A/N: Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

S/N: Just a small reminder that the updates for this story mainly are based upon the information we receive from the show. I'm sticking with as much of canon as I can while telling my own side story, obviously, but Slade's back story, his entire purpose for ruining Ollie, and his 'promise' are still things coming to light and which are crucial to my plot. So please be patient :)

In the dark shadows of an abandoned warehouse, an hour after moonrise, they met. Soon, the plan they had been hatching for months would come to fruition. There would be no more threats of death for any of their theoretical failures. They would no longer have to worry about bloody retribution for any of their supposed faults and flaws. They'd no longer be under the thumb of a man with the codename Deathstroke. They would be free, rich and powerful. They would be feared by the masses and worshipped as Gods. Until then, however, the three men who met would continue to meet in secret. Being foolish now would undo everything they'd been striving all these long and arduous months to achieve.

"Are you absolutely sure that Wilson knows nothing about us meeting like we have?" The one known as Brother Justice adjusted his mask and stared at his similarly attired conspirators. "He is no fool. And," he added in a hurried whisper, "he has spies everywhere. He could well be watching us from somewhere close by and just waiting to put an arrow or a bul-"

"Calm yourself, Brother Justice," the second man, known as Brother Truth, interjected in a firm tone. "Wilson is far too obsessed with his personnel vendetta with Oliver Queen to pay us more than the cursory amount of attention necessary at this moment."

"Still…" Brother Justice whined in a nasal tone that grated upon the nerves of his companions. "He could be anywhere. The man is dangerous!"

"I assure you that Slade Wilson is not lurking nearby with a bow and arrow," the third man said. "Not tonight, at least."

Brother Justice turned burning eyes upon the man. "And you know this how, Brother Blood?" he demanded. "Do you have a crystal ball that's showing you where the man is as of this moment?"

"I do not." Brother Blood flicked his gaze over the trembling man, disgusted by his show of cowardice. "And your lack of faith is disturbing for one who has chosen the undertaking."

Justice scoffed. "And your belief that Wilson might not be out there watching; just waiting to put arrows through all three of us tells us what a blind fool that you are!"

"And unlike you, who ran from his penthouse the second he dismissed you, I took the time to learn that he is taking the James woman out on a date this evening. Even her rather…" he paused, sneered, "simple charms are enough to keep a man like Slade Wilson occupied for the rest of the night."

"That's it? That's why you are figuring that he is not tailing us? He's taking the woman out on a date?" Justice scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. "Where exactly does that prevent him from showing up here and putting arrows through all three of us?" He tossed his arms wildly up into the air. "He can do that and then take the woman out to dinner! It won't make a difference to him one way or the other!"

"Slade Wilson will not risk exposing her to his more violent nature," Brother Blood said in a voice laced with cold contempt and ringing with resentment. "He tends to shelter the woman from who he really is. He's diligently worked, in fact, to keep her from seeing his true self, and from uncovering his true motives. Why exactly she is so special to him?" He shrugged. "I do not know. Clearly, though, she is. Which works well for us tonight. So calm yourself."

Brother Truth turned his gaze upon their leader. Beneath his mask, his eyes were a mixture of exasperation and dark speculation. "Why do you resent the James woman so much, Brother Blood?" he questioned in a grave tone. "She is harmless and unimportant to our mission." He waved a hand. "Forget her."

"Forget her?" Blood growled. "Forget her?"

He'd been trying to forget the damned woman ever since she'd arrived in Starling! His infatuation with her was becoming annoying to say the least. It wasn't as if Sienna James was a raving beauty, or a rich heiress who could buy their freedom from Slade Wilson. She had no social connections to speak of, possessed only the basic college education. Yet the blasted woman was haunting his every thought—awake or asleep, it did not seem to matter, she was constantly at the forefront of his mind. He knew that part of his obsession with her was because she belonged to Wilson. He wanted to possess her simply because she was his and he wanted to bring the man to his knees.

"Sienna James is of no importance to us," he heard Truth saying. "So put her from your mind and focus upon our mission."

Brother Blood turned towards his brother. "Have you forgotten that he's asked the woman to track down the money we filtered to our investor?"

"I assure you I have not forgotten that Wilson has asked the woman to track down his missing money," Truth assured him in a somber voice. "I can also assure you that Miss James will not find out where that money has gone. Or to whom it was given."

"The woman has already managed to uncover that it was Miss Sanderson who was doctoring the books for us," Blood said harshly. "And she has figured out exactly how much money it was that Miss Sanderson filtered out of his accounts for us."

"And we know what happened to her," Justice squawked. "Wilson gave her a chance to run and then he put an arrow through her heart. And if we aren't careful that is going to be our own fate. I'm telling you, he is…"

"That is enough out of you, Brother Justice. Your cowardice is both sickening and exasperating." Brother Truth laid a briefcase upon an old crate and snapped open the locks even as Brother Justice sputtered at the rebuke. But the man held his tongue, which Brother Truth was thankful for. "And Brother Blood, I have not forgotten that the James woman has been asked to uncover Wilson's missing money. Nor am I unaware of the fact that she has figured out how much money that Slade Wilson is missing. However," his voice dropped now to a low, dark hiss, "I can assure you that she will be quite unable to find where the money has gone."

Brother Blood scoffed. "I would not be so certain of myself, Brother Truth. Miss James has proven herself to be quite adept at solving even the most complicated puzzles."

"If the woman manages to uncover where his money is gone," Truth said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Then I will see to it that she is disposed of. Now, let's get down to business. Our time tonight is short and our investor wants to know when exactly we will have a new batch of the serum ready."

Brother Blood saw that Truth's words were short and sweet. They worked to end any further discussion upon the matter. The three men got down to business, plotting the downfall of a man who was no longer of any use to them.

Verdant was a hive of activity. Even though it was barely after nine o'clock, Sienna saw there was a huge crowd of people already bopping to Maroon 5's latest dance hit out on the dance floor. Even more people were lining up outside the doors she'd just passed through and she suspected many more than that would be in line once she exited. Bully for them, was her thought. She just wanted to find Mr. Queen, hand over Slade's package to him before scurrying back to the relative safety of his luxury town car. And I want to be back in the presence of Slade himself. Sienna pushed that wishful thought aside. Thinking about her sinfully handsome boss was not something she could afford at that moment. Not when bands of panic were wrapping themselves around her chest and cinching tight. She paused by the staircase, chewing her bottom lip while she tried to screw up the courage to cross the short distance to the bar so she could ask the blonde woman tending where her boss was.

"There are a lot of people in the club at the moment, Slade," she said in a nervous twitter. "I didn't think there would be so many people here at this hour. I'm not sure..." her voice trailed off into a soft sigh full of both nerves and frustration. It didn't use to be like this, she thought sadly. I didn't use to be such a craven little coward. No, once upon a time she'd been a confident and sophisticated woman. That woman wouldn't fear coming into a club like this one. She used to go out to clubs like Verdant all the time. That woman had never once feared that someone was lurking in those clubs who could mean her harm. She'd just boldly walked into those night spots without a care in the world. That woman had routinely engaged strangers (men as well as women) in conversation without feeling as if she was going to throw up the moment she opened her mouth. That woman had had friends, dated (nothing serious), and lived her life like a normal American woman in her thirties.

Then she'd been kidnapped while leaving that club in Miami and her whole world, as well as everything in it, had come crashing to a halt. Who she'd been had ceased the instant those three men grabbed her and hustled her, kicking and screaming into that van they'd had waiting across the street. For the first month of her capture, she'd lived in a suspended state of animation- neither alive, nor dead. She'd been held with twenty other women in the basement of a house only god knew where, force fed only God knew what drugs in order to keep her compliant, and debased in almost every way but sexually before then being shipped off to an underground auction house in St. Petersburg. The memories of her long ordeal rose up, images superimposing themselves over sights and smells. Her stomach began to coil into greasy knots and her mouth filled with saliva. She knew she was going to be sick if she didn't get the hell out of there and fast. God, she was a damned fool for thinking she could handle this one small task for the man who'd rescued her from hell.

"I don't think I can do this, Slade," she croaked out around the ball lodged in her throat. "I'm sorry..."

"Sienna," Slade's husky timbre came through her earpiece to tickle her senses. "What have I told you about panic attacks, love?"

She was panting with the effort to not lose the contents of her stomach. "That they can only defeat me if I allow them to."

"And what is this panic attack doing?"

She tried to draw a breath but it was difficult. Her chest felt tight, her lungs cold lumps surrounding her erratically beating heart. "Defeating me?" she rasped.

"And what should you do about it?"

A voice in the back of her head whispered one word in response to that question: run. But her automatic mouth had her reply, "Remind myself that I am safe and that nobody is going to hurt me."

"And?"

"And..." a pause. "I don't think I can do this, Slade," she whimpered. "I'm sorry... I just don't think I am ready for this. There are just way too many people here. Please..."

"Nothing bad is going to happen to you while you are in there, love," he murmured in that tone which always seemed to slide beneath the edge of her panic and scare away the shadows hurling obscenities at her. "I will stop them before they can hurt you."

"You promise? You promise that if I need you, you will come?" she asked him in a voice which reminded her of a scared little girl. It took her a minute before she realized that that voice had just come out of her. Her pitiful exhibition of cowardice sickened her. But Slade merely made that small little sound (a cross between a silky hum and a velvet purr) that he always made when she asked him that. The tonal intonation slid over her senses, electrifying them before going deeper, to where her fears and nightmares danced in malevolent glee around the spit upon which they'd skewered her courage and banishing them back to the darkness from which they'd came.

"Have I ever not come when you have needed me, little one?"

"N-no."

"Then you know that I will come should you find that you are in need of me."

She drew in a shaky breath, released it slowly. "I'd still prefer if you were physically in here with me." She backed against a metal pillar when a crowd of people went strolling, laughing and talking boisterously, past her. "I still don't understand why you couldn't deliver this gift with me. Wouldn't it be more appropriate for you to be with me to deliver it?"

There was such a hopeful note in her tone that it repulsed her. Get it together, girl, she ordered herself, sucking in a huge lungful of air and releasing it slowly while she waited for him to reply.

"My relationship with Mr. Queen is a bit complicated at the moment," he told her in that silky smooth tone Sienna knew he used whenever he didn't want to talk about a particular topic with her. Slade had promised to never lie to her after he'd rescued her, but he'd told her in no uncertain terms that that did not mean he was "required to tell her everything about his business or personal relationships." Whatever his relationship with Mr. Queen was, it was clearly not something he was ready to talk with her about. She swallowed back the bile that was still waiting at the back of her throat. "It is my hope that this gift will smooth things between us. You understand that, don't you, love?"

"Yes, of course I do, Slade. It's just..."

"And you can deliver it for me, can't you?" he said over her.

"Yes," she said, stiffening her spine and forcing her quaking knees to stop quivering by locking them. "Yes, I can do this. I will do this." She took a slow step forward. "But I'm only doing this for you, you know."

He made a sound that might have been amusement before saying, "And I am eternally grateful for your sacrifice, Sienna." A man shoved by her and Sienna let out a squeak. "Just give my present to Mr. Queen, little one," his voice dropped to a low, dark rumble which caused her belly to curl into slippery little knots. "And then we can be on our way."

"I don't see Mr. Queen," she told him as she took a few tentative steps towards the bar. "There is only a blonde woman that is tending the bar and a darker haired woman talking to a man in a black dress shirt by the staff door."

"You can give the package to the bartender," Slade assured her in that same honeyed voice he'd used when telling her to mind her business. "She will make sure that it gets to Mr. Queen."

"All right," she said as she slowly edged away from the staircase. She'd just taken three steps when a figure came from out of nowhere and blocked her path. Startled, Sienna lurched back with a sharp gasp.

"Sienna?" Slade's voice was sharp with concern. "What is it?"

Sienna didn't reply. Her gaze was fixated upon the feet of the man who was blocking her way. Sweat popped out, cold and clammy, over her skin. It was taking every ounce of her willpower to not turn tail and run.

"I'm sorry, Miss," she heard the man saying in a rich tone. "I didn't mean to nearly run you over. Are you okay?"

Sienna took a moment to gather together her wits before she lifted her head and found herself staring into the slightly sheepish (but carved from stone she saw) face of Oliver Queen.

"M-Mr. Queen?" she stammered, feeling a scorching heat creeping up into her cheeks.

"Yes?" A tight, but polite smile curved Oliver's lips as he peered down into the startled eyes that were staring up at him. She looked like the fly caught in the spider's web. Her eyes held a look to them that Oliver knew all too well. It was the same look he'd seen the first time that he saw his own reflection staring back at him in a mirror. He tried to plaster a gentler smile upon his face in order to settle her apparent nerves, but figured by the way she flinched that it must have come out more as a sneer than a smile. Way to go, Ollie, he chastised himself silently. "Can I help you with something, Miss?"

"N-no," she replied before turning an even more embarrassed shade of red and quickly stuttering, "I mean y-yes! Y-yes, you can-" she jumped when a couple of men scooted around them and headed towards the bar. "Yes," she said once she'd again collected herself. "Yes, you can help me."

Oliver had been watching her face when the men had drawn abreast of her. She's definitely afraid of men, he thought with a frown. Her eyes had a glassy, faraway look to them, and her face was shadowed by something he couldn't quite define. It was the look of the hunted, he realized with a start. More people moved around them and he saw her shudder; heard her breath rattling out from between her teeth. He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand to see her standing there, trembling with fear, her face bone white.

"Hey now," he said, stepping towards her. "You're..."

"No! Stay back!" She stumbled back, dropping the brightly wrapped package she'd been holding in one hand, and raising her hands up as if to keep him from grabbing hold of her. "Don't hurt me! Please!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Miss." Oliver's voice was ripe with sympathy. People noticed the situation and began to creep closer in order to find out what was going on. It was not something that he suspected would help to alleviate the panic he saw stamped upon her face. "Get back!" he snapped at the group of onlookers. He saw Roy standing next to his sister Thea on the edge of the dance floor and signaled to him. "Roy, she doesn't need to be crowded in at this moment. Can you help get the crowd back, please?"

"Yeah, sure thing, man," Roy said softly before turning towards the crowd and barking, "You heard him. Everybody get back!"

Oliver turned back towards the silent brunette. "I'd like you to come with me now." He held out his hand to her. "All right? Can you do that?"

She shook her head. "I just want to leave," she whispered in a small, breathy voice.

"Okay," Oliver said. "We can leave. Go somewhere quiet if you want."

It didn't seem like she heard him though. "Oh, I knew this was a mistake when he asked me to do it," she was muttering. "I knew I wasn't ready to come into a nightclub. But I promised Slade I'd deliver his present to you. And I hate breaking promises to him..."

Oliver's face went deathly still at the sound of that name falling from her lips. "Slade?" he asked hoarsely. Emotions surged, anger and hate prevalent of all of them. "Slade Wilson sent you?"

She indicated the box which was perched by his left foot. "He wanted me to give that to you."

Oliver bent and picked up the box, his eyes never leaving hers. "Did he tell you why he wanted you to give this to me?" He spoke calmly, but even then he could hear the sharp edge to his tone. He tried to temper his reaction, told himself that she was merely a pawn in Slade Wilson's game. "Did he give you a message to give to me?"

"He hopes that the present will serve to smooth over the problems between you," she replied in a dull monotone. "As well as remind you of the promise that he made you five years ago."

Oliver looked down at the box in his hand before looking again at the woman, but she'd already begun making her way to the exit. Oliver let her leave; telling himself that his war wasn't with her, but the man who'd sent her.