A/N: I feel like I should warn you that I swore a lot in this chapter... :) happy reading!

I was running, panting, out of breath - scrambling through the undergrowth; struggling as it fought against me. I couldn't remember what I was running from... just that I had to get away. That I had to get to safety. The moon shone through the trees, creating ominous silhouettes; gnarled limbs of trees fragmented the light, shattering the darkness.

The darkness that had swallowed me whole.

There was no way of telling how far I'd come, or where I was going - just that I had to keep moving forwards.

A deafening howl broke through the silence, and I woke up.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I woke up alone. Without Jett. My heart lurched with some unfamiliar feeling, and I found myself clutching at my chest in confusion - like I had some lump in the back of my throat that wouldn't go away.

I felt hollow.

"Did you have a nice sleep?" And that was when I remembered. Everything.

I started to register the tattered, moth-eaten duvet; the bare mattress; the empty, white washed walls - and the broken window, shutters latched. Light crept in through the holes in the shutters, illuminating bright spots on the floor, creating a barrier between me and him.

"It's been a while." The sound of his voice made my blood run cold, at the memory of everything that he had done - all painful reminders of just what he was capable of... of just how much of a monster he was. "You look well."

He tried to step forward, from the darkness, to touch me. I chucked the limp pillow at him, scattering duck feathers over the floor. "Stay away from me." I warned, trying so hard not to let my voice crack.

"You've been awfully cold lately, Jade. Something the matter?"

This was the guy who had slaughtered my friends; made me see the final product, then thought it might be funny if he made me watch him massacre a whole bunch of innocent people. Fucking twisted son-of-a-bitch.

I had no words for him. When I didn't retaliate, scream at him, or react in any way, he simply shrugged, sighing, and left me; not forgetting to lock the door behind him.

Bastard.

As soon as he was gone, I pounced, ramming my fists against the shutters; digging my fingers between the wood when it didn't work. There was no latch and it had been boarded up; but it didn't hurt to try anyway.

And, because he had to be a fucking ingenious mastermind, there was nothing I could use to escape. Just me, a pathetic excuse for a mattress, pillow and duvet combination... and a bedframe that appeared to be welded to the floor. The problem is; when you get kidnapped by one of your ex-best friends (in this case, the only one of mine still amongst the living. LOL, joke), is that they understand you. They know your weaknesses, the way you think, you first reactions.

Thus, they know how to use them against you.

In this case, he was holding me prisoner. For what? I don't know. Last time we saw each other, I had been almost certain that he was either about to rape me or maim me or both. Now there was the possibility that he was going to use me as fodder for his stupid undead minions - whatever they were. At least, on the bright side, I was safe from them in my... humble prison cell. For now, at least.

When I tried to think about why he would even want me in the first place, I came up with nothing. Torture, perhaps? The particular phrase that came to mind was: 'been there, done that, got the t-shirt'; which, in fact, I had. He had given me one for my birthday. It used to be one of my favourites... and now I was glad I'd lost it. Ironic, no? Like everything else, it was all part of his big, fat lie - and I fell for it. And now I was paying for it.

After a few hours of doing nothing, sprawled across the bed, feeling sorry for myself; I started banging on the walls.

When that didn't work; I resorted to a more touch-and-go, evocative method."Let me out, sicko, or I'll fucking rip off your testicles and stuff them up your anus!" The gist of it had been to provoke a reaction from the opponent - which would then lead to his timely arrival. He would come in here and...

... that was when it all went a bit pear shaped. I had figured out how to get my captor here... but I hadn't exactly figured out what was going to happen afterwards.

So when the door smashed open, and I found myself staring up at his unamused, angry face - I did what any normal person would do - I panicked.

My only saving grace was that ducking under the metal frame of the bed like a small, scared child seemed to tickle his funny bone. How do I know this? Because he seemed to really enjoy dragging me out by my anckles, unsympathetic as to whether I got splinters or not.

I could be wrong; but maybe he got himself off on my discomfort. On my pain. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say, Jade. Didn't anyone ever teach you any manners?"

"I didn't think I'd need them here, seeing as you clearly have none, either." His scowl darkened, lips twisting out of the half-smirk and into a deep set frown.

"You might want to rethink that." It wasn't much of a threat, but - in panic mode - it still made me want to pee myself. Wide-eyed, I backed up, head banging into the wall. He stooped over me looking, dare I say it, bored. "While you're here, I decide your fate. If I don't like you, you die; so if you value your life, you better start grovelling for mercy."

Because the moment was calling for it, I spat in his face. "I'd rather die than grovel at your feet, leech."

"Really?" His voice was calm, collected; the complete contradiction to the hand that grabbed me by the neck and rammed my head backwards. "You're not afraid of me?"

I would have said yes; I could taste that word on the tip of my tongue - but we both knew I'd be lying.

"You should be afraid, Jade. Very afraid."

At that precise moment, I thought - no... hoped - that he would leave me alone again, have the decency to shut the door - maybe forget to feed me so that I could die in peace.

He did no such thing.

Instead, dickhead decided to drag me out of the door by my hair, down the corridor with the unsealed, blood encrusted floor boards. The house was empty. Just us. Thank the Lord, I thought he was going to have some decaying thing gnaw off my leg - or something of a similarly gruesome nature.

My fear was like this dryness that started on the tip of my tongue, moving towards the back of my throat and triggering my gag reflex. Every muscle in my body burned with protest as he wrestled me out of the door, onto the landing outside, overlooking a lake thick with mist.

The sun was nowhere to be seen. "Great." I spat, ignoring the dribble of blood that trickled from my now busted lip, and probable swollen cheek. "I'm outside. Freezing. Are you going to go all teenage douche bag and dump me in the river?"

"As tempting as it sounds, no." My expression darkened when I noticed the vehicle approaching from the other end of the lake. "Either you go quietly, or we do this the hard way."

"What's the hard way?"

That sadistic smile was back, and as horrific as ever. "If you're a good girl, you won't have to find out."

I could feel the lightheadedness returning as blood drained from my face. "Why am I here? If you don't tell me anything else, at least tell me that."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?"

I shrugged, unable to mask the anxiety on my face. It might as well have been written on my forehead in permanent marker because my eyes were so wide. "Maybe."

When he had prolonged the silence for long enough, he finally caved, eyes fixed on mine. "We're going to kill you." He said. "And it's going to hurt."

Perhaps it was the fact that it was so clichéd or that, after all this time, death had started to lose it's meaning - but it didn't hit me. I just stared at him, wondering if he really meant it. In my experience, this was the first time anyone had outright said it to me; maybe that was why I couldn't believe him... because he hadn't tried to kill me yet. He'd only tried to traumatize me - on multiple occasions - succesfully.

Though, there was nothing denying that he wouldn't try to traumatize me one last time.

And then I discovered that I was crying. Actually crying. I don't even know why, the tears just came, along with these words: "even though I know what you are, I never wanted to hear those words from you."

"If you're trying to appeal to my sympathetic side, it's not working."

I spoke, but I couldn't meat his eyes. "I know. I know. You never had one, right? I'm right, aren't I? You cold-hearted-"

THWACK.

All I felt was the plank of wood impacting against my head, and compact earth that winded me as I fell to the ground, mud splashing against my limp figure. I didn't see the face, I didn't even see it coming. I was too engrossed in my own self-pity and misery that I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings.

I let my guard down, just like he wanted me to, and now I was pretty sure I'd never see the sun again.

When the car boot finally opened, they didn't un-gag me. They just left me there, wrists bound, body curled up to keep warm because it was so damn cold. It was nighttime, the moon glistening on the surface of the lake... or whatever it was. We were now several hundred miles, or so, North of our previous coordinates (you lose track of time and displacement after however long you've been stuffed in a car boot for. Not to mention it stunk like fucking shit. I was willing to bet that I hadn't been the first thing they had stuffed in the back).

Other than the fact that I couldn't see much, because - of course - it was obscured by the walls of my prison, I could see the stars in the sky. I used to have a book when I was little that convinced you not to be afraid of the dark because of the stars. Bullshit. Even with the stars, I was fucking terrified.

Footfall.

They were coming back.

All three of them, surprisingly. Because I was naïve, naturally I only assumed two. Unfortunately, I wasn't so lucky.

"Did you miss me?"

No, shit-for-brains. I missed you so much that I shat myself when I saw you.

Not really. I just shrieked into the gag as they dragged me out of the car boot - you know? There's nothing particularly abnormal about that. On the bright side, this time they weren't trying to make pain a major factor. Nope. They were just manhandling me, like the hand ever so casually groping my thigh as they removed me from the vehicle.

And, because it wouldn't be a true criminal escapade without it, they put a sac over my head. A sac that, once upon a time, had probably held many other undescribable things.

I screamed again, and again, and again; shaking, bucking, trying to get the wretched thing off me. Trying to breathe normally, but I couldn't. I was forced to breathe through my nose, and that only made the urge to throw up chunks everywhere much, much harder to suppress because the rancid smell was so much stronger. I could feel the drool from the gag trickling down my chin and pooling on my shirt. The same shirt I had been wearing for I don't know how long.

Two strong hands furled themselves around my ankles, trapping them; the others supported my torso as they carried me... wherever. I couldn't see, I didn't want to breathe, and I most certainly didn't want to cooperate - but no matter how many times I kicked my legs, and writhed in their arms, they still wouldn't relinquish their steely grip.

There wasn't enough energy left in me to keep fighting... and giving up was gradually starting to sound more appealing by the second.

But when I remembered what they had planned for me, I suddenly started to fight back.

I didn't want to die.

I really didn't want to die.

Not in the middle of nowhere.

And definitely not by the hands of the one person I would have once entrusted my life to.

"NGGOOOOOO!" My throat was raspy from the effort, but even then it wasn't really distinguishable as any form of protest. In a sense, it could have sounded like I was encouraging them.

I don't know if it worked. I just know that at one point, they put me down.

And two of them left, which only meant one thing.

I let out a defeated sob, trying to crawl away and failing when a hand caught me and dragged me back - bits of twig, soil and detritus collecting in a pile at the small of my back. The earth was alive with tiny insects, the type that make your skin crawl when they come into contact with you. I arched away from them, but a hand puched me back down.

A choked gasp escaped my throat, and I started to buck, whimpering, kicking against him, trying to get back up, only to be silenced by the sound of material tearing away in his hands. My shirt = gone. For the second time. He either had a serious bone to pick with my wardrobe, or really liked tearing up my clothes. I prayed for the prior, and not the latter, just because it would make me sleep better at night - if I even got the chance to live past this.

I could feel the cold air on my bear skin, stinging where he had scratched me, where blood welled to the surface and trickled in a line to the ground. I shuffled again, arching away, trying to create some distance between me and the rest of Mother Nature's smaller creations, and once again, he pushed me down.

"If you keep doing that-." Heath breathed against my ear. I hadn't realised he was so close, only accelerating my already erratic heartbeat - to a level that was so high that if he didn't kill me, it would. "I might take it the wrong way." He trailed a finger across the bared skin, down to my hip bone leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

Before I could figure out what he meant, I felt something slimy and wet against the graze that ran from below my ribcage to my navel. His tongue.

Trying to tell myself it wasn't gross was one thing; trying to quell the involuntary shiver was another; and trying to tell myself it didn't feel good was lying, damn it. It did feel good, but at the same time, it felt disgusting. I knew where those fangs, and that tongue had been, and I did not want them touching my open wound.

Thinking about the logistics of it was just making my current state of just bordering nausea even worse.

Re-gathering my strength from an adrenaline burst, I kicked at him - not entirely sure which part, because I couldn't actually see, but - whatever it was - it seemed to do the trick.

Until he growled at me and I really did almost pee my pants.

He could rip me apart without even thinking about it. Heck, I'm pretty sure if he didn't think about it, I would now be comprised of several separate, rotting chunks of meat. He didn't, though. But he did take the opportunity to pin my wrists above my head.

"I can smell your arousal." He leered; only encouraging the tears that were forming in my eyes. Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! "It's repulsive-." That leer soon morphed into a resentful laugh, meanwhile I choked on my gag. "How you can be so like them, even though you always looked down on everyone else? In the end, you're no different, and that disappoints me, Jade."

I felt the absence of his weight; and suddenly everything was so much colder because the force of the wind against my skin was so bitterly raw and unrestrained that it stung.

"I want to break you." His voice was low, echoing, filling the air around us like some etherial presence. "I want to crush your soul, and I want to see your face as I do it. I want to taste your agony, your hatred and your despair. I want to make you beg for your death." And then, like some magic trick, I could feel him smiling even if I couldn't see or touch him. It was like a sixth sense that tingled whenever danger approached - except it was his smile; not that the two were really any different.

"Another night, perhaps." He said.

And that was my only saving grace. The fact that he had postponed his own sick and twisted plans for me.

So that meant that all I could do was lie, helpless, and wait; knowing that, at some point, I was going to wish he had killed me sooner.

A/N: sorry for the late update, guys! I was aiming to do it this weekend, but ended up going on a rather impromptu visit to my friends stables (after the road trip) which then took up the entire of my spare time on my weekend. Sad to say that I do, in fact, have a life - albeit a sad, depressing, antisocial one; even a girl like me has her moments.

Please don't shoot me for this. I was bored and depressed, and I'm pretty sure I nearly fainted at least three times today... okay, maybe twice... but still... Is it weird if you walk along and suddenly zone out like you're moving but it doesn't actually feel like you're moving your own legs, and then everything goes blurry-ish? I don't know. That happened to me more than twice today :S so if that's bad then I'm screwed. If not, then I'm just a hypochondriac (not that I didn't already know that). 'Nuff said.

Okay, if you liked it, then yay! I'll be super duper happy - and if you drop a line, it will make me smile and I will write the next one faster! Promise! I'll even try to finish it BEFORE I go to New York for a week. How's that sound?

THANK YOU FOR READING! (as always - you guys make this worthwhile, ya know?) :) x