CHAPTER 22

Saturday morning, unknown location:

The bright light coming through the skylight burned into his irises as he opened his eyes. He brought his hand up to shield them and sat up awkwardly. He heard the rattle of the chain attached to his leg as it moved along the bare concrete floor.

He had spent the night tossing and turning as his wrist throbbed incessantly. Steve knew his team would be looking for him and he was determined to help them find him. The search of his cell had revealed nothing of use so he did the only thing he could.

Wait.

A few laps of his cell did nothing to ease the anxiety creeping up inside him. The longer he was left in solitary, the more he was reminded that his bladder desperately needed to be emptied. The water he'd drunk the previous night was sitting uncomfortably in his lower abdomen.

He needed a distraction.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long for one. He heard the lock disengage and he felt his pulse quicken. The door creaked open, revealing the two fake doctors followed by two other men he did not recognise.

"Good morning, McGarrett," the 'doctor' with the round glasses greeted him cheerily.

He wasn't surprised when two guns were pointed in his direction. In fact, he was rather proud of the fact that four men had been sent to deal with him, especially with the short chain cuffed to his ankle. Even if he could, it wasn't like he'd have a chance to take them out. But if the opportunity presented itself…

Steve glanced at the players in the room. He noticed the other 'doctor' standing off to the side. He was oddly subdued and didn't appear to be as trigger happy as the rest of them. Perhaps this man wasn't as involved as he'd originally thought. He stored that information away for later.

"Your lady awaits," the man with the glasses announced, drawing Steve away from his thoughts.

Steve ignored him as he focused on one of the nameless men moving towards him. He spied the key in the man's hand as he bent to unlock the cuff around his ankle.

Steve quickly evaluated the situation. It was four against one in tight quarters. They were armed and he was not. Not great odds, but he'd been in worse situations.

The sound of a gun cocking brought his attention away from his plan of attack. "Let's go. And please don't try anything. I would hate to get these pants dirty."

Steve glared at the bespectacled man in front of him. He had to be a hired gun, probably ex-military. He knew now was not the time to act. He needed more information before he could realistically develop an escape plan.

He was shoved out of the cell and led towards a two storey house that was about one hundred metres away from his cell. He could hear birds chirping in the distance. The house was surrounded by tall trees and it was humid. He felt the sun beating down on his skin and had barely a moment to enjoy it before he was shoved forwards.

He was led inside the house and was then forced to stop in front of what looked to be a bathroom. He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at his captor and he jerked his head to the side, indicating he should go inside.

"You have ten minutes," was the only verbal response he received.

He moved inside and heard the door click shut behind him. Inside the room was a shower that was larger than his entire bathroom at home. There was a stack of white, fluffy towels on a rack next to the mirror and a neatly folded pile of clothes sat on the bench top next to it.

He looked around for anything he could use to help him but quickly realised that his captor's weren't that stupid. There were no windows and no objects that he could use as potential weapons.

Since there were no means of immediate escape, Steve decided that he would take the show of hospitality and get himself cleaned up. He estimated that he had been in the same clothes for at least a few days and would greatly appreciate a fresh set.

After relieving himself, he decided to take a shower. Removing his clothes took longer than he would have liked thanks to his injured wrist. He allowed the stream of warm water to ease the aches and pains plaguing his body for a few minutes before stepping out and drying himself with one of the provided towels. He pulled on the clean clothes and felt marginally better.

Lastly, he inspected his injured wrist. He contemplated removing the compression bandage wrapped around the injured area but ultimately decided against it in case the wrist was broken. He'd rather have some support than none. Especially if his captors decided to forgo further treatment.

Finally ready, he headed to the door and wasn't surprised to find the armed men waiting outside. Without a word, he was motioned out of the bathroom and led up a set of winding stairs. As he climbed the staircase, he thought about how just one small push would be enough to send one of his jailers crashing to the first floor. He filed that information away for later once he had a batter understanding of his surroundings.

He was brought onto a balcony where Rebecca was already waiting for him, wearing a simple yellow sundress.

"Steve!" she greeted him with a smile. "I hope you slept well?"

"Fine," he replied, purposely keeping his response short.

Steve took a moment to take in his surroundings. There was one man with a semi-automatic weapon on the balcony in addition to the four men that had escorted him up. He looked out over the railing and had to admit it the view was rather spectacular.

The property was only about four hundred metres from a beautiful stretch of beach. If it was any other situation, he could imagine sitting on that stretch of sand watching the sunrise every morning. The current circumstances, however, had him plotting that as a potential escape route.

"Have a seat, Steve. Breakfast will be here in a minute," Rebecca said as she motioned to the seat opposite her.

"I think I'll stand."

He instantly knew that was the wrong thing to say when she frowned and snapped her fingers at one of the men behind him. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he was forced to sit down at the table.

"I insist," she said with a smile.

Steve resisted the urge to shrug off the hand holding him down. 'Wait,' he told himself. 'Bide your time.'

Instead, he stared at the woman in front of him. She was a conventionally attractive blonde but she had an air of insanity around her. He knew she was dangerous, perhaps more dangerous than the armed men that surrounded them.

"What do you think of our home, Steve?" she asked casually, as though kidnapping was a perfectly normal thing to do.

His first instinct was to belittle it but he knew he needed to mindful of his answers lest he cause her to react unfavourably.

"Its…great," he replied.

That seemed to be the right response as her face brightened. "I knew you would like it! This is where we will spend the rest of our lives. You don't have to worry about anything except being together."

He was saved from replying as a different woman came onto the balcony holding a large tray. It was covered in various fruits, toast and glasses of juice.

He watched as she reached for a glass of what looked like pineapple juice and took a sip. The whole time, her eyes never strayed from his. He tensed under her gaze, feeling more like a piece of meat than a human being.

"What if that's not what I want?" he asked.

She grinned at him over the glass. "You don't have a choice, Steve. I'm offering you a life away from all the pain and heartbreak. What more could you want?"

Steve shrugged. "Freedom?"

She laughed at him and Steve clenched his jaw at the aggravating sound. "Oh, Steve! Soon you will understand that what you want doesn't matter. You should be thankful that I realised you were worth saving in the first place."

"Saving from what?"

"From those people you call family. They don't care about you."

He leaned forward and grabbed a strawberry off the platter in an attempt to put a stop to his rising anger. "What makes you think I need saving?" he asked before taking a bite of the fruit.

"You forget that I know everything about you, Steve. All the secrets, all the lies; they don't matter to me. You don't have to hide anything from me. These people you call family know nothing of the real you. All they do is take from you."

He desperately wanted to tell her how wrong she was but instead opted to concentrate on chewing. Patience had never been his strength, but she was seriously testing his resolve by insinuating that his friends only ever used him.

"For instance, Chin Ho Kelly. A disgraced cop that took payoffs and used them for his own gain. You helped him get a job, regain respect and then, what? He used you to steal another ten thousand dollars!"

"I don't need to defend Chin to you," he spat. He knew that Chin never took the money that IA had accused him of stealing. He also knew that Chin was as loyal as they came.

"What about the other people in your life, Steve? Nick Taylor?"

"Let me set something straight," he said, his voice low. "Taylor made his own choices. He chose to accept a bribe and he paid for it with his life."

"And what of Danny Williams?"

"What about him?"

"A man that allowed you to lie to the FBI to protect his brother despite knowing that you could go to jail? A man that let you get tortured multiple times? A man that has told you he doesn't trust you to be the leader of the team?"

He chose to let her comments about his best friend go. He didn't have to justify his choice in friends to her. She could never understand the bond he shared with these people because her twisted mind had created its own picture.

"I know you're upset. I took you away from these people but it was for the greater good," Marsden said when he didn't answer.

"They're looking for me," he retorted.

She shook her head. "No, Steve. They're not. There's no news bulletins, no missing posters. They don't care that you are gone."

Steve wondered briefly if she was lying. His team would have acknowledged his absence by now and would be searching for him.

She leaned forward and took his uninjured hands in hers. It was icy cold despite the warm ambient air. "I wish you could understand how much I love you. If you knew, then you would understand why I did this and why you need to forget about them."

Steve ripped his hand away and laughed. "If you think that stripping me of who I am will make me love you, then you are more delusional than I thought!"

He didn't miss the anger flickering in her eyes as she snapped her fingers again. He felt himself being pulled up from the chair by two of the armed goons. He was certain he would have bruises on his biceps from their tight grip.

She stood up from her chair and moved to stand in front of him. He could smell the pineapple on her breath as she grabbed his chin. "Don't worry sweetheart. I'll help you to understand." She looked up the men holding him. "Take him downstairs. I'll join him soon."

Steve was dragged off the balcony and down the stairs. He didn't make it easy for them and as a result the two men were panting by the time they made it to the first floor of the house and he was taken to another, more secluded part of the house.

He was forced inside the room and he barely had time to look around before he was forced into a metal chair that sat in the middle of the room. His heart stopped when laid eyes on the chair and he realised what was about to happen.

No. No. No! Not again!

Hands held him down as thick leather straps were secured around his wrists and ankles. He bit back a cry of pain as his right wrist was strapped down tight. He squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth as he tried to calm himself.

He cursed himself. He was trained to endure this. All he had to do was hold on. His team was coming. They were coming.

His heart was racing. Damn it! He should be stronger than this. Rage and frustration held him hostage as he teetered on the edge of control. He didn't even notice the men leave the room, abandoning him and leaving him at her mercy.

He finally reopened his eyes and took a moment to look at the room. It was sterile, much like a dentist's office. The only furniture in the room was the chair he was sitting on and a small rolling tray that was situated by the door. He looked down and saw a drain underneath the chair.

Now he knew how Five-0's suspects felt when they were secured in the rendition room. Like a rat trapped in a maze that had no exit.

He jumped when he suddenly felt warm breath on his ear. He hadn't heard her enter the room.

"I hate to do this to you Steve, but you've left me no choice," she said in a silky voice. "There must be consequences for your actions."

"What exactly did I do to deserve this?" he spat, yanking at his restraints and ignoring the sharp pain in his wrist that told him to keep still.

She started walking circles around him, her hands drifting over his body without permission. He tensed every time she touched him. On his arm, his leg, his neck, his cheek, his shoulder. Over and over again. Every time he shivered like cold water had been poured over him.

"If you would just accept your new life here, then this wouldn't be necessary," she answered before trailing her finger down his cheek towards his lips.

He jerked his head away and she smirked at him. She turned away and moved over to the rolling table and pushed it towards him. The ominous rattle of metallic objects had him tensing. It was all a show of power, reminding him he was incapacitated…helpless.

She selected a shiny pair of scissors from the tray and waved them in his face. Her eyes roamed over his body and he clenched his fists when she suddenly clamped a hand on his shoulder. She grabbed at his shirt and used the scissors to tear away the fabric, piece by piece.

The slow, methodical approach to removing his shirt was more nerve-wracking than actual torture. Once the shirt was gone, he was left half-naked and completely defenceless. Never had he felt so vulnerable before.

From somewhere behind him, she leaned over and whispered in his ear. "You could have prevented this, Steve."

He felt her ice-cold hands on his chest before they moved over his shoulders and biceps. Her fingers began tracing the outline of his tattoos. It took everything in him not to squirm at her unwelcome touch.

He jerked his head back when suddenly the cold touch turned to a white hot pain that set his nerves on fire. He bit back a groan as she used a blade to cut deep into the flesh on his left arm before drawing a line from the middle of his tattoo, across his chest and down to his stomach.

His muscles trembled as he felt a hot, sticky liquid flowing from the open wound. He didn't get much a reprieve as she paused before repeating the same motion on the other side, cutting an agonising trail from his shoulder to his abdomen.

"I am ridding you of your past. Those bygones will be forgotten as I carve our new future into your skin," she said in a sing-song voice as she continued to rip into his flesh.

He strained against his bonds as the pain increased to agonising levels. He was shaking uncontrollably but refused to let any sound pass his lips. He could feel the blood seeping from his the wounds and gathering at the edge of his pants, hot and sticky.

"This will forever be a reminder of the moment we started our lives together," she announced as she stood back to admire her handiwork, twirling a scalpel in her hand.

"Y-You're i-insane," he coughed out.

Although he was in agony, Steve felt immense satisfaction when Rebecca's face clouded with anger. Steve stiffened in anticipation for painful retaliation for his comment, but was surprised when instead she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

His moment of reprieve was short-lived.

Rebecca returned a few moments later with an amused glint in her eyes. He thought, for just one moment, that she would start piercing his flesh with the blade again but was relieved when she placed the scalpel on the rolling table.

He wasn't ashamed to admit that he hurt. He cringed at the thought. Okay, so maybe he was ashamed. But who could blame him? His arms stung, the tattered skin on his chest pulled taught every time he breathed only to cause more blood to seep from the wounds and his wrist throbbed, reminding him that he was weak and helpless.

He concentrated on taking shallow breaths while trying not to pass out. He jumped when he felt her cold hands on his body again, reigniting the fire in his wrist at the uncontrolled movement. He heard a strangled cry, not dissimilar to a wounded animal. It took him a moment to realise that sound had come from him.

He felt a sharp pain in his arm, so minor compared to his other ailments. Looking down, he saw a syringe sticking out of his mangled shoulder. The sight of his shoulder made his stomach turn and he forcefully swallowed down the rising bile. Darkness started to invade the corners of his vision and he was so thankful.

Rebecca's face loomed in front of him, but it wavered in and out of focus. His stomach threatened to dispel its contents but he kept it under control as he waited for whatever was in the syringe to take effect.

"Why?" he slurred the question that had been on his mind since this whole nightmare began.

"Why what?" she asked, her voice cutting in and out as the drugs took hold.

"Why me?" he whispered around a quickly numbing tongue.

"Oh, Steve! One day, you will understand why I had to do this. You'll see. My love will protect you."

He licked at dry lips as his eyes slipped closed. He fought them back open, only to be met with darkness. His last thought was that her protection was going to kill him.

Gabriel Ortiz watched as two of Gaines' men dragged the unconscious, bleeding man from the room. He had heard the pained moans from inside the room and his gut had clenched in sympathy. He had never experienced torture himself, but he was certain the man inside had.

SEALs were the best of the best. Tough, fearless, deadly. It took a lot for a SEAL to be beaten down; he'd heard the stories. While McGarrett may have appeared weak, Ortiz knew that the man was a far cry from defeat. He wouldn't be a SEAL otherwise.

He chanced a glance at Rebecca. She was casually wiping blood off her hands with a white towel. He'd seen the puddle of blood underneath the chair and wondered if there was any left in McGarrett's body.

He knew she was dangerous, more so than McGarrett when he was in his prime. Even worse, she was clearly insane. He felt sorry for McGarrett, being the sole focus of her obsession. She didn't really love him, she just liked to see him in pain.

Sadistic.

"Gabe!"

He turned around at the mention of his name and recoiled slightly at the crimson pattern staining her otherwise pristine white shirt.

"Yes, Becca?"

"Make sure his wounds are tended to and that he has everything he needs. I don't want his mistakes to be the reason he ends up septic," she barked.

He bit back a comment that if he did go into septic shock, it would be entirely her fault and instead went about completing the task.

He couldn't wait for the day McGarrett took her down.