Of Things Broken

Nineteen

He surfaced again from the fog that had clouded his thoughts. He recognised it, knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it meant that he'd been drugged. Pain ran through him sluggishly. It felt distant, and far removed from him. Some tiny part of him realised that wasn't a good sign. Panic brought his breaths hard and fast, abused ribs heaving under the thin cotton of his shirt. The fabric clung to him, glued to his skin with cold, fearful perspiration.

He was flat on his front, hands bound above his head. The thin twine cut into his skin. It tightened as he moved, trying to figure out if there was any slack, any way he could get free and get his gun and… and shoot the bastard who had done this to him until his blood ran red and thick on the floor.

"So you're awake," an amused voice drawled, far too close to his ear. "You might as well let me see your baby blues." Cold metal trailed over his spine, coming to rest against his neck. "Come on, now. Don't be shy. Your momma wasn't."

"What do you want?" Deeks mumbled, the words tripping and falling from him in an incoherent rush. He sucked in a breath, and tried again. "What. Do. You want?" he ground out. The blonde man tried to turn, ignoring the agony shooting through his wrists as he fought against the twine binding them to the bedposts.

Sudden pressure against his back wrenched a pained cry from his lips. He coughed, gasping when the weight stopped his lungs from expanding. Bright stars heralding darkness crept up on him, dancing in his eyes like fireflies. He shifted a tiny bit, lifting his body just enough to suck in a ragged, choking breath.

Sirens screamed past outside of the building. He blinked, wishing that they were coming to help him. He could see his cell phone, resting on the bed, just out of his reach. It was another way to torture him, he knew as he stared at the small device, wishing that he could just reach it.

He had no idea how long he'd been out, but the light had changed, slanting subtly from afternoon to evening. Kensi will come soon, he told himself firmly, praying to the god he's not sure he believes in that she won't be late.

Moist lips brushed over his ear, spittle dampening his skin. "You know what I want, Marty-boy. Tell me where the money is and I'll make all of this stop. Everything will just go away, and you'll never see me again."

Deeks wanted to laugh at that. Oh, yeah. I bet you will- with a bullet to the brain, he thought, knowing his old partner far too well.

"No money," he whispered. "Never was. Just a ruse."

The words used the last of his air. He slumped against the pillow, body jerking as he fought the growing darkness behind his eyes. His muscles felt limp and far beyond his control.

"You'll tell me," Williams said with a laugh. "How long do you think you can keep his up?" he whispered.

Deeks felt a tiny, triumphant smile creep onto his lips. Long enough for my partner to get here and kill you, he thought. They'll have to use tweezers to pick up the bits once she's done with you, you bastard.

The pressure on his back eased, letting him draw in a full breath. It hurt his chest. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Nausea followed hard and fast, dewing his skin with cold sweat.

"Well, Marty-boy… I'm getting bored here. How about we try something different?" Williams rasped and picked up the knife. "Left or right?" he asked, grinning as fresh fear bloomed in his victim's eyes.


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