The holding room was been empty when the crew had dragged them into the ship. They had stuffed Cobi, kicking and screaming, into a cryo locker. The girl had a set of lungs. And balls too, apparently. She'd taken a chunk out of one of the newbie's fingers before the asshole had slapped her hard enough to bust skin. The merc had gotten a face full of bloody saliva for his troubles. And the girl had continued screaming bloody murder the whole way.
Riddick couldn't help but think that Jack sure knew how to pick 'em.
And he could've laughed at the mercs squealing when the girl lodged an elbow into his crotch; but they had separated him from Jack and that increasingly common uneasiness was creeping into the back of his mind, making him think desperate thoughts. That was not funny. That would get him killed.
So instead he analyzed the facts, took comfort in the concrete.
They were taking him to slam. No questions about that. Davis was on the run, most likely looking for a quick cash-in. There were only two prisons in that quadrant and Tangiers Penal wouldn't take him if he knocked on their door. Not after the mayhem he'd wreaked inside those walls. Crematoria it was. That was fine. He would deal with that when the time came.
But it was the immediate and unknown that had his gut churning. Where the fuck was Jack?
The first time he hit her it had stung like a bitch. The second time, not so much. By the sixth, she was barely there. She'd centered on a deeper pain. A real wound.
She was oblivious to the blood running from her nose, the welts across her stomach. When he spat Riddick's name at her she started to cry hot salty tears that had nothing to do with the stinging of her flesh.
She had wanted to tell Riddick she loved him. Had thought about it for weeks, what she would say if she only had one more chance. But then he'd barged in, cold and indifferent and it'd hurt worse than him being dead.
She felt a sharp tug, and the wench holding her chained hands above her head was abruptly lowered. She dropped to her knees, exhausted. Davis was on her at once, hands were in her hair, yanking her head back. His labored breath was hot on her raw skin, "Done with you for now, baby."
He pushed her down onto her elbows, planted a boot on her ass and sent her sprawling. She heard him walk to the door and then, "Maybe I'll pay a visit to your little friend. She's a cutie."
The door slammed shut the instant before she collided with it, screaming and raging against the cold unsympathetic steel.
Riddick knew mercs. Knew they liked the jaw-jackin' and shit talking, especially when they snatched a big mark. He'd been alone for three days. Unchecked and unharmed.
So when the holding room's door slid open, he barley responded. Knew it was just a matter of time.
But then he smelled her. Underneath sweat and stink and blood, he could smell her. He followed the sound of her steps, uneven, hesitant. She was injured, but not afraid.
The soft clinking of chains came from directly in front of him, then the snap of a lock.
Davis's voice called for, "Lights dim." Riddick opened his eyes and stared.
His thoughts skipped, failed. Christ….
She was on her back, chained, still in the t-shirt she'd been wearing in Talios. Her face was barely recognizable under the bruises.
Riddick reminded himself to breathe.
Davis watched him from the corner, smiling a little. "She's hard to break, this one."
Riddick swallowed, watched her chest rise and fall. She wouldn't open her eyes. Or couldn't, it was impossible to tell. He saw Davis move towards her, crouch, glide his hands intimately over her body.
He almost choked on his words, "Get the fuck away from her."
Davis didn't reply, didn't acknowledge him at all. He pushed his hands up underneath the shirt and Riddick suddenly understood.
Jack didn't struggle until his hands gripped her legs, trying to pry them apart. Davis hit her once, twice, three times and she fell back onto the floor, stars exploding in her vision.
She heard Riddick roar something unintelligible. The thump of what had to be his skull against the wall. Davis was in between her legs now; she could hear him struggling with a zipper.
She could feel Riddick's eye on her skin like fingertips. Bastard. She should've known he wouldn't close his eyes.
Then Davis was inside of her, bruising and tearing. She couldn't stop the scream. It was forever before he grunted once, forehead busting her lip as he collapsed on top of her. His stubble raked against her cheek as he planted a sloppy kiss, "It's been fun, Jackie girl."
He chuckled, rolled to his feet, stepped to Riddick, "That seemed to do the trick, what d'you think?"
It felt like years before she could open her eyes. More than pain there was shame. Riddick had seen everything, seen how little she was able to do. God, he had watched everything.
When she did, Davis had gone and the lights were on full.
Riddick was straining to keep his head turned away, and she wondered vaguely if he was crying. If it was even possible for him to cry.
Probably the lights…
She was too tired to care. Too broken, too weary. She could sleep forever.
She let her head drop back onto the metal floor and welcomed the approaching darkness.
Do you hate Davis too? R&R, please and thank-you.
