The steady scratch of pen on paper brought him back around. He parted swollen eye lids and took a long while to remember why he was staring at Aizen's back and the desk not far from it where the mob king now sat, sipping tea and writing something down.
His breath came slightly easier when he sat and filled his lungs. Still it stimulated that cough and his chest clenched painfully with many successive convulsions. When he recovered and looked up again, he saw the seat at the desk was empty.
"Here."
He jumped half way off the couch at the sudden voice next to him and the offered glass of water. He sat back, panting a moment before accepting the glass. It did help clear his throat a bit so he could speak a little more audibly, though still very hoarse.
"How long was I out?"
"The better part of a day." Aizen reached behind him and passed Grimmjow a bag. "You clothes were unsalvageable, not to mention covered in evidence. I had your wallet and phone recovered and had my man get you these."
Grimmjow looked in the bag. He indeed saw his phone and wallet but also brand new clothes. He felt a bit relieved, hoping this meant Aizen was ready to let him go.
"So I can go?"
"Yes. Everything is cleared up. I just trust you won't speak of your involvement."
"Of course not." Grimmjow stood. Aizen did too.
"Get dressed, Stark will meet you in the lobby."
Grimmjow didn't even bother arguing about the escort home. He wanted out of here as soon as possible. He locked himself in the bathroom and changed. Aizen was gone when he came back out. He adjusted his shirt—which was a little tighter than he liked to wear—and left the bedroom.
He couldn't help sweep his eyes over the rest of the penthouse on his way out. He saw decadence like he could only have imagined and yet, there was a reserve to it all. Unlike the bedroom, the open room did not looked like it was well lived-in. Aizen was probably too busy to enjoy such things as the pool table, or even the shelves of books and the fireplace. Beyond tall glass windows he saw an infinity pool stretching out to the edge of the building.
He left quickly. He didn't want to be caught gawking or risk Aizen returning. He was escorted by security to the lobby. Stark was waiting for him. Grimmjow watched his eyes travel up and down his body before he nodded to the back door which took them to the car park.
"What?" Grimmjow asked when he was in the passenger seat and Stark turned the ignition.
"He must really like you."
Grimmjow looked down at his clothes. Were they expensive or something? But he caught the look in brown eyes and knew it was something more.
"I mean, you ain't limping this time," Stark clarified.
Grimmjow's eyes narrowed. "So how does that mean he likes me?"
"Well, it's uncommon for him to show so much restraint. I could tell he went all out on you last time. So he must actually want you to like him back, since he didn't touch you this time."
Grimmjow waited for a laugh but there was none. The mobster was being completely serious. He suddenly felt angry and gripped the door handle.
"Let me out."
"Hey, cool it kid. You're in a good position."
"I don't want to be in any position with Aizen!"
"Haha, touché kid." But he didn't slow down. "Just take it easy. All I'm sayin' is if you did return Aizen's feelings, life could be pretty sweet for you."
"I'm not gay."
Stark shrugged like that had nothing to do with it.
"He's a complicated man. Not a good one, but not a bad one either." They pulled off the highway took the exit toward the waterfront. "Just think about it."
Grimmjow saw his place come into view. "Think about what?"
"What you want to do, next time you see him."
Grimmjow rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He opened his door before Stark had even come to a full stop. "Thanks for the ride." He hurried up the stairs to his apartment.
He swore when he saw the kicked in door and the mess beyond.
"FUCK!" He waded through the disaster of his home. Everything was on the floor. Clothes had been torn from his closet, blankets from the bed, books and dishes and even the contents of his fridge. Stuffing from the couch was also mixed into the mess.
"What the hell were they looking for?" He didn't possess anything of particular worth. He looked for clues as to who had done this but decided his best bet was to leave the scene before whoever it was came back. He checked for his gun but it was of course missing. He slid open a window and dropped down onto the roof that extended out the back of the restaurant. He had just shut the window again when he heard the door bang open.
He waited, listening. Whoever had done this had been waiting for him. He had nowhere to run since they'd likely had a car parked nearby, but they might not think to look for him here. He listened through the glass above and picked out pieces of information.
It was the same men who'd hired him for the job in the club. What the fuck was their problem? He'd done his job. Aizen's attack had nothing to do with him.
"That bastard," they swore when they figured out he was gone. "Where the fuck did he go?"
No sooner than they'd asked the question did someone's foot go through the window above Grimmjow's head.
"Shit." He bolted. He ran across the roof and vaulted over the side. He landed on trash bins—this had always been his exit strategy had he needed one. He slid easily to the ground and began to run.
If it hadn't been for the residual smoke in his lungs, he would have been in the clear. But because of a violent bout of coughing, they caught up to him on Water Street, their car screeching to a halt and several men jumping out with guns on him. He came to a gasping stop and was forced onto the ground. He waited for the beating but nothing happened just yet.
"He's clean." Someone said after patting him down. They backed off but the guns were still on him.
"What the Hell do you want?" Grimmjow did his best to bark at them past the rasp in his throat. "I delivered your fuckin' message. And I barely got out of that place alive, I might add."
He was backhanded for the way he spoke. The man in charge was the man who'd hired him.
"The girl."
"Yes, I gave the message to the girl."
"No. Where is she?"
"How the fuck should I know?" His head snapped back at the direct punch. He clutched his nose when he felt the outpouring of blood.
"She was more important than just a messenger. Tell us where she is."
She must have been someone's preferred fuck or else a family member. Grimmjow cursed his luck but had nothing but the truth for the men.
"I don't know. We got separated in the fire. She ran. So did I."
"Not good enough."
"I don't know!" he insisted when the gun came in line with his head. "I took a few hits, there was smoke everywhere!"
"Did Aizen do her in? Or did he take her?"
"I don't know."
Another hit. He coughed blood. "You were just fucking dropped off by his man. You were a plant of his, weren't you?"
Grimmjow groaned. Now he was associated with Aizen. This was bad on several levels.
"No I'm not. I did business with him once. He decided to spare me in the fire. I'm lucky to be breathing."
"Too right you are. That bastard must have a hard on for you. So you go back to him, and you find out where the girl is."
"I'm not going back to that bastard."
He saw stars this time.
"You find out, or next time we see you, we fucking end you."
He didn't see them leave. He was too busy waiting for the world to still. He really couldn't handle any more abuse to his brain so soon after a concussion. The only further information he heard was a hissed, three days.
He assumed that was his deadline for finding the mysterious girl. When he collected himself he stood and returned to his apartment.
"Fuck," he groaned, returning to the mess and attempting to straighten the door enough that it would lock. "I am not going back to that guy," he grumbled, bending to pick up one of his shirts from the floor. He had a long night of cleaning ahead. And after that, he'd have to decide just how he he'd find out about the girl without talking to Aizen.
Thanks for reading! I do love feedback so if you have the time, please review. Thanks so much to those who already have, it's encouraging!
~ZQ