Twenty Million Chapter Five
Now I'll keep it simple as I am a simple man, 10 million per boy, cash, should suffice." It felt like a rock dropped in Ilya's stomach when he heard the price on their heads. Each of them had earned around that amount in their careers, but such a large sum was not something either of them had just lying around. -
Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander, two of the world's biggest NHL players, vanish into the night without a trace. Stashed away in a cold concrete prison, the two only have one thing on their minds
Survival.
Words: 9.2k Warnings: Violence, Homophobic Language Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Ao3 Link
Shane’s face, the first thing Ilya saw upon opening his eyes, was normally something that brought a warm, comforting feeling to his chest.
However, the dark circles beginning to form under his husband’s eyes and the way his brows pinched together even while he slept only made nausea and guilt churn in Ilya’s stomach.
It wasn’t a nightmare.
They really were trapped.
Ilya couldn’t help the groan that escaped him as he tried to flex his aching shoulders against his bonds. Having your limbs forced into the same position for almost twenty-four hours is not something Ilya would recommend to anyone, having now felt it firsthand.
A mumbled noise from Shane had Ilya looking up at his husband, seeing that he was stirring from what Ilya assumed was a restless sleep. Shane’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze swept the room, and Ilya saw the same realization he had moments earlier settle on his husband’s features.
“Hey,” Ilya said, his throat dry and scratchy. Shane looked down at where Ilya still had his head in his lap, a sad smile on his face.
“Hey. How are you feeling?” Shane asked.
Ilya hummed, closing his eyes to take inventory of his body. His limbs ached, a headache pounded behind his eyes, and hunger was beginning to gnaw at his stomach.
“I have been hit by the truck.” Ilya’s eyes opened again when he heard Shane snort.
“I think you mean feel like you’ve been hit by a truck,” Shane corrected. Ilya made a dismissive sound with a shrug.
“Are you okay?” Ilya cared about his husband’s well-being more than his own, regardless of whatever aches and pains he was currently feeling.
“I’m fine,” Shane paused for a moment. Ilya frowned as Shane’s eyes began to gloss with tears. “Fuck, Ilya, you scared the shit out of me.”
“моя любовь-”
“No, you don’t get it! They, they took you upstairs for so goddamn long and-” Shane’s breath shuddered before he continued. “And then you come back, and you’re completely out of it… I was terrified that you’d… jesus”
Ilya wished he could reach up and brush away a tear that escaped Shane’s eyes, easing away the anguish from his husband’s beautiful face.
So he did the next best thing, sitting up with a groan, Ilya shifted himself until he was sitting next to Shane. Gently, avoiding pressure on the bruises on his face, Ilya nudged his forehead against Shane’s. With a soft whimper, Shane leaned into the touch and exhaled shakily.
“I am sorry, моя любовь, I did not mean to scare you,” Ilya offered in a quiet voice. Shane shook his head against Ilya’s, opening his eyes to meet his husband’s.
“‘S not your fault, but you do need to be more careful, alright? No more punching our captors, as much as they deserve it,” Shane said with a gentle firmness. The words made Ilya groan in annoyance.
“Ilya.” His tone left no room for argument
“Okay, okay. No punching stupid perverts… whatever.” Shane gave him an unimpressed look, but the small smirk pulling at his mouth gave him away. Tilting his head down, Ilya closed the small gap between them and placed his lips to Shane’s. The kiss was not like the usual hot-and-heavy liplocks they normally shared, but rather a gentle, reassuring connection between the two of them.
Their kiss was cut short as the foreboding sound of the door’s lock echoed through the room. Both men's heads snapped towards the door, Ilya feeling Shane tense up beside him as the metal was dragged along the concrete.
All three of their captors walked in, still sporting their same black get-up from the day before.
“Good morning, boys, slept well?” Tall said with a taunting smile on his face.
“Like baby,” Ilya spat with a scowl.
“Good to hear, now are you going to be disrespectful and turn down my hospitality like yesterday?” Tall questioned, gesturing towards British and Creep, who were gathering up the abandoned food and water.
“No, we’ll eat,” Shane spoke before Ilya had the chance to, seemingly satisfying Tall as he nodded to his comrades. Shane subtly knocked his shoulder into Ilya’s, hoping to remind him of what they had spoken about before their captor's arrival.
Much to Ilya’s disgust, he allowed himself and Shane to be hand-fed food and water by Creep and British, not missing the daggers Creep shot him during the whole process. He hated to admit that the small amount of food and water helped soothe some of the pain in his head and the ache of hunger in his stomach.
“I bring good news for you boys, we’ve had our first bite at the ransom!” Tall exclaimed as he pulled out his phone, scrolling through to something before showing the screen to his two comrades.
“Aw, it’s from mummy and daddy,” British sneered.
Every muscle in Shane’s body locked up; all his hopeful thoughts that his parents wouldn't be involved in this situation were dashed in a matter of moments.
“My… my parents?” His voice came out quiet and unsure, as if he didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. The only thing keeping him steady was Ilya gently leaning into his side, a silent reminder that he was not alone.
“To whom it may concern, we have acknowledged your demands and will work as fast as we can to meet them. To meet these demands, we will require proof of life for both Shane and Ilya Hollander-Rozanov regularly. We hope that we can come to a peaceful agreement.” Tall read aloud
No doubt about it
That was Yuna Hollander
Professional as always
Even when it was her sons who had been kidnapped.
Shane swallowed thickly as he felt his throat begin to choke up, blinking rapidly to hopefully avoid any of the tears gathering in his eyes from falling.
He didn't react when he felt one of Ilya's hands coming to squeeze his own; he returned the gesture softly.
“Straight to the point, glad your folks are so accommodating,” Tall continued. Flipping the phone to landscape, he pointed it at the two bound men on the floor.
“Say ‘we’re still alive for now!’” Shane hated how the words made his gut coil with anxiety; regardless, he stared at the phone’s lens, hoping this picture would at least bring his parents a bit of comfort.
“I need to piss,” Ilya's voice broke through the silence, making everyone, including Shane, look over at him in surprise.
Their three captors looked at each other, slightly dumbfounded looks on their faces. Did they really not think that their two human prisoners would have such bodily functions?
“Then piss on the goddamn floor, the amount of trouble you caused yesterday,” Creep yelled at Ilya, his hand unconsciously raising to run a finger over his now bandaged eyebrow.
“You plan on mopping floor every day?” Ilya questioned, raising an eyebrow at the three.
Shane watched as the trio argued back and forth for a few minutes before finally looking back over to them. Creep had an unimpressed look on his face.
“Alright, fine, we’ll take you upstairs one at a time. Try anything stupid, and I’ll personally make sure you regret it,” Tall barked at the two of them, his hand reaching into his pocket to pull out that same switchblade from yesterday.
It was a threat and a promise.
Shane tried not to flinch as Tall reached for his feet, cutting the tape encircling them. His hands were uncuffed from the pole before being recuffed behind his back. British walked over to join Tall, grabbing Shane’s arm and forcibly pulling him up from the floor. He couldn’t help but stumble slightly, having been off his feet for almost twenty-four hours straight.
“Move.” British shoved him by the shoulder towards the metal door. Silently, Shane began walking with British close behind him. Everything in him was screaming to look back at Ilya, but with one of his captors in such proximity, it probably wasn't a good idea.
As he passed the threshold of the metal door, Shane made sure to begin taking in his surroundings in as much detail as possible. The stairs leading up from what he assumed was a basement were unfinished wood, the walls concrete until they reached a door at the top of the stairs.
British reached past him and pushed open the door, leading to an unfinished hallway. The shell of a house had a few closed doors; Shane assumed they were incomplete bedrooms. Finally, at the end of the hallway, a small, bare-bones bathroom sat.
“You've got three minutes, make it quick.” British shoved Shane through the doorway before slamming the door shut behind him.
Three minutes, he could work with three minutes.
Looking around the cramped room revealed much of the same. Half-tiled walls, a shower missing a curtain, a toilet missing the lid of the tank, a boarded-up window with light barely peaking through the planks of wood, and a sink with a partially cracked mirror hanging above it.
Shane couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed; he hadn't expected their captors to leave a gun lying around or anything, but something useful would have been nice.
The window caught his attention once more. There was no way he could remove the boards or even fit out such a small opening, but being able to get a look outside…
Shane walked over to the blocked window, placing his eye against one of the small gaps, hoping to get a glimpse of the outside.
What he saw made his stomach drop.
“Fuck”
Fields, nothing but endless fields of dying brown grass. No houses, cars, roads, or man-made structures of any type.
They were completely and utterly isolated.
Shane swallowed hard, trying to suppress the panic that threatened to rise in his chest.
No one would be looking for them out here, wherever here was.
A pounding on the door made Shane jump back from the window as if it had burnt him.
“One minute!” British said impatiently
“Alright!” Shane responded, hoping to quell British’s clear annoyance.
There was no point in wasting any more time; he quickly relieved himself, surprised when the toilet actually flushed, and attempted to wash his hands, awkwardly standing backwards at the sink.
The door swung open once he turned off the tap. British grabbed his arm and began pulling him back towards the basement.
They descended the stairs, walking back into the basement where Tall, Creep, and Ilya were still in the same spots they had been when they left. Shane didn't miss the way Ilya looked him over, checking to see if he was alright.
“Alright, your turn, you don't get walking privileges,” Creep exclaimed, walking towards to Ilya.
“The fuck you mean- Не трогай меня!” Ilya angrily kicked his feet out at Creep as he approached, missing as the other man stepped back.
“You think you can pull that shit yesterday and be allowed to walk on your own? Yeah fucking right faggot” Creep spat as he went to step towards Ilya again, but this time Tall put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.
“Easy. It’s fine if he doesn’t want to cooperate,” Tall said in an eerily calm tone as he looked over to British with a knowing look.
Before anyone could react, British thrust his arm into an uppercut that connected with a thud against Shane’s abdomen. The Canadian let out a forceful heave as the air was knocked out of him, his knees going weak from the blow. British let go of his arm, letting Shane drop to the floor in a breathless heap. Shane had no time to recover before British’s foot slammed into his side, making him cry out in pain.
“Stop! Stop! I won’t walk! Stop!” Ilya’s fearful, frantic voice cut through the roar of blood in Shane’s ears. British’s foot slowed before coming to rest on Shane’s hip, making him moan as pain flashed through his beaten side.
“I thought so. Go ahead,” Tall said, his voice low and dangerous.
Shane didn’t open his eyes as he heard movement on the other end of the room, too focused on breathing through the agony wracking his torso. Heavy footsteps walked past him before seemingly leaving the room and going up the stairs.
British’s foot finally left his hip, allowing Shane to curl into himself with another painful groan.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” British chuckled.
“Clearly… I think this is going to be very useful for us,” Shane could hear the smirk in Tall’s words.
Whatever Tall meant by that statement
Shane was sure it was not going to be good for him or Ilya. --------
Translations:
моя любовь: my love Не трогай меня!: don't touch me!
God I need to see Ilya with a gun after watching Connor's new criminal minds ep... UGH
