Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Edited by Sjdavis84 and StillDreaming85.

WARNING: This story contains mature themes and is intended for mature readers.

This chapter contains graphic violence and may offend some people. Please do not read if this offends you.

ISABELLA SWAN.

Eyes, piercing green eyes looked down on me. They were beautiful, yet cold as ice.

I tried to move back and away from him, but the effect of whatever I had been given still wore heavy on me. My mind was still foggy, my muscles were refusing to move.

For a moment, I wondered if this had all been a bad dream. Any moment now I expected to wake up in my room, in my home.

But the cold I felt, that could not be dream. Here, wherever here was, felt as ice cold as the eyes looking down on me.

The pain was real, the pain was not a dream.

The cold eyed monster's fingers threaded through my hair, his fingernails scraping against my scalp.

I whimpered at the sudden and harsh contact, which seemed to make him happy.

I was too weak, too cowardly to fight back as he pulled on my hair, bringing our faces impossibly close together.

"Hello, Isabella," he said, addressing me by name. How could that be? How did this monster know my name?

His face held no familiarity to me, yet he knew me.

"Oh little lamb," he said, sucking on his bottom lip. "You are very beautiful Isabella. It's almost a shame." He released his vise grip on my hair. My hand went up to the spot where he had hurt me.

Whatever I had been given, was starting to wear off, the fog was lifting and I could see him with clear eyes. He was tall and dressed in a black suit with a warm coat on top. His shoes were impeccable, polished to perfection. He had a defined jaw line with the hint of stubble. He stood with his back to me, speaking with someone else, we were not alone here.

On my right, another man sat on a metal chair. He wasn't dressed as formal in his denim, thick winter jacket and boots. The very dim lighting in this room made it nearly impossible to make out any specific features. But I knew this man wasn't my kidnapper. This man was much taller than the blonde one, with broader shoulders and a wider back.

This man didn't look as threatening as the cold eyed monster. He didn't mind me staring back at him, he even offered me an apologetic smile.

"You are out of your fucking mind, Anthony," someone yelled.

"Brother, if I didn't know any better, I would think you don't want retribution for our father," Anthony said. Anthony, the monster's name was Anthony.

"It's not even been twenty-four hours. Where's the first place you think they're going to come?" the other spoke. Although it was hard to distinguish between the two voices, both sounded very much alike.

The angry man opened the door with force causing a gush of wind in my direction, making my already cold body tremble more. I had nothing on but my pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, no socks, nothing else to keep me warm.

"Where the hell are you going Edward?" Anthony called out.

"To see what the feds are up to," the angry man called out.

Anthony, slammed the door. With his back turned, he cracked his neck before very slowly turning his attention back to me. I crawled back until I was in the corner of the room. I was trapped here. There was no possible way out of this, there was two of them and one of me and I was nowhere near as strong as they were.

"Stand up," Anthony said.

I shook my head. I wrapped my arms around my knees, curling up into a ball, as if that somehow would protect me, as if it would make me invisible to this man.

"I said, stand up," he said again, slowly, precisely each word spoken with menacing fear. What if I refused, what would he do? But if I do follow his order, what then?

"Stand the fuck up, Isabella," he yelled, his voice vibrating off of the walls, echoing around the cold room.

With shaky feet, I stood up using the wall for support. My entire body was trembling, although I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or out of pure fear.

"Come here, little lamb." He motioned with his finger. "Don't make me repeat myself," he warned.

With no choice and no way out, I slowly made my way to him. The room wasn't very big, although it seemed to take me forever to reach him. I didn't understand any of this. What had I done? Why was I here? Please God, help me, someone, anyone, I cried silently to myself.

I stopped, keeping an arm's length between us. His eyes traveled up and down my body. The sound of his shoes hitting the floor, the noise reverberating off of the walls made my stomach clench. Round and round he walked around me, so many times that I had lost count, he was making me dizzy, yet he seemed unfazed.

"Do you know why you're here, little lamb?" He asked, twirling a strand of my hair in between his fingers. I shook my head. "Answer," he hissed.

"No," I said quickly.

"Hmm. You know, little lamb, we live in a world full of corruption. There is no such thing as the hard working innocent anymore. Everybody has their price, and no matter what, they all accept. Wherever they do it out of greed, out of poverty, or out of careless stupidity. For one reason or another, little lamb, they all fall to the mighty," he said.

To me, none of what he had said made any sense, it's as if he were speaking in a riddle. None of what he had said gave any indication as to why I was here.

"Oh," he chuckled, cupping my face in his warm hands. He wiped away at my tears. "How beautiful it would be to be ignorant of the world around me, little lamb. Unfortunately, I don't have that luxury."

"Please, what do you want from me?" I cried as a fresh round of tears spilled over and onto his fingers. His eyes narrowed and his grip on my face became impossibly tight, his fingers digging into my cheeks.

"I want to hear you cry," he said, licking his lips. "I want you to beg me. I want you to plead for your life."

I couldn't breath. I shook violently from the effect of his words. I did not know this man, but I knew he meant every word he spoke, and as if to prove his point, he let go of me, I stumbled back slightly only to fall over when the back of his hand made contact with my face. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt before. I have never been hit, I have never gotten into a fight. I have never had a hand laid on me, until now. I could taste blood in my mouth.

I moved away, crawling back to the mattress and as far from him as I could get. But he wouldn't leave me be.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me up roughly, slamming my back up against the cold wall. My head hit the concrete and bounced off, it made my vision blur and for a moment I thought I saw stars.

"How does that feel, little lamb?" He asked, his warm breath fanning over my face.

"Pl...ple...please," I begged, I cried, I didn't know what I was doing anymore. The pain in my head was almost unbearable.

"That's right, beg, beg, little lamb, beg," he whispered. "But it won't be enough. No, no, it will never be enough," he said, releasing me, I fell in a heap on the floor at his feet. "Fucking pathetic," he spat. His shoe made contact with my rib. It was one swift kick, one kick that made all the air leave my body and had me writhing in pain on the floor.

"Clean her up," I heard him say. The sound of the heavy door opening and closing echoed. Had he gone or was this a sick game to him? I couldn't and wouldn't open my eyes.

I heard a set of footsteps moving around me. With one eye open, I saw him standing over me. This wasn't Anthony, but the man in the boots. What was his mission here, what was his role? Was he here to hurt me too, or worse?

He left my side only to appear seconds later. He kneeled down beside me, setting a bag next to him.

"Can you sit up?" He asked in a soft voice.

"Why?" I asked. What did I have to lose? If he was going to hurt me, what could I do to stop him?

"Because your head is bleeding and we need to bandage you up before you lose too much blood."

Why would it matter to him if I were hurt or bleeding?

"I'm not going to hurt you. Please can you sit up," he said again with the same gentleness. I opened my eyes to look at him. He looked young, although older than me, maybe late twenties. He had short blonde hair and blue eyes and a scar that went from the corner of his right eye down his face and stopped an inch before his mouth.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and slowly pushed myself up, wincing when I turned my body slightly.

"I'm James," he said.

I nodded wrapping my arms around myself. I was freezing. James took his jacket off and put it over my shoulders.

"I'm bleeding," I said. "It will stain your jacket."

"It's just a jacket, Isabella," he said. "Now, let me have a look." With my head bent forward, he moved his fingers through my hair with the gentlest of touch. He poured antiseptic on the wound, cleaned it out, and held a compression against it.

"I don't have anything I can put over it. It's not deep, so this will do." He smiled.

"I can do it," I said, wanting him to move away from me. Even though he had shown me kindness now, that didn't mean trust.

"Thank you, James," I said.

I kept looking at the big heavy door. I was waiting for the green eyed monster to waltz back in here, to hurt me again, to...The thought... the thought of him alone made my body start to tremble again as a fresh round of sobs escaped me.

"Hey, calm down, he's not coming back, not today at least," James said.

"Today?" What was the time? Not today, but he would come back.

"I'm sorry, Isabella. If I could help you out at all I would," he said, reaching to my side, he took out a packet of tissues from his jacket.

"Let me go, please, I'll do anything, please," I cried.

"I can't." He sighed.

"Why am I here, James? Who is he?"

"I can't tell you that."

I wanted to scream. None of this made any sense to me. Why was I here? What did Anthony want with me?

Were my mom and dad alright? Had the blonde man really left them alone, or did someone else go and hurt them?

I crawled away from James and crawled back onto the mattress, I didn't care that it was filthy, as long as he wouldn't come next to me.

~DINY~

Hours, maybe a day, or it could have been a week passed. I had no idea what day it was or what time, if it was morning or night. James didn't tell me a thing.

Anthony didn't come back, and for that I was the most grateful.

James was always down here with me. There were moments when he would leave me alone in here, but I knew that there was someone outside the door, I could hear their voices, their laughter. They were telling jokes and I was being held prisoner, what was wrong with these people?

James always had someone bring down food for the both of us. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make me eat. I couldn't stomach it. James wasn't happy, but he gave up pushing me.

I got up from the floor and locked myself in the bathroom. There was a bathroom in here the size of a matchbox. It was rusted and filthy, there was no window, only a vent and it wasn't big enough to crawl through.

I sighed as I looked at my reflection in the dirty mirror. My face was still bruised where Anthony had struck me, I had black circles under my eyes. My hair was a mess and I still had on my pyjamas and James's jacket.

I had to get out of here somehow, I had to. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I don't know what's going to happen the next time Anthony shows up and I don't want to wait around to find out.

Why hasn't anyone come for me? Were they not looking for me?

No, my father had to be going crazy, I'm sure he would have the entire NYPD out looking for me, wouldn't he?

The bathroom door was violently pulled open. James was frantic. He pulled me roughly out of the bathroom.

"What's going on?" I asked. I hadn't seen him lose his calm before, he was frantic.

"I said, shut up," he whispered and yelled.

What the hell was going on? Above us, I could hear loud banging and heavy footsteps.

"NYPD, everybody down."

I gasped. I was saved, they came for me. They were here for me they had to be. I fought against James, trying to break free from his hold. There was a part of the room, under the stairs that led down into the room. James pushed against the wall. On the other side was nothing but darkness, he pushed me in first.

"Let me out. Let me go please," I yelled. I hoped someone could hear me.

"Shut the fuck up," he seethed.

He clamped his hand over my mouth and wrapped one arm tightly against my torso. He twisted me around, pushed my front up against the cold concrete.

"NYPD, everybody down," I heard again, this time more clear. I fought with everything in me against James. One small sound, that would be all I needed to make, just one small sound.

"All clear," someone called.

"Damn it. Get forensics down here anyway, someone's clearly been here."

James's hand muffled my screams. I was trapped between his body and the wall. He had one of his legs twisted around mine in an odd position, making any sort of movement on my part impossible.

"Clear out." Those two words shattered my heart. I had been this close to freedom. They were here, right here next to me.

I cried into James's hand. I hope he would rot in hell. He could have left and saved himself and left me here. He could have let them take me away. He was nice to me, I would have kept my mouth shut about him.

One by one the footsteps became faint until no sound could be heard. It was dead quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

Any chance there was of me getting out of here, vanished. Every ounce of hope I had, left me.

There was no hope, not for me.