It was the biggest office in the club, dimly lit and rather oppressive. Even without the fireplace lit, it seemed warm.

Sam leaned back then, peering at the fireplace. There was something wrong about it. The rest of the room was worn; even the wallpaper seemed faded, and the leather chair had many scratches in it. But the fireplace… it was empty, and barren and cold. As if it had never been used. And while Lafayette wasn't the warmest place on Earth right at that moment, with the approaching winter, there wasn't even a twig in sight. No fancy iron-wrought holder for wood, no tools, nothing. As if it were just there for decoration. Taking in the electric heater placed inconspicuously to one side, Sam had at first assumed the fireplace was there simply for decoration.

Swivelling in the chair, he stood up and crept closer to the fireplace. He knelt before it, his keen eyes studying every inch. Still, it wasn't until his second visual run over that he saw the well-worn groove in the very bottom corner on the left-hand side. Placing his finger in it, he found it only a little too big for his own. But Mahone was more solid than he was. It could easily have been caused by his finger.

Anxious with curiosity now, Sam dug his finger in deeper, trying to get a grip on the brick. His finger slipped once, but on the second try the brick came with it, revealing a small space with a box inside.

He pulled the wooden box out, grinning in triumph. It was rectangular in shape, A4 sized – the size of a normal piece of paper. Say, one used for a report, or a record. The lock didn't faze him, and a minute later, he had found what he had come for.

He sat back on his heels as he read through the first sheet. It was a profile, of sorts. Information about a woman named Hailey Reynolds. Sam remembered her name from the list of people who had disappeared in Lafayette. According to the sheet, she had worked in the Jiggly Room until three months ago, when she had vanished off the face of the Earth. Or, so he had thought.

He gaped as he read through the rest of the page, then quickly flicked through the other pages. There were twenty in total.

"Oh my God," he whispered to himself, disgusted by what he had learned. Then he swallowed. He and Anya had to get out quickly. Because according to these papers, Mahone took people… and then sold them to the highest bidder, like some slave trader from the seventeenth century. Only this was the twenty-first century, and he doubted many slavers had sold people to demons.

He pulled out his phone, quickly dialling Dean's number. He was so enthralled in what he was doing, and in his horror, that he didn't even hear the person come up behind him. But Dean's phone hadn't even started ringing before he felt the barrel of a gun resting against the back of his head.

He went completely still, not even sure he was breathing. He didn't drop the phone, but put his other hand up, cursing his lack of awareness.

"There's a good boy," a deep voice told him. "Don't you hang up now. Don't want your buddy getting suspicious. Tell him you found nothing, and you'll meet him back at the motel. Keep it natural. I think he even has a flicker of a doubt that you won't be there, and I will put a bullet in your head."

Sam barely nodded, so aware of the muzzle pressed into the spot where his head met his neck. And then Dean picked up.

"Sammy, what you doing?" the older man asked, sounding relieved for some reason.

"I'm just finishing up in Mahone's office," he said slowly, hoping Anya hadn't been found. "How'd you go?" he asked. Keep it natural the guy with the gun had said.

"Got a call from Josh. Apparently Laura Jennings was sold -." Sam cut him off with a disappointed chuckle.

"Yeah, you were right. Guy's too clean. Too careful," the younger man said, hoping the guy behind him wasn't listening too hard. Probably too much to hope for there.

"Sam, what's wrong?" he heard Dean ask, bringing him out of hoping.

"Nah, I haven't found anything either. A few reports here and there." He felt the muzzle press harder into his skull and found himself closing his eyes tight. "It's like he wants to know everything that goes on in this funky town."

Dean paused. "What about Anya?" the other hunter asked quietly. He had got the message, though Sam knew only Dean could come up with a code word like funky town.

"Not sure. But we can talk about it when I get back. I'll meet you back at the motel in about twenty minutes. I'll just finish up here and then I'll blaze."

Dean growled. "So you're still at the club?"

Sam gave a laugh. "Get your mind out of the gutter!" he ordered, hoping Dean took it as just 'get out'. "You know, I was there last night, saw you two getting along like a house on fire."

He felt the gun shove into his head once more, and he winced, knowing the man wanted him to finish up. "Anyway, I'll see you when I get back."

And he hung up the phone, just hearing Dean call his name before the line cut off. He still didn't lower his arms, even as the phone was snatched from his hand.

"Good," the man said. "That was good. Now get to your feet."

Sam rose slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might end with his brains splattered everywhere. The gun didn't move from its spot at the back of his head.

"Now, lace your fingers behind your head. If they move, I will shoot you."

Sam obeyed, taking a deep breath. This really couldn't be good. At least he had managed to warn Dean. And hopefully they hadn't found Anya.

A jab with the gun forced him forward, and he left the office, thinking furiously. The guy had to be one of Mahone's men. He wouldn't be a cop, otherwise Sam would have been in handcuffs already. And he wouldn't have been able to speak to Dean. And Sam knew from Anya how hard it was to sneak in. Which, considering the files he had found in Mahone's office, meant he had to get out soon or he would probably find himself sold. Now there was a horrifying thought.

He went downstairs slowly, coming into the back of the club and then out into the public space. Sam looked around, finding another four men, a dint in the wall from the fight last night, and…

"Anya," he muttered, his gut sinking. No one seemed to hear him. She caught his eye and his hidden question. She nodded slightly, more of a jerk than anything. But he breathed a sigh of relief that she was okay. He just wished she wasn't there.

One of the guys stepped forward, a large hulk of a man all in black, steel blue eyes narrow. He looked between the two, suspicious and curious.

"Now what have we here?" the man asked, keeping his stare on Anya. "Charlotte, bit early for your start isn't it?"

"Bite me, Landly," she spat. He grinned at her.

"Maybe later." And the man turned to Sam.

"And you? I remember you from last night. What, no karate action now?" he asked. Sam didn't say anything, just met the man's stare without wavering. After a moment the man growled. "What's your name?"

Still, Sam didn't say anything. There was nearly a minute of silence before Landly glared and nodded. Sam heard the click of the gun behind him and his breathe caught. But he didn't lose Landly's eye.

"You're not going to pull that trigger," Sam told them quietly. "You need to know what I know. You know I have a partner, and you need to know what he knows. And you're not going to get that from me if I'm dead."

Landly's face reddened with anger. But the truth had sunk in, and Sam felt the gun retreat half an inch, until it was no longer right against his skull. He breathed easier. But he wasn't happy with just that. He and Anya needed to get out. Before they even tried to start getting the information from him. Because that would be painful.

He caught Anya's eye quickly, and she jerked a nod again, eyes grimly determined. It wouldn't be easy, five against the two of them, but they had the element of surprise. And hopefully more skill.

The interchange between the two hunters took less than a second, and then Sam was looking back at Landly. The man was looking between the two of them, as if trying to discover what had gone on between the pair. Sam just gave him a cocky grin.

Before Landly could even gape at the audacity of the grin from a man with a gun pointed at his head, Sam spun, lifting his arm and catching the armed arm in a tight grip. He used his superior height to shove upwards, dislocating the arm, and disarming him in a matter of seconds. With a sharp groan, the shocked man dropped the gun. Sam used his other hand to catch it around the barrel. Seizing every ounce of strength he could, he smashed the handle of the gun into the man's nose, driving him backwards and down, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

He spun back, gun up and pointed at the remaining four men. Anya, too, had gotten free from the grip of the man holding her, and had his gun, pointing it at the men too. All of which had their own guns out, pointing at the two of them.

Sam took a deep breath, moving closer to Anya. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Fine. Damn bastards snuck up behind me."

The hunters never once took their eyes off the men in front of them. All four of them. Each moved with Sam and Anya, guns up, eyes glaring.

"We know exactly what you look like," Landly told them. "You're not going to be able to get away. You won't even get back to your motel. Sleep-Easy, isn't it Charlotte?"

She glared at him. "Fuck you Landly," she spat. "We get out of here, we're home free."

"So what are you? FBI? State police? Or just some scummy local pigs?"

Sam laughed. "Guess you'll never know," he told them, reaching the door that led into the back section of the club. "Maybe I'll tell you when I bring your ugly asses down."

They were almost free. He cast a quick glance sideways and nodded at Anya. She caught his hidden meaning and ducked through the door first, gun pointed. A moment later, with another cocky grin at the men, he followed, moving as quickly as possible. He found a lock and shut the door behind him.

"We're not letting them get away!" he heard Landly shout as he caught up to Anya. She took the front while he brought up the rear of their column of two.

"Hurry," he whispered, and she gave him a look that said, 'duh' before turning her full attention on to where she was going. But she did speed up, running silently on the floorboards. They rounded a corner.

Sam ran into Anya as she stopped, going pale. He turned to see what had happened, and cried out a second after a bang filled the corridor. Pain flared in his left shoulder, and he spun back around the corner, gripping the bleeding bullet wound that had popped up in his shoulder.

"Sam!" Anya shouted, ducking around with him. She squatted beside him as he half slid down the wall.

"Goddammit," he exhaled through gritted teeth. He turned to Anya. "How many?" he asked, forcing back a groan.

"What?" she asked, concentrating hard on the blood flowing from the wound.

"Anya, come on. Up here, on my face." She struggled but her gaze fell on his. "How many men are around that corner?" They didn't have long before the four behind them broke through the door Sam had locked.

"Three," she told him. "They're not moving, just blocking everything, making sure we don't leave. I don't think we can get past without shooting them."

Sam glanced around before looking down at the bullet hole. His gun hand was covered in blood. And he knew he wasn't going to be able to exert himself. Add that to the fact that he had no grip, and it was looking like Anya was alone in the shooting department. And even though he knew she was a good hunter, he couldn't bring himself to trust her that completely.

There was a door ten feet back down the hall. "Where does that lead to?" he asked in a hushed whisper, motioning at the door.

"It's a dressing room," she told him. "There is a window, but it's high up. Maybe two feet off the ceiling. Could you reach it?"

There was a crash as the door was busted open. Sam swore before getting to his feet. "I'll have to. I'm not going to let Mahone sell me."

She gave him a curious look, but he dragged her down the corridor, pulling her through the door a moment before gun shots echoed behind them. Two crashed into the door as he slammed it shut.

"There's no lock!" he spat as Anya disappeared for a moment. She returned a second later with a chair. He didn't think it would help, and something obviously showed on his face, because she shoved it under the handle a little harder than she probably had to.

"It'll do!" she spat, anxiety reaching her voice. She pulled him over to the wall, grabbing a silk scarf and a wad of square cotton strips.

"Anya, we don't have time -." She cut him off with a furious glare, shoving the wad against his wound.

"What we don't have," she told him as she wound the scarf around his shoulder, "is a need for you to bleed to death on me while we're trying to escape… Is he selling the people he takes?"

He groaned as she tied the scarf tight. "I'll explain later. For now, we have to get through that window."

He looked up, wincing as he saw it was above his head height. It was big enough for him to slip through, but he doubted he would be able to reach it, not with a bullet in his shoulder. He looked at Anya hopefully.

"Any other chairs?" he asked. She nodded and returned with one a moment later, placing it under the window. They both paused as the door began shaking.

Sam bounded onto the chair then looked down at Anya. "Come on, I'll give you a boost."

She snorted. "Whatever, bullet-boy. If you can even hold up your gun in that hand, I'll run naked down the street. Get your ass through that window."

He avoided shaking his head, but saw her logic. Holding back any groan for Anya's sake, he pulled himself through the window, rolling over and giving a sharp cry as it tore at the wound. But he managed to land on his feet before collapsing against the brick wall, and waited for Anya to come through, increasingly aware of the lightening sky. It was dawn.

He didn't even try to catch her. She landed nimbly on her own feet, then put her hands on his shoulders where he was leaning against the wall.

"You right?" she asked, looking up just as the sound of the chair snapping came through the window.

"I'll have to be," Sam told her breathlessly. His shoulder thudded with pain, and he was feeling dizzy, but they had to get away from the club. He pushed himself off the wall.

"Come on," he said. "We have to try and get back to the car."

Anya shook her head. "They have the car. I heard them talking about it. We'll have to go another way."

Sam withheld a groan, taking a deep breath instead. "All right then. Which way?"

She took off at a fast walk, one Sam hoped he could keep up with. He managed okay for a while, but he found it more and more difficult. Before the club had even disappeared from sight, Sam had to stop, shaking his head.

"This isn't going to work. Do you have your cell phone on you?" he asked, hopeful. His hopes were dashed.

"No, it's the first thing they took." She looked around, and seemed to spy something. "But I do have some change. Come on."

She lifted his arm on his uninjured side and draped it over her shoulders, helping him to walk. After a minute he saw where they were headed, a pay phone on the corner a block away from the Jiggly Room. It took a minute because his sight was wavering, the blood loss quickly affecting him.

What felt like an infinite time later, they reached the pay phone, and he practically fell against the side. Anya gave him an anxious look before opening the door and fishing change out of her pocket.

She hadn't even started dialling the number when Sam heard it. A car engine started, not far away. Forcing himself into awareness, or at least a semblance of it, he looked around, trying to push the double-vision away.

And then he saw it. A small, green car – he couldn't see well enough to distinguish the make or model. But he could see well enough to realize it was gathering speed… and headed straight for them.

"Anya!" he shouted, pulling himself around and taking a slippery grip on the back of her shirt. She cried out in shock as she was yanked backwards and away from the pay phone. Away from the car's aim. Sam tried to follow as quickly as he could, pushing himself off the glass side and in Anya's general direction. But he wasn't fast enough.

The car ploughed through the pay phone, and if Sam had been standing exactly where he had been leaning, he would have been killed. As it was the side of the car hit him, knocking him down and around, spinning through the darkening air. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Hope you liked it! Next chapter up tomorrow, life willing.