AN: Everyone's reviews, favorite, alerts for this really make me squee with wonder and glee :) I love that you love Punkrockward and Brit Bitch as much as I do.

Playlist updated per usual. Girl power this week!

JosieSwan--you rock my world.

Bella

I realized that I might be in over my head somewhere along 93 North. Actually, that might have happened when Big Guy drugged Edward. Or when he stole him from backstage. Or maybe when I demanded and blackmailed him into taking me along.

No. I'd figured out I was way over my head when he'd demanded my phone before I could even send a quick text to Alice to reassure her that I hadn't just lost my mind—except that I completely had. What had I been thinking, demanding that he take me with him? No matter how much I needed an inside track on Edward's inner thoughts, being kidnapped was never the right solution.

Or maybe the low point came when he decided we needed to be handcuffed. Together.

There were so many options to pick from, I was having a hard time making up my mind what the low, sordid point of this whole endeavor was.

"Um," I said loudly, trying to make sure the big jerk in the front heard me over the air whistling through the open windows of the van. "Hello? My wrists are beginning to chafe. Can you please take these damn things off?"

Nothing. Total silence. Apparently Big Guy had decided that once I'd managed to get myself into this situation, he didn't have to do anything to get me out.

I glanced sideways at the man I was currently chained to. In all my wildest dreams, I'd never imagined that I would find actually physically connected to Edward Cullen. He was still asleep—or drugged—and I'd yet to pull vomit duty, thank God.

"Hello?" I yelled now, shaking our connected hands so that the metal jingled obnoxiously. "Handcuffs please?"

"Handcuffs?" Instead a reply from the front seat, the word came from the man next to me, and it was slurred and nearly unrecognizable. Crap. Edward was awake—or something close to it.

I turned and saw that his eyes were unfocused, but unfortunately for me, they were definitely open. Great. Okay. Time to somehow confess to the bad boy of punk that he'd not only been kidnapped, but that someone he wasn't exactly fond of was along for the ride. His eyes narrowed and focused, taking in the ratty, torn seats we were sitting on and then his gaze drifted along my bare arm until it rested on the glamorous silver cuff decorating my wrist and his.

The air between us thickened with his displeasure and I didn't think I'd ever felt so loathed in my entire life.

"Do you think I can ask why the fuck I'm in a van, you're poisoning my air supply and we're fucking handcuffed together?"

I took a deep breath. "I really wish I could, but Big Guy in the front is going to have to the explaining."

"Big Guy? Who the fuck is that?" Slowly he raised his head and looked towards the driver.

His head hit the seat again. "First—I think I'm going to be sick. Second—Emmett, where the fuck are you taking me and why am I chained to Brit Bitch?"

Apparently only the man next to me was able to get Big Guy's attention, even though he'd barely spoken above a hungover whimper and I'd been fucking shrieking. "We're going to see some old friends. And you should ask your girl over there why she's here."

"God, I don't think I can. I might be sick." Edward paused, his face contorting with disgust, and I wanted so badly to hit him, but I had a policy of not taking out my anger on God's lesser creatures. "Oh wait," he continued, growing paler as he struggled to sit up. "Or, I might be sick anyway."

Fumbling with my one free hand for the bucket jammed beneath the seat, I finally wrenched it loose and thrust it underneath Edward's face. "What?" I said at his snarling expression. "Better in the bucket than on me."

"I couldn't disagree more," he said, and proceeded to vomit into the yellow plastic receptacle.

No. I'd been wrong before. We hit the most sordid moment of all as I heard and felt the stream of Edward's vomit hit the bucket, filling the van with the hideous smell of rancid booze and something indefinably wretched—this was the instant I knew that I had made the worst decision of my entire life.

Edward threw up again, and I almost felt a second of pity for the man next to me as he puked his guts out. But sympathy would require him to be human, and I wasn't entirely sure he wasn't a diabolical asshole of an alien imported from some insensitive colony in space.

"You okay?" Emmett asked from the front seat, because clearly he could hear and smell the developing situation. "I was afraid the drugs wouldn't mix well with the booze you'd drank."

"Really?" I snapped, my temper fraying. Except that I wasn't as angry at Big Guy than I was furious with myself for believing that I'd land on my feet after this last monumental mistake. "I can't imagine why you would drug him then."

"As much as I hate to agree with Brit Bitch over here," Edward said coming up for air, "I can't help but wonder that myself. What the fuck is going on, Emmett? You have some explaining to do." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and I wanted to puke myself. Swallowing hard, I shoved a dirty rag at him.

"Use this instead," I told him. "Then we can throw it out the window and we won't have to smell the contents of your stomach for the entire trip."

"Little late for that," Emmett said. "We're not stopping anytime soon. Unless you feel like hurling that bucket out the window, we're going to be smelling it for awhile longer. Oh wait—wrong choice of words." He chuckled darkly, and I wondered how I could have ever thought he was nice underneath. He was a fucking maniac.

"Very funny," Edward glowered, throwing down the rag into the vomit in the bucket. "Why the fuck was I drugged?"

The man in the front seat sighed, and suddenly I felt a weird wrench of pity for Edward. He'd clearly trusted this man to protect him, but instead he'd drugged and stolen him away. Of course, I could only imagine what Edward had done over the years to deserve it.

"I told you. You have some friends . . ."

"Yeah. Friends like you?" His voice was so raw that I had to swallow back the lump in my throat. Betrayal by someone you trusted was never easy to take.

"Man, I'm sorry. There was . . .I didn't have a choice. You have to believe me. But it's all going to be alright, I promise."

Edward appeared to be marginally appeased by this, because he just flopped back on the torn seat. Gingerly, I pulled the bucket away and shuddered in disgust as the vomit slopped around inside. "Um. Where should I put this?" I asked hesitantly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I don't want to tip it over."

"Yeah, because then you might get your prostitute clothes dirty," Edward interjected, "and that would be a real shame. You couldn't use them for tricking any other rock stars into spilling their guts."

"I didn't trick you. I never said I would sleep with you. I just wanted to. . .talk."

"Yeah, I don't really do that," Edward grimaced, turning away from me, jerking my arm in the process. I pulled back and rubbed the welt that was quickly forming on my wrist. "Emmett, please uncuff us. This is too much."

"Sorry. I can't trust either of you. Especially Edward. He isn't the one who begged me to take him on this trip, after all."

That got Edward's attention. "I was right all along—you are a sick bitch."

"I'm not a bitch. And my name's Bella, by the way. In case you didn't remember from earlier."

"How could I have forgotten? Your name is Bella, you're apparently some bastard form of British, and on top of that, you'd like to talk about my lowest point as a musician."

Alice had been right all along. This idea had been awful from the beginning, and it had only gone from bad to worse. "I'm a good listener," I added lamely. "In case you did want to talk—you know, about how you feel betrayed that your friend drugged and took you . . ."

". . .and handcuffed me to the most annoying woman in the entire world? No thanks." He closed his eyes, effectively shutting me out.

"Oh, and Emmett. In case you were trying to find some unique, bizarre torture method during this kidnapping, handcuffing me to Brit Bitch is innovative and very, very effective."

Three torturous hours later, Emmett finally pulled off the interstate and into a gas station. I tensed, but Edward remained totally relaxed, his eyes closed. Unfortunately, because we were so closely linked, I was sure he could feel my suddenly rigid muscles.

"Relax. He's just getting gas," Edward informed me, without either opening his eyes or turning his head my direction. If I'd been deaf, I would never have known he was giving me the time of day—not that he really was anyway. He clearly loathed the idea that I was chained to him, but not so much the idea that he was kidnapped, if that was even what we were calling Emmett's semi-peaceful abduction.

I couldn't figure it out, actually. If I'd been in Edward's shoes, I would have panicked long ago, and done everything I could to escape. Edward, on the other hand, appeared to be just going with the flow, and let Emmett do whatever he wanted with him. He resented that someone he'd trusted had taken him, but he didn't appear to care about the taking part. I wondered if that meant he'd hit such a rock bottom that he no longer cared what happened to him.

I, on the other hand, cared very much about what happened to me, and though I'd initially blackmailed Emmett into bringing me along, I was feeling the sudden need to escape this whole squalid affair before I got in way over my head.

Wait. Before I got in over my head? I was clearly already there—in the backseat of a brokendown Ford van, holding a puke bucket for an asshole musician who I was currently tied to in a lot of ways I didn't want to examine too closely. And speaking of the handcuffs—to escape, I'd either have to motivate Edward to care enough to get away or force Emmett to disconnect us.

"My wrist is really sore," I announced loudly, only to nearly feel the force of Edward's ire turning in on me. I didn't get it. How could he be so fucking angry at me for just happening to be born British, but forgive Emmett for kidnapping him?

"Please, you're such a wimp," Edward chided, as if he suddenly liked being tied together. I, however, was not dumb enough to buy that line. He just wanted to disagree with everything I said, which was really maturity in action. "Besides, I have a feeling that Emmett removes these and you're gone. Whatever reason you tagged along, you're finding out that I'm not all fun and games."

"Really?" I glared at him. "And here I thought we were having a great time. I was about to ask you to braid my hair, and then maybe later we could break out the road trip games and have a singalong."

I heard Emmett's derisive snort from the backseat, but Edward said nothing, and turned back to the window. "Sorry, Bella, but he's right," Emmett said, his voice rather believably apologetic. "I can't separate you two. And on top of that, please no scenes while we're around other people. I wouldn't want to gag you."

I rolled my eyes. "I blackmailed you into taking me along. I'm not going to bail now." Too bad I'd been thinking about it ever since I'd made the decision to leverage Emmett into kidnapping me too. But they didn't have to know that I was regretting it more than ever.

"Bullshit. And you don't need to worry. I'm not going to do anything. You wanted me so bad, you've got me," Edward said.

I wanted to strangle him. How could he be so damn cavalier about his personal safety? Of course, I wasn't exactly the poster child on good choices right now, so maybe it was wrong of me to be so judgmental.

"Fine," I told Edward. "Be that way. Act that way. Your choice."

I didn't have to look in Edward's direction to see his disgruntled expression. Of course, maybe that was just his normal expression whenever he was in my presence.

"I'll just be a minute, children. Behave yourselves." Emmett opened the door and I leaned closer to the window, watching him hand a few bills to the attendant and then head into the mini mart attached to the gas station.

"Quick," I hissed at Edward, shaking our connected wrists. "Let's see if we can get these damned handcuffs off."

Unsurprisingly, Edward said nothing, even as I continued to jangle the dratted handcuffs. "I'm serious," I insisted. "We could get out of here before he gets back."

"Why are you so eager to get out? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you did volunteer for this."

"Regardless of how I feel about the situation, why aren't you trying harder to escape? You didn't exactly ask to be kidnapped."

"I told you before," Edward snapped. "I don't care. I trust Emmett. He would never betray me."

"He already did," I practically yelled. "He kidnapped you."

"Emmett is a friend. He knows what he's doing. Nothing bad is going to happen."

"Let's hope not," I retorted. "Because if you're wrong, then we're both screwed."

Emmett opened the front door of the van and slid into the driver's seat. "Have fun, kiddies?"

Stony silence met him. "Well," he continued. "At least you're both here still. I was half-expecting to have to chase you down 93 North. And as a reward for good behavior, I brought snacks."

"Where were we going to go?" I said, not bothering to mask my bitterness. "We're fucking handcuffed together."

"As you keep reminding us," Edward replied. "You're acting as if I enjoy your company or I wanted your company."

"I'm just here to grill you about your musical past, that's all."

"Good luck with that," Emmett said. "I've never seen Edward do something he doesn't want to do."

"Amen. Now can you just shut the fuck up, Brit Bitch?"

I didn't reply—just turned my back on him as much as I could, considering that we were still hooked together—and stared out the window, attempting to pretend that I was anywhere else. I wasn't exactly doing what he told me to. I just didn't want to be reduced to yet another verbal war at the moment.

"So who wants snacks?" Emmett asked.

"Too bad you couldn't have gotten funky over here a shower instead." I sniffed the air and made a disgusted face. Unfortunately Edward had never gotten his shower after the show and between unwashed male and my lovely present from him earlier, the van was smelling more than a little ripe. Yet another reason, I thought to myself, why this had been the worst idea ever.

"Too bad you couldn't have found Brit Bitch here some clothes so she could cover up all the goods she isn't interested in sharing."

I'd been uncomfortably aware of my ridiculously skimpy attire for about the first hour of the trip, but by the second hour, the rest of it was so fucking uncomfortable that I'd forgotten about how much skin I was really showing. I glanced down and to my horror saw that the short skirt Alice had constructed had ridden up and I was displaying a not-insignificant amount of upper thigh to Edward.

He must have followed my gaze because he just sneered at my expression. "It's only physical, sweetheart. Don't worry, I have no interest in sampling anything you're offering. Or not offering."

I hated how he made me sound so unbelievably frigid, just because I hadn't melted into his arms—okay, well I had, a little bit, but only in a moment of extreme weakness. I wasn't cold; I just wasn't buying his line of bullshit. However, if I was really going to get him to confess all his musical skeletons to me, I needed to tone down on my biting sarcasm and cheap digs, no matter how tempting it was to continue to needle him. I needed to be nice and convince him to trust me. Though, I clearly had a long way to go on that front, considering that he currently trusted the man who had kidnapped him more than he trusted me.

I imagined Renee's face when I was a nationally successful music blogger, and able to give her the middle finger whenever I wanted, and kept that in the forefront of my thoughts as I turned the brightest smile I could manage in Edward's direction. "So you never did answer my question," I said as he ripped open a bag of Doritos with his free hand, "what is it exactly that you have against anyone from Britain?"

Emmett clucked from the front seat, his voice a clear warning sign to stay away. I knew it was dangerous leading with such a frontal charge, but I needed Edward to know that he wouldn't dissuade me no matter how much he put me down and patronized me. I was stronger than that—he just needed to be reminded of it about fifty million times.

"That's none of your fucking business," Edward said in a hard, resolute voice. And just like that, he closed down even more, locked tight as a vault.

I unscrewed a bottle of water and let it tip, cold and wet and wonderful down my dry throat. Looking up, I caught him looking at me, curiosity wary in his green eyes. "So does that mean you'll retire 'Brit Bitch'?"

"Hell no," Edward smirked. "I find it a very apt nickname."

Patience, Bella, I told myself. You aren't going to crack this safe in five minutes. Persistence is key. "And I could ask again, why does the fact that I have the tiniest hint of a British accent make you so adverse to my company?"

"It's not only the accent, it's your generally repellant know-it-all attitude. You're a combination of a hymnal and Miss Manners. It's fucking obnoxious."

I gritted my teeth and forced the smile to return, even though it desperately wanted to flee. "You definitely did not like my accent back at the House of Blues."

"A fleeting moment of passion—or not passion, I should say."

"I hate to remind you—or me—of this," I replied sweetly, "but at the moment my accent slipped out, I wasn't exactly saying no. So if you're insinuating it was my lack of groupie behavior that annoyed you, you're lying."

Edward stubbornly remained silent, and I decided to try a different angle. "So what about all those rumors I hear about you drunkenly boxing with Brits? Is that because they don't fuck you too?"

"Emmett," Edward said warningly, his voice husky and deep with annoyance. And of course, like the silly girl I couldn't help being, I felt something hard and hot knot deep in my belly. If only that voice didn't belong to such a raging egomaniac asshole.

"There weren't any of those incidences," Emmett announced. "They're completely unsubstantiated."

"Bullshit. You threw money at them so they'd go away," I said bluntly, finally feeling like I was getting somewhere. I'd done my research and there'd been rumblings for years that all things British were abhorrent to him. I just hadn't realized how bad it was until he'd caught merely a hint of an accent, and suddenly he was pissed as hell. I didn't want to know what he'd do if he ever came face to face with fish and chips or a Yorkshire pudding.

Edward shrugged, his face completely devoid of any reaction to my statement. "Still means there's no proof."

"And you're still not going to say anything," I said with mounting frustration. "Fine. Let's change subjects. Aiming to Misbehave."

"Next subject," Edward said softly. "That one is equally off-limits."

"I should have warned you," Emmett said, "he's not exactly friendly with the press."

"Thanks," I ground out. "I really appreciate the heads up."

Mentally, I tried to regroup, to think of something I could ask. Anything that could end this ridiculous defensive stand. "What about one of your earlier albums? We could talk about one of those."

I didn't really want to write about one of them—I'd already done that multiple times and doing it again wouldn't exactly bring the advertisers knocking, but if it put him at ease and convinced him to trust me, I was willing to rehash a little past history.

"Not going to work, Swan," Edward said, his eyes drifting close. "Now shut up before I forget I'm a gentleman and force your mouth around my dick."

I wanted to tell him he was a misogynistic asshat and that I'd really rather die than do as he threatened but that seemed rather counter-productive and also something I'd mentioned at least half a dozen times already. He knew well enough how I felt about him. In fact, he seemed determined to make him hate him as much as I possibly could. So I slammed my lips together and tried to pretend that what he was throwing down wasn't working at all.

Some time later, I was jerked awake suddenly when my left arm flew upwards and smacked me hard across the face.

"What the fuck," I shrieked, my eyes flying open. Edward sat next to me, our chained hands lying between us, smirking obnoxiously.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. Apparently we're here, though god knows where that is. The godforsaken middle of nowhere it seems. Emmett won't tell me anything else."

This was the most Edward had ever volunteered to say to me that wasn't technically an insult. While he'd theoretically just forced me to hit myself, I decided that we were making progress regardless, and I smiled sluggishly at him as I struggled to wake up.

"Well, that's a huge astonishment considering that he kidnapped you," I replied. "Where is he anyway?"

"'Preparing the house,'" Edward said, jerking my arm upwards again so he could make air quotes. "Because apparently you're a 'flight risk.'"

"Hell yes I am," I mumbled underneath my breath. Using my free hand, I tried to tame my hair into some semblance of something, but I gave up. It was hopeless. Alice had been trying for bedhead before we'd even left the house, and by now, I was about ten stages past sexy.

Emmett opened the side door of the van and I wasn't above taking a few gulps of fresh air as it poured into the cabin. "Time to go, kiddies. And just so you know, we're in the middle of nowhere and it's 4 in the morning, so unless you want to wander around alone and lost, I wouldn't recommend making a break for it."

I made a face. "I couldn't anyway. I'm still harnessed to Edward here. Are you actually expecting us to walk like this?"

He didn't say anything, just pulled the door farther open. "Fine," I retorted.

"Flight risk, remember, Swan?" Edward said.

"I'm surprised you even remember my last name, considering the state you were in when I found you."

"I'm only remembering it so I can make your life hell when we get out of here," he said.

I jerked on his arm—deciding he needed a taste of his own medicine—as I wobbly descended from the van, my feet and legs moving clumsily from the lack of recent activity. He stumbled forward, pulled by the momentum of my own body. I refused to feel sorry as he grabbed at the side of the side of the van to prevent face planting into the gravel driveway.

I could see the shape of a cabin up ahead at the top of the driveway, but there were no lights, not even in the surrounding countryside. Wind whistled through the trees surrounding the house, and I knew Emmett hadn't been lying. We were far, far away from anyone who could hear or see us. Fear began to coalesce hard and fast inside me. I had to remind myself that Edward did appear to trust Emmett, and that hopefully, we'd get out of here totally unscathed and soon.

"Let's go," Emmett barked again, the strain and stress of the entire situation clearly evident in his voice. As a reluctant pair, Edward and I stumbled forward towards the cabin.

We were almost to the front door when I saw the flag, flapping in the breeze, set back almost behind the cabin. It was so dark that I almost couldn't make out the colors of the flag, but as Emmett opened the door and guided us in, I managed to get a clearer look as the light from inside spilled out. It was yellow crossed with red, with a single red hand on a white shield background. I thought it looked rather familiar, but I couldn't place it.

"Look at that flag," I whispered to Edward, hoping that Emmett couldn't hear me. "Do you recognize it?"

Edward glanced up just as the door closed behind him. I wondered if he'd had time to see it, but when turned to me, his eyes glowing fiercely in the muted light of the small hallway. He nodded, and I wasn't sure if he was agreeing that he'd seen it, or if he'd recognized what it was.

"You saw it," I hissed. "What is it?"

"Don't you wish you knew?" he smirked.

"That's why I asked, dumbass," I retorted, and he just nodded enigmatically.

"I know it," he finally said, looking dismayed and yet not very surprised. "It's the Red Hand of Ulster."

That hard knot inside my belly tightened, and I realized that this was the moment I realized just how bad of a decision this had been. Puking, insufferably obnoxious rockstars were one thing—seeing that flag made me realize that the situation I'd gotten myself into was so much worse than that.

Chapter 8 is also going to be Edward/Bella. Chapter 9, we'll revisit our motley crue back at the ranch.