Vindication

Chapter Sixth

Slowly, piece-by-piece, Aya regained consciousness. Blinking the thick shroud from his eyes, he found his vision was a mess of distorted blurs of shapes and colors. There was nothing he could make out of it, even as he tried to blink many times. A guttural moan escaped his dry lips as nausea, accompanied by a pulsating headache, assaulted him all too quickly from the unwarranted wake up call.

Taking deep, steadying breaths through his mouth, Aya closed his eyes and rode the waves of nausea, praying that his stomach would eventually settle. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up, he told himself, tangling his hands in the cotton sheets underneath him. Soon, the nausea dissipated, but the fog veiling his vision refused to lift; however, he was able to decipher a wooden-beamed ceiling through the haze. Recollection soon followed, and Aya gasped aloud when he remembered the pain that had enveloped him, trapped him in a blinding abyss of voices invading his mind. He swallowed thickly, gripping the sheets again as he remembered everything, and he shut his eyes against the onslaught of images. It seemed that the headache intensified with the abrupt realization, and Aya wished he hadn’t woken up at all.

Opening his eyes with much reluctance, Aya gazed around a spacious room, sparse of any furnishings aside from the stiff mattress he was lying on and a metal chair situated in the middle of the floor. The stucco walls were a bland off white with water stains in sporadic places, and the floor was laid out in cement. There was no window, only a single light fixture illuminating the room in a dim glow. Another interesting find was the door had no knob, indicating there was no chance of escape unless someone unlocked it from the outside. Aya sat up on his elbows, his brow furrowed, when he absorbed his surroundings, wondering where Schuldig had brought him. To make matters worse, Aya noticed he was naked under the black sheet around his waist. Anger began to swell in his chest at this discovery, and he tugged the sheet higher, covering his bare torso to save his modesty despite the fact that he knew whoever had stripped him of his clothes had seen everything. His cheeks burned with shame, his pride wounded.

You are beautiful, kitten. Why hide it?

Aya hissed, clutching the edges of the sheet as he sat up straight. “Schuldig.”

Morning, kitten. I was worried you wouldn’t wake up after two days, but it seems you pulled through without any permanent damage. How is your head feeling?

The mockery in Schuldig’s inner voice caused Aya to grind his teeth in frustration, wishing he had something tangible to damage, much like the German’s face.

Now, now kitten. Tame that spirit for now.

“What do you want?”

Your soul…

Aya narrowed his eyes, not in the least convinced of Schuldig’s proclamation.

Lighten up, Aya, it was a joke. Schuldig laughed, the sound tingling down the grace of Aya’s spine, causing him to shiver uncontrollably.

“Answer my question, asshole.”

In due time, kitten, in due time.

Without warning, the door swung open, and a flourish of three large-bodied men rushed inside the room, Schuldig not too far behind, taking his own pace to enter. Hands descended on Aya, and he fought against them, kicking, punching and biting, satisfied that his aim wasn’t entirely off-center, with a migraine still claiming residence in his head, as he punched one man in the chin and kicked another in the stomach. In the midst of the chaos of flailing limbs and wordless cries of defiance, the sheet covering Aya’s waist was ripped away, and when the cold rush of air cascaded over his body, he panicked. Like a wild animal, trapped and injured, Aya fought harder for his self-regard to remain intact. He rolled off the edge of the mattress, bringing the two men with him, kicking one in the face, and he elbowed the second in the throat. Both men released Aya, cradling their injuries while the redhead quickly scrambled across the floor, distancing himself from his captors.

Schuldig was watching from the corner, keeping his distance, with an all too amusing grin plastered on his face. He stared at Aya through the thick locks of his orange hair, arms crossed, a look of confidence glowing in his eyes. Aya fixed gazes with Schuldig even as he continued to move backwards until his back hit the chair, scattering it across the floor a few inches, its feet screeching. In the moment of distraction, the third guard tried for the advantage of surprise and succeeded in grabbing Aya by the ankle and yanking him forward and flat on his back. The impact with the floor sent Aya into a frenzy, and he grabbed the legs of the chair, hauling it over his head and throwing it as far as he could. It landed with an indulging crack against the thug’s face, knocking him back with a bloodied eye and nose.

Aya found himself weaponless as the first two men were coming around quickly, staggering to their feet with deadly intentions in their dark eyes. There was nowhere to go, but Aya still refused to give in. Perhaps it was his pride, he didn’t know, but another chance at failure wasn’t a possibility. He had to fight, if not to show Schuldig that he was capable.

I know what you are capable of, kitten. I admire your adversity, but in truth, you are wasting your time.

Aya tried to scramble to his feet, only to be slammed against the wall with a crushing grip around his throat, causing him to fall back on his rear. The guard that he had kicked twice in the face leered in his line of vision – gold-plated teeth caked with blood from the split lip he sported - closing off Aya’s air as he gradually tightened his hand on his neck. He couldn’t breathe and he desperately clawed at the man’s hand, thrashing in vain, when panic overwhelmed all sense of comprehension. Vision fading and lungs burning, Aya screamed in his mind for Schuldig to tell his thug to stop.

When Aya couldn’t stay conscious much longer, his body and mind losing its will to fight, the man finally released him. Aya collapsed on his side on the floor, his cheek pressed to the cool surface of the tile. He lay there coughing and sputtering, trying to gulp in replenishing air, even when it hurt to breathe, his throat bruised from the pressure.

See? That didn’t have to happen if you hadn’t resisted.

Aya wheezed, “Fuck you, Schuldig.” He closed his eyes and desperately sought a reprieve from the German’s voice in his head, coupled with the headache and the burning in his throat and chest. He hurt all over, and he wanted to bring that pain onto Schuldig, gut him and splay his innards by his feet. It was a gratifying thought, and Aya made sure that the German knew of his desires.

Schuldig chortled as he sauntered forward, lowering to his haunches to look at Aya with a slight upturn to his lips. “We haven’t even gotten to the fun part, and you are already plotting ideas on how to murder me. Perfect, truly perfect, Aya. This is what I love about you. You don’t hesitate for anything.”

A pair of worn jeans was thrown at Aya, landing beside his head. He blinked past the haze over his eyes and stared at them without making the effort to move.

“Put them on. It’s time to go, kitten,” Schuldig said seriously.

Aya glared up at the German as he slowly uncurled his middle finger, causing Schuldig’s gaze to darken with a predatory gleam. His act of defiance was short-lived, however, as the gold-toothed thug punched him hard across the cheek, splitting the tight skin across the bone. Aya’s head reeled from the blow, and he blinked the dancing white spots from his vision.

“If you want to stay naked, that is fine by me. I can admire your tight ass a bit longer,” Schuldig said with grin, although his eyes were dark and set with a stern stare, “but it is up to you, kitten. Your only chance.”

Wiping the blood from his face, Aya sat up and slipped the jeans on all the while glaring dangerously at the telepath. As much as he wanted to fight against Schuldig, Aya’s pride overruled as he wanted to keep as much of his dignity intact as possible. Schuldig ignored the look from Aya, and he turned to leave the room. The guard still kneeling in front of Aya grasped his hands and snapped a pair of cuffs around his wrists, locking them unnecessarily tight. With a sneer, the man hauled Aya to feet using the chain between the cuffs as leverage and pulled him along to follow Schuldig out of the room.

Aya turned his head and watched as the second guard helped the other man, who had been hit with the chair, off the floor. He was barely conscious, and one eye was swollen shut, blood from his nose and a cut on his brow streaming down his face, soaking the color of his white-collared shirt and blending with the black of his suit. Aya felt a bit of satisfaction for his actions, but he had a feeling that payback was in store. There was no regret, however, as Aya refused to acknowledge it. The bastards deserved it the moment they decided to touch him.

Outside of Aya’s prison was an elaborate wine cellar with shelves stacked high to the brim of the ceiling filled with an assortment of bottles from around the world. The rows of shelves seemed endless and soon turned into a blur as Aya was dragged up a set of stairs, leading out of the basement into a full-sized Chef’s kitchen. There was little chance to take stock of his surroundings as he was escorted through the main floor of the mansion into a posh study. The decorations were rich in color and style, with deep mahogany shelving along the wall behind a desk of the same color. A large wide screen, flat panel monitor was mounted in a nook between the bookshelves. Andreo Del Toro sat in front of it, his high backed chair facing the room’s new occupants as he worked through a series of numbers on the screen from the keyboard on his lap.

Aya was forced to sit in a chair that faced the mammoth desk, the gold-toothed guard standing behind him with fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders. He loathed the man’s touch, but he realized shrugging the hands away wouldn’t have solved his dilemma. The guard was adamant on standing watch over Aya after his show of bravado in the cell.

After a few more long moments, the monitor screen finally turned black and the chair swiveled around to face Aya. Andreo was young, late twenties at least, but his dark eyes spoke of encounters and a life that had caused him to grow up faster. With short, clean cut hair as black as Aya-chan’s once was, Del Toro was handsome in his own right. He had a hard set to the structure of his finely chiseled face, but he exuded an air of charm and sophistication that exceeded the former. He leaned back casually in his chair, crossing his legs and cupping his hands over his knee. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up haphazardly and the collar undone to show a fringe of dark hairs underneath the pale blue fabric. Dark brown eyes regarded Aya closely, and he refused to look away from the scrutiny, refused to show any sign of unease in front of the man that had been responsible for Aya-chan’s death.

“You have made quite a reputation for yourself,” was the crime lord’s first words, and his voice was hard and deep. He was angry, although his eyes were not witness to that fact, but Aya expected no less after he had killed the man’s second in command and injured three of his guards.

“I could say the same for you,” Aya snapped.

Del Toro sniffed, barely phased by Aya’s response and reached for a cigarette and lighter. He gestured toward his pack by an ornate picture frame on his desk, offering one to Aya, but he quickly declined by lifting his chin in a show of disdain. He hated the damn things and always wanted to rip them from Yohji’s mouth when he was close by. Del Toro made a show of taking his time to light his own, and he savored the cigarette delicately, causing Aya to grit his teeth in frustration. The crime lord was arrogant and took great pride in that fact. All Aya wanted was to rip his throat out.

Save that for later, kitten.

Aya blinked; he had forgotten Schuldig was still in the room. He wanted to know where the German was lurking, but he kept his gaze forward, his attention on Del Toro the most important.

“I should have you killed,” Del Toro said, blowing a cloud of blue-gray smoke toward Aya. He ignored the stench invading his nostrils and stared at the older man through the haze. “You’ve cost me one of my best men. And a good friend.”

Aya clenched his chained hands, ire rising steadily, but he remained calm. “You killed my sister. So we’re even now.”

Del Toro’s gaze flickered to the far corner of the room, out of Aya’s line of vision, unless he wanted to turn under the grip of the guard standing over him. He decided it wasn’t worth it. There was a pregnant pause before a simple smile spread across Del Toro’s face. It was only a smile, but the action was foreboding, and Aya suddenly felt uneasy. He dared not to reveal that fact, but he couldn’t help the unsettling feeling churning in his stomach.

“Ah, yes,” Del Toro said with nonchalance, “The little Japanese girl. She was quite cute, but I soon had no need for her anymore. I do have to admit for a while she was a good fuck.”

Aya was out of his chair before he knew it, slipping through the guard’s fingers with exceptional ease. The speed he possessed under the influence of his rage was overpowering, and the guard had no chance to apprehend Aya before he jumped across the desk and seized Del Toro by the throat. Picture frames and office utensils scattered across the desk and floor in the midst of the fray. The crime lord was shocked at first, his expression gave testament to that, but then, he only laughed even as Aya tried to strangle him, while the guard had a hold around his waist. Aya was quickly dragged off the edge of the desk before he was able to do any physical damage, but he still fought to reach Del Toro, like a rabid animal blinded by its instincts to protect its own and kill. There was no comprehension aside from the insatiable desire to destroy the man that had hurt Aya-chan, had killed her without a thought of remorse.

Aya was subdued easily; with one hand tangled in his hair and another locked around his throat, he was forced to his knees by the unrelenting hold the guard had over him. When he struggled too hard, his windpipe was crushed under brute muscular strength, and he gasped suddenly. It was a painful but effective hold, and Aya wasn’t ready to repeat another episode of losing his supply of air. He ceased his fight and glared hotly at Del Toro.

“You bastard,” Aya croaked. “Why?”

Del Toro straightened the collar of his shirt with meticulous grace, a look of disappointment etched on his face. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, and you will soon realize that,” he said, “I own you now.”

“No one owns me!”

Hmm. Are you sure about that, kitten? Kritiker seems to have a tight reign on you already. You do as they please, running to do their every whim. Like servant to master, neh?

Aya tightly shut his eyes, trying to block out the words. “No! Get out of my head!”

Now you know I can’t do that, kitten.

Del Toro stood and rounded the corner of the desk, a large 9mm Magnum dangling from his lax fingers. The barrel was pressed to the side of Aya’s face, grabbing his attention. His eyes flew open as the rounded metal scraped along the day’s stubble on his chin, and he jerked away. He stared up at the older man, the impassive mask suddenly pulled over his face, the bitter ice storm swirling in his violet gaze. Del Toro was barely affected by the stare, but he lashed out anyway. He slapped Aya across the face with the butt of the gun, opening the cut on his right cheek even further. Blood made a languid trail down the curve of Aya’s face, and he barely had time to recover from that blow as another strike came down upon him. Aya crumbled to the floor once the guard had let him go, and he lay there cradling his bruised and bleeding face. It stung, and his head was spinning, his vision distorted. He blinked hard and groaned, feeling the pain lance through his brain like a sharp current.

Does it hurt, kitten? You’re lucky with just that. He could have cut off your fingers one by one. He is usually more creative when he is angry.

Aya shook his head to clear it of Schuldig’s provoking words - he didn’t want to know what Del Toro was capable of - and he slowly raised himself off the floor to his hands and knees. His cheek throbbed and ached in tune with the constant ringing in his ear, and he was sure that he was temporarily deaf on that side. Blood dribbled onto the plush beige carpet from his split lip, and he licked the remnants away, mindful of the bitter taste on his tongue.

A new source of pain suddenly flared along his scalp as his hair was tangled in a tight fist, and his head was yanked back, causing him to see stars across his vision. He was pulled to his knees, and the Magnum’s barrel was shoved past his teeth and down his throat. Aya gagged and tried to turn away to repel the invasion of the gun in his mouth, but Del Toro’s grip in his hair prevented that. Unwanted tears of frustration clogged his eyelashes, and he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to cry in front of Del Toro and his goons.

“As much as I would love to kill you, I have a proposition for you instead,” Del Toro said, clicking back the safety on the gun just to motivate Aya’s fear. “You have only one chance to succeed, and if you don’t, I won’t hesitate to bring down my wrath. Am I understood?”

Aya clenched his hands and gave a slight nod of agreement, though he promised himself death rather than follow the crime lord’s demands. He knew his answer before Del Toro had said what he desired of Aya.

“Good,” Del Toro said, pleased. He waited a few moments before he slowly pulled the gun from Aya’s mouth and leaned back against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms casually. “I want you to destroy the agency you work for. It’s simple enough.”

Aya widened his eyes; he truly did not expect that statement to spill forth. After the initial shock had passed, he answered bitterly, “I won’t.”

“I’m sure I can persuade you to change your mind,” Del Toro said, the confidence in his voice disconcerting.

Surprised, Aya flinched when he was forced to stand by Schuldig’s grip around his arm. He stared at the telepath, brows furrowed, and he couldn’t help questioning his enemy’s motives. Why were they after Kritiker? Or the better question was: why were they forcing Aya to do their dirty work? It was clear enough that Del Toro had enough power to silence anyone that he deemed worthy of his attention.

There was no response from Schuldig, save for the impish grin playing along his lips, and Aya glared. Of all the times that the German was silent, Aya didn’t want him to be.

“Ran?”

Aya spun around, and his eyes widened, his breath stilled in his chest. Realization seemed to fade, his legs growing weak and his heart desperate to burst from his chest with a flare of hope. It pulsed in his ears, thudding against the tender skin of his neck. He swallowed thickly, struggling to find his voice behind the lump lodged in his throat.

“A-Aya?”

How was it possible? It was her voice and her smile. It was her ebony hair, still long but out of its braids. Aya-chan was alive. The reality was hard to grasp, and Aya wasn’t sure he believed what he saw. Was she tangible? He wanted to go to her, to prove his own doubts, and to embrace her daring never to let her go. Schuldig prevented that idea when Aya took a step forward, restraining him by the hold on his arm. Still shocked by the unexpected revelation, Aya made no point to argue or fight with Schuldig. He was just relieved, his heart soaring, with the news that his sister was alive.

Flanked by one of Del Toro’s men, she looked healthy and beautiful. She was dressed in a simple pink shirt and blue jeans. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. She was untouched, it seemed, by the taint of the crime lord’s hands or that of his henchmen. Aya wasn’t certain, however; there may have been evidence of such a notion underneath her clothes or within her mind.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No,” Aya-chan answered cautiously, eyeing the cuffs around her brother’s wrists. “I’m fine. They’ve treated me well.” She furrowed her brow in a sign of worry when she studied Aya’s face. “What is going on Ran? Why are you here?”

Aya opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly when Del Toro leisurely walked toward Aya-chan and her guard. Eyes wide, he watched the crime lord raise the silver Magnum, out of his sister’s sight, and level it at the back of her head. It was a silent threat to Aya, and he felt his body tense with the insinuation.

“What a happy reunion,” Del Toro said. “Very heartfelt and warming, I must say.”

“Let her go,” Aya hissed, struggling against Schuldig’s strength.

Del Toro had made a show of who had the power in the room, to remind Aya that he was helpless to stop anything. The reality of that settled heavily in the swordsman’s heart, and he felt the weight pull him down. No matter how much he would have tried to fight and curse the crime lord to damnation, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that Del Toro held his leash on a short reign and was satisfied with the idea of pulling Aya along, wherever he pleased.

Confusion suddenly etched across his sister’s face, fear slowly glazing over her eyes. Her gaze danced from Aya to Del Toro and then back. “Ran? What’s happening?”

Aya ignored her, his focus on Del Toro along with his rage. “You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?”

“Yes! Now let her go!”

Del Toro smiled sweetly, threading Aya-chan’s hair through his slender fingers before he caressed the tips in languid motions. Aya noticed the visible shiver from his sister in reaction to the touch, and he fought with everything in him to restrain his anger for the sake of Aya-chan.

“It would be a shame for her to die on your account,” Del Toro said, “Can you live with that haunting reminder for the rest of your life? You have a second chance to save her. Don’t fuck it up.”

Aya-chan jerked away from the crime lord with a mixture of disgust and betrayal glimmering in her eyes, tears brimming at the corners. She looked at Aya, for guidance and assurance that he doubted he was able to give her. Blue eyes implored for an answer, but there was nothing Aya could have said to ease her mind. Her life was in his hands. If he failed Del Toro, she would die, indefinitely. After Aya had gotten her back, he couldn’t lose her again.

“Make your choice,” Del Toro pressed.

To admit defeat, to admit any weakness was unbecoming of Aya, and he felt the heat of anger and shame burn his cheeks. He gritted his teeth and looked away from his sister, for the thought of failing her ate away at his heart. He didn’t want her to know of his sins, his willingness to kill for the sake of justice.

“What happens to her if the job doesn’t go as planned?”

“She dies.”

Aya whirled, his eyes blazing. “I won’t let you!”

“Then try not to screw up, and she will live,” Del Toro said simply. He walked back to his desk and settled comfortably in the high-backed chair, placing the Magnum on the desktop with a heavy thud.

“No! Ran, what are going to do?” Aya-chan screamed, now struggling within the restraint of the guard standing behind her. She slapped the man’s hands away, but he was relentless and held on tight while he dragged her toward the door with an arm around her waist. “Let me go!”

At the sound of his sister’s distress, Aya twisted in Schuldig’s grip, desperate to reach her. When the telepath pulled on his hair and pressed a gun under his chin, Aya ceased his struggles completely and stared at his sister with wild eyes, heart pounding. Her own eyes mirrored his and more tears spilled over her cheeks as she was carried out of the study, her hand outstretched in a desperate plea toward her brother.

“Ran! Don’t leave me!”

Aya closed his eyes, a sense of helplessness washing over him while his sister’s screams carried down the hall until there was silence, save for the shallow breaths through his flared nostrils. He swore that Del Toro’s blood would taint his hands soon, and he would relish in it and the sweet victory of revenge. There was no hint of guilt, not where it concerned his sister and her life threatened. The job was nearly impossible, Aya knew that from the moment Del Toro had stated his desires, but Aya had no choice but to follow through with it. No matter how much he doubted his own abilities to destroy an agency that had created him, had molded him into the very man he was. He was a killer… nothing but a cold-blooded hunter of men.

That’s right, kitten. You are no better than the men and women you kill for a living. How does that make you feel? You are one of us…

Aya hissed, baring his teeth in a feral snarl. As much as he wanted to deny that fact, he couldn’t. He knew there was no difference between his theory of justice and the crimes that his past victims had committed. Kritiker had deceived him, and he had been blinded by his own desire for revenge to even care. Schuldig laughed lowly, his fevered breath suddenly tickling the side of Aya’s neck, and he cringed despite the parody of a warm caress.

“Schuldig, stop provoking our guest,” Del Toro finally said, but there was no denying the light amusement in his tone.

The German purred in Aya’s ear, nibbling on the lobe like a piece of sweet candy he didn’t want to get rid of. He pulled on the small bit of flesh, causing Aya to squirm, a sound of disgust spilling from his lips. Schuldig was pleased with the reaction, and Aya felt the telepath’s smile against the skin behind his ear. An ear tail was tugged, tainting the gentle ministrations that Yohji had created. It wasn’t the same anymore, and Aya almost felt sick to his stomach.

Yohji? Oh, Aya, you are full of surprises! Does the other kitten even know of your feelings for him?

A wordless cry of anger surfaced without restraint, and despite the heavy barrel pressing into the underside of his chin, Aya jerked away, only to be forcefully shoved to the floor. He crumbled easily, losing his balance, and he caught himself on his chained hands and rolled to his side. Agony suddenly exploded under Aya’s ribs, and he curled into a tight ball, gasping for air that was lost. The power behind that kick had most likely snapped a rib or two, and Aya felt every nerve ending screaming in reaction. Another blow to the same area rolled Aya onto his back, and he lay there, coercing himself not to breathe too hard to spite the fiery pain lancing through his side. He bit down hard on his tongue, and it took every last ounce of willpower not to cry out, the blood pooling at the back of his throat testament to that.

“I’m sure we don’t have to formalize an agreement,” Del Toro was saying to no one in particular, his words barely heard above the ringing in Aya’s ears. “Schuldig, you may take him back.”

It wasn’t Schuldig’s hands that grabbed Aya, though. The grip was as strong but not as slender. Aya blinked up to find the gold-toothed grin, he had grown to loathe in such a short amount of time, leering a few inches from his face, and he couldn’t suppress the shudder of revulsion. Without respite for Aya’s injuries, the guard lifted him from the floor and tossed his body over a broad shoulder like a simple sack of wheat. Consciousness faded like a forgotten memory from that point, the pain too intense from the jarring movements against his ribs, and Aya was thankful for the short reprieve. He came back to awareness, though it wavered, when he was shoved into the backseat of a car, leather upholstery chaffing his bare skin. There was no fight left to resist the hands that guided him down to his knees on the floorboard of the car, or when those same hands unlocked the cuff from one wrist and wrenched his arms behind him, securing the link again. A dull ache slowly spread through Aya’s arms and shoulders from the uncomfortable strain but it was no comparison to the sharp pain along his right side. Each time he breathed or moved it hurt; it was impossible to avoid.

Hurts, doesn’t it?

“Go to hell,” Aya wheezed. He suddenly gasped and flinched away when he was situated between Schuldig’s legs, back against the German’s front, and cool hands pressed to the flat of his stomach, stroking his front before they separated and went to each side. A sharp cry surfaced before Aya could restrain it when Schuldig had pressed too hard along his right side. There was definitely something bruised or broken. Just fucking great.

It appears so, kitten. That will be up to you to fix, though.

Aya desperately tried to move away, but Schuldig had a powerful grip on his arms and parted Aya’s bent knees with his legs, placing them between. The car door slammed shut along with another before the vehicle lurched forward, the tires squealing. The gold-toothed thug was across from Aya, glaring with ill intentions apparent in his thoughts.

You are at a bit of a disadvantage, little kitten.

“What do you want?” Aya asked in a low growl. “Why did you go through all of this trouble to get me here?”

Schuldig removed his hands from Aya’s arms, and he felt the German lean back onto the cushions of the limo’s seat. “Because it is a game to us, kitten. Since you have nothing to lose besides your sister, we found that a great benefit to us. You just have to remember that everything that happens from this point on is based on your actions and what you decide to do with them.”

“You’re an idiot,” Aya said bitterly. “I will not play your game, no matter what you threaten me with.”

“Is that so? I’m sure you wouldn’t say that if I decided to slit your sister’s throat…”

“You won’t,” Aya said with confidence. “Del Toro needs me, and the only way you will get my cooperation is if my sister is untouched.”

“What makes you think we haven’t already touched her?”

Aya narrowed his eyes. He knew his sister well enough to know that she would have never lied to him, especially if someone had hurt her. But he couldn’t help the nagging at the back of his mind when he had seen the look of betrayal cross his sister’s face once she had realized what Del Toro had conspired. Was there some hidden connection that Aya had no idea about?

“Ah, yes. Of course, your sister wouldn’t lie to you,” Schuldig said and leaned over, propping his elbows on his bents knees, his face inches from Aya’s left ear. He moved forward as far as he could, avoiding as much proximity with Schuldig as possible, but there never seemed enough distance. “But I’m sure you didn’t know that little Aya-chan has been working for Del Toro for the past six months. She was an intern at a medical clinic that he supports before they met.”

Aya steeled the surprise from his face, but his mind screamed with numerous questions and thoughts of deception. He shook his head numbly, denying Schuldig’s statement. It wasn’t possible to believe the German’s words; he was full of lies and manipulation.

“You didn’t, did you? No notice in a letter?” Schuldig laughed. “Even the people you love the most keep secrets, kitten. What would your sister say to your feelings toward Kudou?”

“There is nothing between Yohji and I!” Aya suddenly screamed; shocked by the speed he acted upon to deny his own feelings. It was obvious there was something fluttering inside of him, though he wasn’t sure what it was.

“Why deny it? Although, I do admit I find entertainment in your contradicting emotions,” Schuldig said.

Schuldig brought his hand over and stroked his thumb across Aya’s prominent cheekbone, brushing along the new scab with tenderness that Aya couldn’t have imagined the telepath possessing. It vexed him, and he jerked his face away, but his hair was instantly grabbed, forcing his head back at a painful angle until he was staring into Schuldig’s green eyes. He held his own with the German, his steely gaze never wavering.

“I wonder what side Kudou encounters? The frigid shoulder or a warm embrace,” Schuldig said thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side in observation. His eyes roamed across Aya’s face, taking in every detail. “Probably a bit of both, neh?”

“Fuck you,” Aya snarled, his voice trembling.

“I know you don’t mean that,” Schuldig replied mockingly, his lower lip protruding in a pout. “Such a pity, though. I’m sure you would make a good virgin fuck.”

Aya spat in Schuldig’s face, causing the telepath to cry out in surprise. Saliva slowly trailed down from his left eyelid to his jaw before he swiped it away, his face twisted in disgust. Aya instantly tensed his body, readying himself for retaliation. He squeezed his eyes shut when the telepath sharply pulled on his hair, forcing his body to arch in an agonizingly awkward position. Pain, hot and encompassing, flared along Aya’s ribs, and he groaned.

“That was not very nice, kitten,” Schuldig said, “And it puts me in a bad mood.”

“I don’t care,” Aya replied slowly through clenched teeth.

“You should,” Schuldig whispered as he leaned closer, his lips brushing hot breath across Aya’s skin. It sent chilled bumps along the fine hairs on his back, and he shivered despite himself. There was no control over his discomfort.

Callused lips suddenly seized his in a bruising kiss. Aya’s eyes widened, and a sharp cry of surprise escaped his mouth, only to be muffled by Schuldig’s. The kiss itself was brutal and painful as Schuldig crushed Aya’s lips with a force borne out of wild lust. Aya fought against him, tried to dissuade him by jerking his head side to side, but Schuldig grasped his chin again, holding him in place. The pressure of the German’s other hand around his throat tightened, and out of reflex, Aya opened his mouth for air that was only stolen from the other. It gave Schuldig the advantage to slip his tongue past Aya’s teeth. The invasion of a warm tongue against his own, claiming dominance quickly, caused Aya to pull against the cuffs that restrained him, his teeth begging for purchase in order to clamp down hard in defense. Schuldig prevented it by pressing his fingers into the joints of Aya’s jaw, opening his mouth wider while the telepath had his fill, exploring every crevice.

Schuldig finally pulled away and slowly licked his lips as his eyelids fluttered with a sense of lustful anticipation. Aya felt sick, his stomach twisting in painful knots. He leaned to the side and spat out of the remnants of Schuldig’s vile presence in his mouth, but it didn’t ease the nausea that suddenly assaulted him. It was weakness again, and Aya gritted his teeth, clenching his hands in frustration.

It’s too bad I wasn’t the first…

Aya gasped before something hard and blunt struck him across his temple, and he ceased to know anything at all.

TBC...