Author's note: So if you hadn't noticed, I've changed the little synopsis thing above. That's really just because as I was writing the first few chapters of the story, I changed my initial plot line so the new synopsis describes the story better in my opinion.

I feel like I just need to put a little warning before this chapter because it contains a few issues that may be a trigger/may upset people: attempted murder, some swearing, a parent abusing his child.

14th November 2013

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Chéng hissed in Mandarin, shoving Ireland's shoulder with his hand. "You've been off your game for far too long now, get it together! Do you want me to give your father a bad report on your progress, eh? What's happened?!"

He was angry, and rightly so. Chéng was Ireland's fighting instructor- he'd taught her boxing, mixed martial arts, karate, taekwondo, judo, jiu-jitsu, kick boxing, samurai... All the possible fighting styles you could think of, Ireland had probably at least been taught the basics of them. He'd been training her since she was just three years old and she was almost as good as him by now. They met up three times a week, due to her father's request, and it was normally a challenge for them both. They loved the competitiveness they shared and had fun trying to get the other knocked out or onto the ground. Today was the first time in a very long time that Ireland had gone down easily and had been terrible at fighting back.

The true answer to his question was a person that went by the name Xavier Benedict. That's what had happened. It had been a little over a month since she'd last seen him and for some reason, she missed the loser. It was like the soulfinder bond was aching, hurting her and screaming at her to go back to him and never leave his side again. She hated how vulnerable it made her feel and how it made her unable to focus on anything else for long without his stupid face popping into her mind.

Of course, she didn't tell Chéng that. They may have been somewhat friends but he would tell her dad straight away and even if Ireland didn't like Xav, she didn't want him dead because of her. His family on the other hand... She wouldn't mind if they died. That was what she wanted, right? Revenge for the deaths they'd caused in her family. God, when had all this become so complicated?!

She looked up at the dark-haired Chinese man glaring down at her and sighed as she stood up again and took her boxing gloves off. "Sorry, Chéng." As far as she knew, the guy didn't speak a word of English so she'd had to learn Mandarin to actually be able to understand him and to communicate with him. The language flowed easily from her mouth now. "Guess I'm just tired. Dad's had me out almost every night, trying to hunt down Persephone Carter. We don't even know where to start looking for her though, it's impossible."

"Don't let your father hear you talking like that, kid." Chéng replied, shaking his head. He took his own gloves off and they stepped out of the ring, heading over to the bench where all their stuff was. "There's no such thing as impossible in his mind."

"You can say that again," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. Sometimes she was truly sure that her father was psychotic, not that she would admit that out loud of course. "I promise I'll try to focus better next time, Chéng. Things have just been hard recently." She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath...

… And when she opened her eyes again, she was staring down into the terrified eyes of a man she knew was named Carl. How did I get here? She thought to herself in disarray. What's going on?

But that was a stupid thought, she told herself. Of course she knew what was going on. Carl Reynolds was a drug dealer, known for killing anyone who was the slightest threat to him. Oliver had got back shortly after Ireland's session with Chéng had finished, bloody and terribly furious. He'd had a deal with Carl for the two of them to work together to take down a local gang but Carl had betrayed Oliver, killing two of Oliver's men in the process.

Oliver had asked Ireland to take care of it, so she'd hunted the large thug of a man down and after a bit of a struggle, she had him pinned to the ground.

That's what had happened. She'd simply forgotten for a moment, but now she remembered. Just like all those other times, like she'd told Xav, where she couldn't actually remember doing something physically but she had the memories in her mind so obviously it had happened. She was just being stupid, she chastised herself. Her mind was playing tricks with her like usual but it was nothing serious. Right?

A moan of pain brought her out of her thoughts and into the present. She was straddling Carl's chest and holding a sharp dagger to his tattooed throat.

Ireland hesitated. That was something she didn't understand: she'd never, not even once, hesitated when she was about to kill somebody. Yet seeing this man more than twice her size looking so little and vulnerable beneath her, quivering in fear at the thought of death, she didn't want to kill him. What had he ever done to her to deserve being killed?

A thought slid to the front of her mind. It was in her voice and it was her thought, but it had an underlying tone of darkness to it that felt completely other to her. He tried to kill your dad, the only family that you have left. You would have been alone if he'd managed to go through with it.

The truth in the statement compelled her and she smiled a cruel smile, one that didn't reach her eyes but made them narrow with even more hate for the pathetic excuse of a man beneath her. She pulled back her arm and calmly said, "my father sends his regards."

And then, in the blink of an eye, Ireland slit Carl Reynolds' throat open.

Once a savant had met their soulfinder, that was it. They couldn't look at anybody else in the same way, they couldn't stand the thought of being with somebody else, and it was pure torture to be away from them for long periods of time. Like being away from them for over a month, for example. Xav had had no idea it would be this hard to be away from the dreaded, complicated, heartless Ireland Hawk that he didn't even like, yet felt protective of at the same time. And he missed her. He couldn't understand that.

Xav was in training to be a doctor and volunteered at the hospital on his days off, which is where he was now. He was just filling out some paperwork when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his eldest brother talking to one of the doctors outside the ICU. Curious, he left the paperwork to a fellow student and wandered over, hands in the pockets of his scrubs.

"Trace?" He said after the doctor had walked away. "What are you doing here?"

"Following up on something the hospital reported," he pushed open the door and started to stroll down the corridor, Xav following beside him. Trace was in his police uniform, probably having just come here from the station. "They got a patient in, a guy we've been looking for for a while now. Carl Reynolds, he's a drug dealer and suspected murderer. He's in with a slit throat, God knows how he survived that."

"Well actually people have survived that plenty of times," Xav said in a monotone voice, his knowledge not making him happy like it normally did. "It depends. If he received medical attention quickly, and if the weapon didn't cut open his jugular... It's highly possible for him to survive."

"Yeah, well. I've gotta talk to him about it. He's in this room," he added as they stopped outside room 13. They went into the room, shutting the door behind themselves.

It was a private room with only one patient in. Carl Reynolds was awake, sat up stiffly with a thick bandage wrapped around his neck. He was a muscular-looking man, comically too large for the bed by the looks of it, with a bald head and messy stubble. Tattoos covered all his body that Xav could see and he had an ugly scar running down one cheek.

"Mr Reynolds," Trace spoke, holding up his identity badge. "I'm Trace Benedict, I'm with the Denver and Wrickenridge police department."

"If this is about last month, I went to court. They found me not guilty-"

"This isn't about any of your previous convictions, Mr Reynolds," Trace assured him. "In fact, this is about what was done to you. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask a few questions-"

"There's no need," he grimly replied. "I can tell you exactly who tried to kill me: Ireland Hawk. The bitch tackled me to the floor and smiled – she fucking smiled – as she sliced my neck open! She's a fucking lunatic, she deserves the death penalty!"

Trace replied but Xav didn't hear a word he said. Ireland. Ireland had been the one to try and kill Carl. Xav's first thought was: it couldn't have been Ireland, she'd have got the job done. But what benefits did Carl have for lying about it? And as badly as Xav hated to admit it, he knew that Ireland probably did kill people. She was definitely capable of it.

It suddenly felt like the air in the room was being sucked away and he couldn't breathe. Without a word, he turned around and left the room, leaning his back against the wall opposite the door and taking deep breaths. He tried to get Ireland out of his mind but he couldn't. Would his brother start hunting her down now? No, he was already looking for the Hawk's after they kidnapped Xav and Uriel. But this was just another thing for them to hold against her! She'd definitely go to prison now, there was no doubt about it.

He didn't even know why he cared so much. If they hadn't been soulfinders, he would have said that she deserved everything she got for the crimes she committed. But the fact was they were soulfinders. And no matter what she had done, there was a part of him that wanted to run out of here and warn her, to protect her from his own brother. A part of him even wanted to turn against the net, to join her side just so he could be with her, and that terrified the living daylights out of him. Never in his life had he contemplated changing sides in this savant civil war – and all it took was some stupid girl to change that. God, he had issues.

By the time Trace left the room a few minutes later, Xav had managed to at least compose his breathing but knew that he was probably pale and still looked a mess. "What's wrong with you?" Trace nudged Xav with his elbow, looking at his younger brother with a concerned expression. "What was all that about?"

"Nothing," Xav lied, shaking his head and forcing a smile onto his face. "I just- I just needed some air."

"And a hospital corridor has fresh air?"

Xav shrugged, intent on not revealing to any of his family the truth about Ireland Hawk. "What did he have to say in there then?" He didn't want to ask, but he had to. He wanted to know what Ireland had dragged herself into this time, to know if she was still in Wrickenridge or if they'd moved on.

"Well he confirmed what we've been wondering down at the station," Trace answered. "The Hawks and their group are still in town or somewhere near, God knows where their hideout is. There was a drug gang that Oliver Hawk didn't exactly like and he asked Carl for help to take them down. Carl said that Hawk betrayed him though, left him to defend himself when things went wrong... I don't know whether to believe him or not, I know all about his shady past. But he seemed pretty determined to get me to believe him that the daughter tried to kill him, I don't think he was lying about that."

"But I met Ireland when I was kidnapped," Xav insisted, sounding almost desperate, "and she's pretty much the kind of person that, when attempting to kill somebody, they'd actually do it and not make a mistake to let them live. It just doesn't make sense."

"Maybe she was having a rough day," Trace shrugged, a half smile on his face. "Or maybe she always planned to only try and kill him. Who the hell can know for sure what that psycho thinks?"

"Aren't you worried? The Hawks have said for ages now that they're going to get revenge on us, they made sure Uri and I knew that. Our whole family helped hunt theirs down, and you and Vick were part of the group that killed two of them and put one in jail. Oliver and Ireland aren't just going to give up, Trace-"

"I know that. And yes, I'm worried. I have Georgie and Gracie both on red alert and I've given both of them matching necklaces with trackers in just in case something happens to them. We're all preparing for a fight, Xav. But we can't let our worry about a possible situation prevent us from continuing on with our lives. That would just be stupid, don't you think?"

"I guess." Xav sighed, understanding his brother's logic but still not liking it. He knew what Ireland and her father and their whole group were capable of; he would have much preferred to hear that his family were staying locked indoors where they would have definitely been safe, what with Yves' protection invention that surrounded all the houses the family were spread out in.

"Listen, Georgie and I are having a dinner party tonight, we're both having a few friends from work over. Will's gonna be there, you should come by too," Trace invited him sincerely. Xav knew that part of the reason Trace was inviting him over was because he wanted to keep an eye on him and was concerned at how different he'd been recently, but the thought of actually going to an inconsequential dinner party sounded like hell to him. He'd rather jump of a bridge right now instead of talking to random people about their random lives and pretending that he gave a fuck about what they had to say.

Instead of saying that however, he shook his head and smiled. "Can't. Sorry. I already have plans- I'm going out to a club with a few friends."

It wasn't exactly a lie. He did have plans, they just weren't going out partying with friends. No, Xav's plans for the night included ordering a takeaway and sitting in front of the TV, losing himself in fake lives instead of thinking about his own. Maybe he'd even get himself drunk enough that he'd pass out for the rest of the night... Yep, that sounded like a fantastic idea to him.

Ireland was in the hotel's dining room, sat at a table with Robbie and Richard. The tables around them were full too, everybody enjoying the evening meal that Cook had made. Ireland, Robbie and Richard were in a deep conversation about the pros and cons of having a best friend. Ireland was pretty much against the idea, stating that if you were that close to somebody it was easier for them to betray you and leave you. She'd take acquaintances and sort-of-friends like these two over a best friend any day.

When the large oak door to the room was kicked open, banging loudly against the wall, the room suddenly fell silent with all eyes now on the man stood in the doorway. Oliver looked a little bedraggled, a few cuts and bruises visible on his naturally pale skin. And he looked very, very angry. His narrowed eyes scanned the room and when they finally settled on Ireland, he stormed across the room.

Ireland gulped, sitting up straight as nerves ran through her body. What had she done wrong? It must have been something very bad if he looked that angry and was making a scene in front of everyone else. He stopped in front of her, breathing heavily as he glared down at her. "Stand up," he spoke quietly through clenched teeth. She stood up. "What, dear daughter, did I ask you to do with Carl Reynolds?"

"Kill him," said Ireland, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Kill him. Exactly." One hand grabbed her long hair, pulling it until she gasped in pain and her back was bent. He kept a tugging pressure as he shouted, "I told you to kill him, Ireland! So please, do tell me why I have just been told that he is in hospital, alive and speaking to the bloody police!" He pushed her away from him, letting go of her hair as she lurched down to the ground. "Get back up and tell me why he is still alive!"

Ireland scrambled to her feet desperately, forcing herself not to cry. She'd learned the hard way when she was a little girl that Oliver hated crying and that it wouldn't get her anywhere. Crying was not allowed; she hadn't cried since she was seven years old and she wasn't going to start again now. "Dad, I don't know!" She replied, begging him to understand. "He looked dead when I left him. I cut his throat, there was blood everywhere-"

"You what?" If it was even possible, she had just made him even more angrier. "Ireland, there is a reason we use the serum! It doesn't leave a mess and it never fails! Why the hell would you not kill him using the serum?! I made sure to give you two syringes full of it! What is wrong with you girl?! I did not raise you to make stupid mistakes."

"I don't know why I didn't use the serum. I can't remember," she blurted out to him. "Daddy, please. I'm sorry."

He was silent for a moment. The tension in the air was obvious, everyone waiting with baited breath to see how Oliver would react – they all knew that he never went easy on anyone that didn't follow his orders. Finally, he quietly said, "you know I hate doing this to my own daughter. But you need to learn that you can't make mistakes and get away with it without being punished. You're going to the confinement room."

When Oliver tightly grabbed hold of Ireland's arm – there was no doubt in her mind that he would be leaving bruises – she struggled to get away with him. "Please, no! Dad, don't make me go in there again. Please."

She hadn't expected him to change his mind and he didn't.

And that's how Ireland found herself in the confinement room. The room was on the third floor and it was a very effective method of punishment that Oliver occasionally used, even on his daughter. The person would be tied down to a thin, bony bed in the middle of the dark room with no windows and no heating, leaving it freezing and with a lingering smell of sweat and fear. The person would be blindfolded and have earplugs in so they couldn't see or hear anything around them.

It didn't sound that bad when somebody tried to explain it, but if you were laid there like that – like Ireland was now – it would be one of the scariest things you'd experience in your life. Anything could be going on around you and you wouldn't even know. You were completely cut off from the world, left with nothing but your own thoughts.

The person didn't get any food or water, nor were they permitted toilet breaks, and they were left in here until Oliver decided they'd had enough. The longest Ireland had spent in the confinement room was a full week, although she had been given a little bit of water every day to keep her going. She hated being here and Oliver knew that.

She didn't know how much time had passed. It felt like it had been a few hours but it could easily have been just mere minutes, how was she supposed to know?

It was enough to make a person go crazy, which it actually had a few times.

Ireland could only hope and pray that her father would take pity on her and not leave her in here too much longer.

A hint about the next chapter: Xav and Ireland have contact for the first time in over a month.