In this chapter we go from sad to smutty to suspenseful, all in 5.5k words. So buckle your seat belts, dear readers. It's gonna get bumpy.
i'm the bottom line of the joke
i am ecstasy spilling like bright egg yolk
i'm the thoughts you're too ashamed to ever share
and i am the smell of it you're trying to wash out of your hair
David Gray, "Nemesis"
Chucky was alone at the shop when they got back. He was rearranging the candy wall—something that could keep him entertained for hours—and humming under his breath. When he saw them he stopped short.
"Something's different," he said to Olivia.
"Hum. Don't know, Chucky," she said. "How're things around here?"
"Quiet. Is that a new top?"
She looked down at the flowing dark purple tank she wore over a more fitted lavender camisole and smiled a little. "Nope. Had it a while."
"Huh. Trying out a new lipstick?"
She opened her mouth to reply, but Tig was faster. "For fuck's sake, Chuck, her hair! She cut her fuckin' hair!"
He made a little o of surprise. "Wow. I knew it was something. Looks good. I like it."
"Thanks, Chucky," she said as she struggled not to laugh. He was certainly a breed apart. "I'm going to the back," she told Tig. "I've got Piney's old trike in about a hundred pieces, and it'd be nice to get it put back together."
"Make sure the back door's locked," he said.
"Yes, Dad."
He flinched. "Don't say that, Ollie. That's not fair."
"Oh God," she muttered. "I'll see you guys later." She ducked into the workshop as fast as she could, and she didn't even flick the light on until the door was shut behind her.
"Holy shit!" she said and pressed a hand to her chest. Juice sat on a stool in the corner, still and silent. "What are you doing here in the dark? I didn't even see your bike outside."
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I've gotta go meet Chibs and Bobby in Stockton in a little while, but they had me workin' on that Doyle stuff all morning."
"Ahh," she said. She hung her bag from the rack and slid her hands into her pockets. "Heavy reading."
"Yeah," he said, shortly. His head tilted. "Your hair looks real good, babe."
"That seems to be the consensus, but all things considered I'm not sure anyone would tell me any different."
His face creased. "Come here," he said.
She moved a few steps closer. "What?"
"Just come here, Liv. Please."
Something in his voice caused any quip she might've made to die on her lips. She walked to him. Their faces were level, and he cupped his hands around hers. For a long time he just looked at her, studying each of her features as though he were trying to memorize them.
As if he didn't already know her by heart.
"Juicy, what—"
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her hard against him. His cheek was pressed to her chest, and his shoulders shook with emotion. She hesitated a moment before she ran tender hands over his head and down the back of his neck.
"Talk to me, baby," she murmured. She kissed his scalp and he held on even tighter.
"I didn't know," he said, his voice muffled. "I didn't know there'd be pictures of you."
She squeezed her eyes shut and her head fell back. Four years in she'd started documenting the injuries; taking photos and making notes and adding it all to the growing file she had on TJ and his father. She'd forgotten about that part. Fuck. Not just Juice had seem them, but all the guys in the club. That wasn't exactly an image of her she wanted them to have.
"Oh," she said, for lack of anything else.
He raised his head and his face was almost unrecognizable. "Was that TJ, or Doyle?"
"They were labeled," she said, quietly. Both, in other words.
He gave a slow nod. "I'm gonna kill him, Olivia. I know you want to do it, but I'm gonna rip his fucking head off."
She pulled away, and he let her go reluctantly. She paced across the room and stood with her back to him, her arms crossed around her middle. "I wish you hadn't seen them."
He hesitated. This was a minefield, he could tell, and he knew if he said the wrong thing or made the wrong move he might do irreparable damage.
"Olivia—" He choked. Cleared his throat and tried again. "Baby…" He stepped up behind her, making sure to shuffle his feet against the concrete so that she heard him. "I love you, Olivia," he said. "You know that. It's not even a question. You know it."
Her chin dropped. "It's just—it's one thing to hear the stories. And I haven't even told you—" She broke off and buried her hands in her hair. "Pictures are different. Now everyone's seen them. Seen me. It wasn't what I wanted."
"No, babe, no. Once I realized what I was looking at I made them all leave and said I'd go through it alone. I'm the only one who saw them." He wanted to touch her as bad as he'd wanted anything in his life, but he knew it was better to wait for her to come to him. "What you've been through—shit, Liv, I don't think I coulda survived it."
She spun on him, her eyes hot and dry, her cheeks flushed bright. "It wasn't brave, Juice. Don't think that. I'm not some—some hero. And you'd probably be amazed at what you can endure."
He absorbed her anger and let it wash through him. It wasn't directed at him anyway. "I love you, Olivia," he said again. It was the only thing that mattered. "I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I don't care how, or where. I just want you and me."
He caught her as she flew at him. Her arms went around his neck and his wrapped around her ribs. He kissed anything he could reach: her temple, her ear, her jaw, the top of her head. "I love you, baby," he whispered into her hair. "So much. Nothin's gonna change that."
Her fingers tangled in his cut and she winced. She needed to tell him what had happened with Tig today, but that could wait. Just then she didn't want to talk much at all. She pushed him backwards. He stumbled, but she held on and followed him until the back of his thighs hit the table's edge. Her mouth was gentle but firm on his, her lips warm, her tongue a seductive tease. She skimmed her nails around the curve of his head, a bare whisper that wouldn't even leave a mark, but was still enough to make him catch his breath.
He broke away to meet her eyes. "Here?" he said. "Now?"
She nodded. "Right now."
"The door—"
"Only Tig and Chucky here," she murmured as she brushed her tongue along the line of his jaw. "They'll knock."
His protests were half-hearted at best. He wanted his hands on her as much as she did, and when she pushed his cut off his shoulders and went for his shirt he helped her. Between hot, desperate kisses he managed to nod toward the couch in the corner. "Sofa?"
She peered over his shoulder with a frown. The table was covered with scattered parts from the trike. "Sofa," she agreed.
He tried to take her top off on the way, but she stopped him with a soft tsk. "Handsy," she said as she kissed him again.
"I thought you wanted handsy."
He fell onto the couch and reached for her, but she stepped back. She locked the door (much to his relief) and sauntered to him again. He grinned up at her. She smiled and ran her fingers down his chest.
"I'll tell you when you can use your hands," she said in a voice like velvet.
He shivered and sat a little straighter.
She crossed her arms and eyed him up and down. "Strip. Except for your shorts."
He started to stand up, but she raised a finger. "You're fine where you are."
He ducked his head to hide a grin and started with his boots. He kicked them away and tossed his socks after them. His eyes were steady on hers as he unfastened his belt. Lifted his hips to wiggle out of his pants. She smirked at him as he settled again. His cock was semi-erect and straining against his boxers.
"Enjoying yourself, baby?" she said.
"A little," he admitted with a sheepish smile.
She braced her hands on the back of the couch, above his shoulders, and teased his mouth with her tongue. She flicked it against his lips until they parted on a quiet gasp, and then she straightened out of his reach. He gave a brief growl of frustration.
She stepped out of her shoes and slid her jeans off. He watched hungrily as she pulled her tank top over her head, followed by the camisole underneath. Her bra and panties were the same shade of lavender as the cami, and the color set off her delicate skin and made the scatter of freckles across her chest seem to glow.
"You're so fuckin' sexy, Livvie," he whispered through a mouth gone dry.
She laughed and leaned down to kiss him again. She trailed a hand down to rest on the bulge in his shorts. "You're adorable, Ortiz," she murmured as she captured her mouth with his. There was no tease about her kiss this time: it was warm and easy, familiar and so, so sweet.
Her fingers stroked him through his boxers. The cotton felt impossibly thick, a frustrating barrier between them. It didn't take long before he was rock hard and aching, and every brush of the fabric was a sort of agony.
She loved to watch his face, the way his mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. His breath came in harsh pants and every muscle in his body was tight and straining. "Wound a little tight, aren't you, baby?"
His head jerked in a short, desperate nod. "After last night—" He broke off with a whimper as she squeezed him.
Her lips curved. She hadn't let him come last night. It was something she rarely did—she enjoyed his orgasm almost as much as her own—but she'd been in a devilish sort of mood, and she wanted to see how many times he could get her off before he started to beg. Overall she admired his fortitude, and she hadn't been kidding when she'd told him he'd earned a lot of capital.
Unfortunately they didn't have time to play similar games right now. He'd said he was supposed to be in Stockton soon, and eventually Tig would probably come looking for her. He was her shadow, after all.
She leaned away. "You can take your underwear off now," she said.
He did so with a grateful sigh, and when he sat again his cock pressed hard and urgent against his belly. She brushed the tip and then licked the smear of pre-come off her palm. She climbed into his lap and wiggled close so that his erection was trapped between them. Every time she moved he felt her soft, smooth skin slide against him. It was a worse tease than the boxers.
She lapped at a trickle of sweat that made its way down the side of his neck. "You want me, Juicy?" she said, her lips feather-soft, her breath warm.
He gave a drunken nod. His dark eyes were all pupil, lust-wrecked and pleading. "So much, baby. Goin' crazy."
She took one of his hands and slid it between them. He found the edge of her underwear and rubbed his fingers across her slick slit. "I'm going a little crazy, too," she murmured as he stroked a fingertip over her clit.
"Makin' a mess in your pretty panties," he rasped.
"Uh huh. All your fault."
"You started it," he said with half a smirk.
"Oh…" She grabbed his wrist to hold him still. "Well we can stop. If you want. I'd hate—"
He interrupted her with a low growl. Flipped them over so that she was on her back and he was on top of her.
"Hey!" she said, her voice breathless and high. "I was in the middle of something!"
He tugged a cup of her bra down, too impatient to take it off, and sucked the nipple into his mouth. She arched against him, her fingers tight on the back of his neck, and he sucked harder. Captured it with his lips and stroked over it with a rough tongue. He raised his head and grinned.
"We can stop if you want," he said.
"Shut up and fuck me, Ortiz. You know what I want."
And he did. He knew her body almost as well as he knew his own. Every freckle. Every mole. Every scar. The exact pressure she liked when he used his fingers on her clit—as he did now—and the moment when her breathing changed that told him to back off a little. She helped him slide her panties off and pulled her to him eagerly.
He rubbed the tip of his cock up and down, from clit to entrance and back again. "Tell me, Livvie," he said. "Tell me what you want."
She brushed her tongue over her lower lip. Hooked a leg around his waist and hauled him closer. He caught himself with both hands as he fell. Their mouths met. She nipped at his lips with hers, and he moaned as the head of his cock sank into her. She was so fucking wet.
"I wanna hear it, babe," he gasped. "Tell me. Please!"
She wrapped her legs around him, but he pulled them up higher, his hands tight but gentle on her thighs. He didn't want to mark her. He might never want to mark her again.
"I need you, Juicy," she said. Their eyes were locked and steady. He pushed in a little deeper. "I love you. You and me, sweetheart. No matter what."
He buried himself inside her with one long thrust. Her nails dug into his shoulders as her head fell back. He pressed his mouth to her collarbone and savored the salty-sweet taste of her.
"Fuck, baby!" she said in a low, muffled moan. "Move, Juicy, please! Just move."
"Like this?" he said through gritted teeth as he rocked his hips in short, unsteady jerks designed to drive her nuts.
She let out a groan of frustration. "I hate you so much right now," she said between gasps.
"Liar," he mumbled.
"Ha. Maybe just—a little."
He tried to laugh, but she clenched hard around him and his mind blanked. She giggled. Shoved at his shoulder until he got the message and sat up, pulling her with him.
"I told you I was right in the middle of something," she said. She reached behind her to unclasp her bra. Tapped a finger against his mouth, then against one of her nipples.
He arched her backwards and ran his tongue across first one of the swollen little buds, and then the other. She lifted her hips and slid down onto him. His teeth sank in, harder than he meant them to, but when he lifted his head to apologize she cut him off with a kiss. Bit his lower lip and lathed her tongue over it.
"I'm not any more fragile than I was this morning, baby. You're not gonna break me."
"I know." He gripped her hips to move her slowly up and down. "Just—just don' ever wanna—fuck goddamn that's good—hurt you."
"Right now—hurts more to go so fucking slow," she said, each word punctuated by a strangled gasp.
"Oh, well…" He rocked up into her, and she dropped down to meet him. Her arms went around his shoulders and she buried her face in his neck to muffle her soft cries and moans. They were both slick with sweat, aching with need, and she tucked her feet under his thighs to give her more leverage as she moved faster. Harder.
He whispered a litany of incoherent pleas and promises into her ear. Her heart pounded against his and he stroked his hands along the smooth line of her back.
"Come with me, baby," she said, half-begging, half-commanding.
It was more than he could handle, and it took every ounce of his self control to not come right then. He clenched his jaw and his hips bucked. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her short nails left half-moons on his skin and he took advantage of her lifted chin to trail long, sucking kisses up and down her throat.
Her orgasm was less an explosion than a long, heated swell, like dropping slowly into a scalding bathtub. She whimpered, breathy and wordless, and gave in to it. It rippled through her in wave after wave until she felt flushed and boneless. Finally she collapsed against him and he held her as she trembled with aftershocks.
"Babe," she said when she finally had her breath back, "you didn't—"
He raised her chin and brushed a thumb across her cheek. "I was watchin' you," he said. "I didn't wanna miss anything." He gave her a soft, unhurried kiss. "I love you, Olivia."
Her lips curved. "I love you, Juan Carlos."
He shifted. She hissed. She was almost too sensitive for it to feel good. He held her still a moment.
"So," he said, seemingly from nowhere, "you gonna marry me or not?" The vulnerability in his eyes belied the light tone.
She laughed and he shuddered. "Yeah, Ortiz. I'm gonna marry you. You ever really doubt it?"
"Dunno. You're stubborn."
She slid off his lap and knelt between his thighs. "Uh huh." She smoothed her tongue up and down his slick shaft, licking it clean with long, thorough strokes. "Stubborn," she said, "but not stupid."
She sucked the head into her mouth and wrapped her fingers around him. Mouth and hand moved in sync, short and quick followed by slow and easy.
"Babe," he grunted, "I can't—"
She lifted her gaze to his. He could see the impish twinkle in her eyes as she sucked him harder. Deeper. The back of his head hit the wall and his mouth fell open. He fisted the cushions on either side and his whole body gave an involuntary jerk as he came. His cock spasmed again and again between her lips. Her tongue swirled around him and she sucked down every hot, sticky drop.
She pulled back just before it became uncomfortable. Pressed the tip of her finger to the corner of her mouth and wiped delicately. He was sprawled against the couch, his lungs bellowing in and out and his mouth hanging open in stunned disbelief.
"You okay, love?" she said, amused, and touched his knee.
He could only manage a wordless nod. He held out his hand, and when she accepted it, he pulled her up to sit beside him. She curled against him and kissed his shoulder.
"I'm gonna be so fuckin' late," he said. "Can't believe no one's called yet."
"Just tell 'em you were having raunchy sex in the back room. They'll appreciate it and won't ask questions."
"Right," he said with a laugh. He brushed his fingers through her hair. "I really do like it."
"I'm—adjusting. It's a lot lighter. Gonna be less work."
He pressed his nose to her neck. Pulled back with a puzzled frown. "You smell different. Is it hairspray?"
"Maybe," she said.
"Except—" He sniffed again. "It smells kinda familiar. Just…not quite like you."
Damn Tig and his fucking knockout aftershave. Her car probably reeked of it, too.
She cleared her throat. "Ah. Haha. Well, okay, funny story…"
He'd taken it better than she'd hoped, really. He'd actually laughed when she told him the part about kissing Tig and dragging him out of the salon—but when she mentioned the photos, all traces of levity disappeared. She explained the reasoning she'd used on Tig, and his response to it.
He seemed comforted, a little, when she assured him that Tig seemed to understand what Juice had done, and why. They'd gotten cleaned up and dressed in an uncomfortable, brooding silence, but finally he pulled her to him and held on tight.
"It was good thinking," he said. "Better not to've mentioned Clay. They'd kinda fallen out near the end, but Tig loves Gem like crazy."
"That's what I thought."
He sighed and rubbed his cheek against the top her of head. "Doyle could send the copies to the club."
"It's a risk," she acknowledged with a frown.
"We'll just have to find him before he does," he said, his voice steady and sure.
She lifted up to press a kiss to his jaw. "You better get to Stockton," she said. "Chibs'll think you're either dead or tryin' to be."
His mouth twisted. "You're not as funny as you think you are."
"Liar. I'm hilarious and you know it."
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he kissed her, briefly. "Yeah, you are. I'll see you tonight? But don't go home by yourself. Wait for me."
"I know," she said and rolled her eyes. She grinned. "I know! I'll take Tiggy."
"Really. Not funny." But he was half-laughing as he said it. "I wish I coulda seen his face."
"Pretty fuckin' priceless, to be honest." Her expression stilled and she tugged him down to look at her. "Babe. You know it was just a cover, right? I mean, completely. I would never—"
"Stop. It's fine. It was a—weird situation, and you did what you had to do." He broke off with a smirk. "Besides, we just had raunchy sex in the back room. That mostly makes up for it."
"Mostly? What, I didn't suck your dick hard enough?"
"Well, no, that's not—"
"Nuh uh," she said and waved a hand. "No, come on. Drop your pants. I'll suck your dick all day long. I'll suck your dick till you can't see straight. I'll suck your—"
"Oh God please don't say it again. I've got to go to Stockton and trying to ride a motorcycle with a boner is fucking impossible."
She subsided with a pleased smile. "Carry on, Ortiz. I'll be here when you get back." She patted his ass as he turned away, and he flashed a grimace over his shoulder.
"Later, Liv. Later," he said with an odd mix of amusement, lust, and threat. The door shut behind him, and he could still hear her laugh as he walked away.
She lingered in the workshop for a bit after he was gone, but finally she wandered out to the front. Chucky was still there, parked in a booth with TM's books spread out in front of him. Tig dozed with his head on a table.
"Just the man I needed to see," she said and slid into the booth across from Chucky.
He looked up in surprise. "Me? Really?"
Her mouth quirked. "You have an envelope you could spare? Maybe some paper?"
"Yeah. I keep my office-in-a-box well stocked." He dug through the clear file box on the seat next to him and emerged with the supplies she'd requested.
"You're a peach. Thanks." Quiet fell as she wrote out a long, multi-page note and signed her name at the bottom. She folded it around a small stack of photos and stuffed it all into the envelope. "Seal it for me? I hate the taste of the glue."
He frowned a little but did as she asked. When she took it from him he noticed she still had on the black latex gloves she wore in the shop. Clearly she didn't want the letter's recipient to know who'd sent it beyond just the name. His DNA was on file, but, unlike her, he wasn't wanted for murder.
She smacked Tig lightly on the shoulder as she went past him. He jerked awake with a muttered curse. She tapped her chin. He looked befuddled for a second before he caught on and wiped away a string of drool. "I'm going across the street to the mailbox. I'll be in sight the whole time. Think I can go on my own?"
He scowled at her and waved a hand. She grinned and hurried away before he could change his mind.
When she got back Tig was at the bar. She grabbed three beers from the glass front, but Chucky shook his head at her offer and she put one back. Tig took a long pull off his and nodded his thanks.
"Nice nap?" she said.
"Not bad. Got a crick in my neck, though. Rub it out for me?"
"Rub it out yourself," she said and threw her beer cap at him. "I'm sure you know how."
He hooted a laugh that she ignored. "Hey, Chuck, what're these?" she said. There were three little bottles perched further down the bar. They were clear, unlabeled, and filled with pale pink…lotion, it looked like.
"Lotion," he confirmed.
Tig gestured with his beer. "Some guy came in earlier, said he was openin' a bath store down the block. Offered some samples."
"I got one for you, Gem, and Tara—for when she's feeling better."
"That's sweet, Chucky," she said with a smile. She grabbed one on her way to the back and unscrewed the lid. She was facing away from them, so they couldn't see her expression when she got a whiff of the scent.
Strawberries.
She whirled around. "What did he look like? The guy. The lotion guy!"
Tig's brow creased. "What's wrong, Ollie?"
She waved the bottle at him. "Strawberries. It smells like strawberries. What did he look like?"
He and Chucky exchanged confused glances, but finally Chucky said, "Mid-fifties. Nice suit. Blond hair. Uh—sophisticated, I guess. Like he had money."
Her eyes drifted shut. There was no color in her face, and her mouth was a tight line. "We need to get out of here," she said. "Now."
Tig shot up from his seat and hauled Chucky out of the booth by his collar to drag him along with them. "That was the guy? He was right the fuck here handing out lotion?"
The door behind Olivia burst open. A masked man grabbed her around the waist and pressed a gun to her temple. Tig reached for his weapon, but another group stormed through the front windows. Broken glass flew everywhere, and the three of them did a hasty, startled duck-and-cover. By the time Tig had his wits back it was too late: there were four very large automatic weapons pointed at his face, and two more on Chucky. He had no choice but to obey their command to drop his gun and kick it away.
Once they were sure the place was secure, the one holding Olivia yanked her sideways, away from the door. A man strolled in—mid-fifties, nice suit, blond hair, sophisticated—and adjusted his cuffs. Gold cufflinks winked. The ring on his pinkie was an unusual take on the traditional claddagh design.
"Audra my strawberry," he said, his voice pleasant and warm, "it's been far too long."
Her mouth twisted, but otherwise her face registered no surprise. He might as well have called ahead as leave that lotion. "Congratulations, Teddy. You found me. Only took you eight fucking years."
He wagged a finger at her. "No reason to be rude, darling." He paused and looked around with a moue of distaste. "You said the lover would be here."
One of the men pulled off his mask. It was the guy from the Bonneville. "He was. He moved his bike to the back a few hours ago. We haven't seen him leave."
"You missed him," Olivia said, viciously. "He's long gone. I guess your boys here dropped the ball."
He stepped closer, until they were nearly touching, and lowered his head to sniff her hair. "Pity," he said. "Well. We'll soon change that."
She still had the little plastic bottle in her hand. She threw it, hard, and sickly-sweet smelling lotion spattered the front of his suit and up onto his face. His eyes turned hard. He let out a sigh and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
"Let her go," he told her guard. "Move," he said to her, "and I kill both of these men. Understand?"
Her entire body quivered with the need to attack, but she jerked her head in acknowledgement. Teddy nodded to the guard, and he fumbled in her back pocket until he came out with her knife. Teddy tucked it away. He carefully daubed lotion from his shirt and neck, but finally he gave it up as no good.
"You've ruined my suit," he said.
"Give me back my knife and I'll see what I can do with your face," she said, sweetly.
Tig snorted out a chuckle and Bonneville guy punched him in the stomach. He doubled over with a groan and he kicked him in the kidneys. Olivia threw up her hands.
"Okay! Stop! I'm sorry. What do you want, Teddy? Let's just get this over with."
"Oh, Audra," he said, almost regretfully, "you know what I want. You murdered my son. I'm afraid there's only one course for us, my little strawberry."
"Stop calling me that," she said through gritted teeth.
He lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug and turned away. "Lovely establishment you have here. It's a shame what happened to the old place. The IRA can be so"—he sighed—"indelicate."
He brushed at a spot on one of the tables. "Imagine my vexation if you'd been caught in the blast. Killed or, worse, injured!"
"As if you give a fuck."
"You wound me, Audra. While it's true our time together will be necessarily unpleasant—for you, of course—I would never wish you ill. No, it thrills me to no end to see you alive and healthy. Happy, even."
He pivoted slowly and fixed her with crystal blue eyes. "Because you are happy, aren't you? With your biker lover?" He shuddered with distaste. "How gauche. I hadn't thought you so easily…satisfied."
Chucky was right beside him, and for a moment she thought he might make a move. One of the guards raised his gun and Chucky dropped his head. Teddy studied him a moment.
"Interesting," he said in regard to his hands. "Wherever does one acquire such a thing?"
Chucky scowled, but finally he said, "Ollie made them."
"Ahh!" Teddy said, delighted. "Very clever, Audra dear. You always were a tinkerer."
His condescending tone infuriated her. Her breathing deepened and she felt the pressure of a gun against her back. She stilled.
Teddy pulled her knife from where he'd hidden it. He flipped it open and studied the blade. It was razor sharp and gleaming; she obviously took excellent care of it.
"A lovely if unsubtle weapon. But, then, that does seem to be your style." He tapped it against his left wrist.
He glanced over his shoulder at Tig huddled on the floor. "Take her," he said. "The biker too."
The smile he offered Chucky chilled her from across the room. "Teddy, don't. Whatever you're thinking—please. I'll come with you. You don't have to—"
"As much as I enjoy the sound of your pleading, you should save your breath. Of course you'll come with me."
The guard twisted her arms behind her. Secured her wrists with cable ties that he drew too tight. Tig got the same treatment from Bonneville and his buddy. They dragged him to his feet and stuffed a black bag over his head. He tried to fight, but even as he roared in protest one of them plunged a syringe into his arm. Gradually he fell quiet and slumped against them like a dead weight.
"You don't need to drug me," she said. "I'll be quiet. I won't say a word. Or I'll say any word you want. Leave them alone. You've got me."
He sighed as if disappointed. She felt the needle's sting in her arm, and the last thing she saw before the bag closed over her head was Teddy. He flicked his hand and sliced Chucky's arm in the precise spot where she'd cut hers eight years ago. The movement was casual, almost bored, and for a moment she thought he hadn't done any damage. But suddenly the blood sprayed, hot and crimson, and he leaned out of its path.
She screamed, a wordless cry of horror, but the drug did its work fast and it felt like weights were tied to her limbs. He shoved the bag down, and everything went black.
We're 49 chapters and 200k words in and our villain has FINALLY made his appearance. The others were just teacup villains; very small; this one's the real deal.