***

Hi guys. I realize that the FF way is unmitigated positive reviews no matter how shit the story really is, however, I'd welcome constructive criticism. This is hardly high art, but it might validate itself a little if you call attention to bad writing habits I've picked up. Fiction generally ain't my thing. Bring the pain!

I'm unlikely to ever get too graphic, since I find written sex scenes so sterile and repetitive. However, I'm leaving things a M because I suppose some frail little chippies out there might find the idea of torture, hurt/comfort and PTSD distressing. However, I suspect more of you will find it delightfully kinky. You twisted little sisters, you.

In the meantime, hey look, it's Half-Sack! Carry on…

-B.

***

Day five. Anne was visibly upset when a grinning Nord escorted her into the room. The man gave her a parting shove to the back which made her cry out in pain. She staggered onto one knee and stayed there, her breath harsh and fast. Tig had stood when he heard footsteps in the hall. He now took a step towards Anne to help her up.

She shook her head sharply. "If you touch me right now, I'll hurt you."

He laughed at the idea of it, then looked down at his bandage and sobered. If she so much as breathed on it, he would hurt.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"No, I'm fantastic. Perfect." Her sarcasm was sharp and full of anger. She rolled her shoulder tentatively and winced, then stood slowly. The collar of her shirt was torn so badly that it slipped down one arm. White gauze showed under the fall of her hair.

"What did they do to you?"

"Tattoo." She said flatly. "I think it's a swastika. I don't want to know."

"Jesus. What for?"

Her hostile eyes gave assessed him in a way he wasn't used to being assessed. "Oh for Christ's sake, you're bleeding. Sit down."

Frustrated and at a loss for words, Tig allowed her to herd him back to the mattress. It was a distressing parody of an aggressive crow-eater tumbling him into bed, though the pain of his injuries took the fun out of it. She put steady but gentle pressure on his side to stop the bleeding. He studied her face as she leaned over him. For all the strong words and pride, her eyes were reddened from crying. Despite her earlier warming, Tig raised a hand to lightly touch her face.

"Where do they take you when you're not with me?" Tig asked.

She stopped, and for a moment he though she was going to pull away, but she just closed her eyes and sighed, as if the strength had drained from her. When her eyes opened, she spoke quietly. "The man in charge keeps me with him."

"Who was screaming the other day?"

She took a breath, and he thought she was going to shut down. Her voice was even softer now, just a whisper. "There's another man like you. He's got the same tattoo on his arm that you do. I'm not supposed to talk to you about him."

"Yeah?" Tig felt a moment of excitement, then frustration.

"He said his name is Kip. He asked about you."

Tig exhaled. Half-Sack had survived the crash. Last he'd seen of the kid was his bike skittering across the highway on its side. "You talked to him? Is he okay?"

Her eyes avoided his. He could feel her body tensing with anxiety. "They're a lot rougher with him than with us." She flinched and shook her head, silent. Her eyes dropped to her hands. Tig stroked his thumb across her cheek. "I think Connor is going to kill him soon."

"What are they doing?"

She swallowed and he felt her hand tighten on his sleeve. "They're torturing him. Connor says it's to get information, but he gets off on it. He gets so into it that he can't stop. Sometimes I can distract him. Sometimes not."

Tig thought about that, and what it meant. Half-Sack had never been his closest brother, but a brother he was. Anne did not have to spell out what trying to make Connor stop meant. The bite mark on her throat was blue and purple, ringed in a sickly shade of green. The Sons would owe her if they got out of this mess alive.

"I'm supposed to be winning you over. Make you like me. Make you stupid if they threaten me. It's a game. All of it, games."

Tig frowned. Anne seemed to sense his thoughts and tried to pull away, but he moved his hand to the back of her neck, preventing her with withdrawing. "And how is this helping you 'win me over.'"

She looked offended. "Telling you their plan isn't. The rest of it? C'mon, bad ass biker, think. They just happen to throw a damsel in distress in your cage? Connor told me to slut it up a bit and make you want me. Screw that."

He let her withdraw enough for him to look in her eyes and read her face for lies. "Do you work for them?"

Her fingers hooked in the chain. "They think I'm broken. They think I'll do whatever I'm told."

"Are you? Do you?"

"Do I look like I'm a player here?" Indignation, but also sincerity. Tig didn't think she was lying.

"You look like a scared little girl in way over her head."

Anne started to laugh. It was a bitter edge, as quiet as it was. Her smile was sweet. "I don't feel scared at all any more."

"Easy, babe." Tig temporized. He didn't want her doing anything stupid, and she looked as war-weary and jumpy as any soldier he'd seen under fire for too long. She pushed him hard enough to let him know she meant it, and he released her. The look in her eyes made him nervous. She'd decided something, and he wasn't sure it was good.

Anne put distance between them and sat across from the door, waiting for someone to get her. When she left, the look she cast over her shoulder at Tig was one he'd seen on Gemma's face before. Someone was going to get bloody, and he had the horrible feeling that it in the end, it was going to be Anne.