Hello! I have a request for a continuation for the Shadow milk stalks Pure Vanillas child series (idk what to call it 😭)
So, Chocolate Bark and Silverbell have been guarding the child for a while and it’s been going well, Shadow Milk hasn’t appeared yet since his last encounter with CBC. But one day the child is just.. Missing? No trace of them anywhere. Shadow Milk lures them away, and ‘offers’ for them to live with him, forever, and ever.
☆ Prison of Azure — Shadow Milk & Child!Reader ☆
Genre: Angst || They/them pronouns for reader || TW/CW for child abduction and manipulative Shadow Milk
A/N: WOOOO NEW PART. The previous and first parts are available for those that need context!
──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────
To say the Vanilla King had a lot on his mind would be an understatement. With balancing your safety, check-ups from your new guardians, and the constant paranoia of things just beyond his notice, his nerves were absolutely fried. Chocolate Bark and Silverbell had been glad to tell Pure Vanilla to rest, that he should really catch up on sleep, but he seldom listened. This was one of the first things he'd blame. The late hour, the stress, and himself. Because before he could pull himself back together, Silverbell had bursted into his study with a frenzied flutter of wings and a look of pure fear.
Missing. That word sent a chilled jolt to Pure Vanilla's very core, sending him flying up from his seat. He grabbed his staff, running as fast as he could with the silver faerie trailing behind. The halls flew by in a blur until he came upon your room. The door was ajar, Chocolate Bark hunched over at the front of it. His eyes bore a sickeningly familiar blue hue that faded as Pure Vanilla got closer. "I don't- know what happened" The guard gasped, breaths staggered. Pure Vanilla kneeled down, putting a sympathetic hand on his armor "Chocolate Bark Cookie. Where is my child?"
"Right here, I-" Chocolate Bark began, before turning to the open door. His face fell. Lined across every shadow on the walls, stretching up to the high ceiling, the cheery wallpaper had been covered with black shadows. Blue eyes dances across them all, blinking down at the lingering Cookies. You were nowhere to be found
About a mile or two away by now, you sat on Black Sapphire's floating staff. You kicked your legs gently, enjoying the stroll you were taking. "Are we gonna go home soon?" You asked, and Shadow Milk paused at the head of the group. His mask of cheery friendliness slid back into place, and he spun on his heel to float up next to you. He sat cross-legged in the air, face pressed into his hand "Oh no, little sheep! You'll be staying with me for a while, remember?"
"Really?!" You asked, almost falling off the staff with excitement. Black Sapphire caught your sleeve, pulling you back upright before you could topple to the ground. You frowned after thinking about it. "But papa says I have to ask before I have a sleepover" You said, looking at Shadow Milk sadly. He leaned back, hands going behind his head "Pffft! Of course he would have a silly rule like that. But don't worry your doughy little head, I took care of everything"
"You did?" You asked, feeling doubtful "I thought papa didn't talk to you". Shadow Milk hovered behind you, circling around to pat your shoulder "Isn't it tiring doing what that stuffy old King asks all the time?". "I guess so" You mumbled "It's been scary with those new Cookies around. I can't go anywhere without them anymore!". Shadow Milk felt his face twitch as annoyance threatened to show. Pure Vanilla really was an idiot if he thought that fool King could outsmart a master trickster! He forced himself to stuff it down for now, landing back on the ground on the other side of the staff, leaning his arm on it
"Well, of course! Who wants to be locked up all the time? You're a free kid, you don't need all that!" Shadow Milk went on, Black Sapphire smiling proudly as his master's plan kept unfolding. You'd hadn't seen him before, but he was Shadow Milk's friend, so it couldn't be all bad, right? Noticing your puzzled look, Shadow Milk stood up straight and spread his arms out "Don't worry, we're just going to my Spire! It's a place with no rules and no Kings, just you and me and all the freedom we could ask for!"
"...Are there more friends there?" You asked. Shadow Milk nodded "Of course! They've all been waiting juuust for you! But if you wanna go back..." He began, pretending to turn away. "Wait!" You called out, and Shadow Milk grinned to himself before turning back around. It was all too easy to reach Pure Vanilla's weakness, he must not have cared that much if his guards were so quick to lose their composure. Maybe his friends sent out weak ones, dooming him to failure. Whatever the reason, Shadow Milk kept a mask of patience as he waited for you to decide
"I guess it won't be so bad" You said, a hopeful look on your face. To you, the wide smile you received from the jester was welcoming and happy. To Black Sapphire, it was malicious and prideful. Too easy indeed. "Well then we can't waste any more time!" Shadow Milk said, opening a portal a few feet ahead. It swirled with black magic, the inside looking like a void with blue eye symbols looking out at the three. You hopped off the staff carefully, and Shadow Milk bowed deeply "After you, star guest!"
You laughed a bit, walking carefully ahead. You stopped right before the opening. Shadow Milk was your friend, you could trust him! Still, you felt a bit sad imagining your dad wondering where you went. Shadow Milk always made sure you made it back on time before, which you used as motivation to bridge the remaining distance. Your form disappeared into the portal, and Shadow Milk laughed uproariously
His cackle echoed off of the trees, stretched across the land, all the way to the now panicked Vanilla castle. Pure Vanilla, Chocolate Bark, Silverbell, and a few castle attendants scrambled in every room, frantically checking every room for any signs of you. Pure Vanilla felt his heart break a little more with each dead end. "I'll tell Elder Faerie!" Silverbell offered "He can have an army here before dawn!". "Please see that you do" Pure Vanilla begged, twisting his staff in his hands. Chocolate Bark stepped up to the King's side. "You seem sick, your majesty" He said with a frown "Come sit a moment". Pure Vanilla shook his head. "I can't stop looking, not for a moment. But Deceit had tried to take your mind. You're the one in need of rest"
"I'll get some after telling Dark Cacao" Chocolate Bark insisted. Before Pure Vanilla could protest, the guard was already following after Silverbell. The Kingdom immediately announced a state of emergency. All the King could do was look out the window into the dark, hoping against hope that you were okay. Blue eyes stuck to trees beyond the garden looked back at him, upturned in cruel amusement. He stepped back, fearful of the presence he felt from them. They closed and vanished just as quickly. Even in the dim light, even so far away, he could feel the crawling discomfort all along his dough at the sight of them. He couldn't... right? Pure Vanilla was his enemy, not- not-....
The forest was now empty. The last slivers of a shadowy portal vanished, leaving empty air in its wake. Shadow Milk's move had been cast, waiting on the response from his enemy
Written for Whumpmas in July @whumpmasinjuly-archive , day 12, Caught.
Content / warnings: Abduction, betrayal, character death, whumper pov, thoughts about noncon, vibes of unhealthy relationship dynamics (m/f).
Had it been up to Frankie to choose the last day of this life, it defined wouldn't have been a Monday. The Hammonds' weekly security briefing was tedious and dull. Especially today. Especially when the sun was shining, especially when his flight to the Caribbean was -
"Frankie." Peter snapped his fingers. "Focus. Look at these photos. Anyone on these shows up near her, you get her away. The Chernovs are pissed because of the boss' latest move, and they won't hold back."
Especially when Frankie knew in detail what - no, who the biggest threat to Dany was today. He had to bite back a smirk.
"The Chernovs won't get to her," Frankie assured, peeking at the clock in the corner. "I'll keep her close."
Josie leaned back and chuckled. "Yeah. We all know just how close she keeps you."
Peter clicked his tongue. "We don't talk about the junior like that, Josie. She's an adult, she's a professional, and so is Francis. When he's listening."
"Yeah. I've got her," Frankie repeated and peeked at the clock on the wall. "And she's going to insufferable when I'm late to pick her up. So. Excuse me."
"Watch out for these guys."
"I will."
He'd been even more attentive than usual, lately, Frankie thought as he jogged towards her office. He knew WRU was scouting them, and he'd clocked some of their agents. Whom he he'd been truly on the lookout for, however, was the principal. The person behind it all. Who paid hundreds of thousands of dollars, to make Danielle Hammond his.
It scratched his professional honor that he couldn't tell. Sure, Stuart Hammond pissed off many powerful players, many of whom would go great length to take it out on his only daughter and designated successor. But none of them would use WRU as a middle man.
And Dany's own surroundings? She certainly came after her Dad, in both business sense and annoying attitude, but Frankie usually managed to keep up with a list of her enemies.
Nobody matched.
Frankie sighed, before he knocked at her door and entered right away.
"You're late," she said, not bothering to turn around from where she stood in front of her cabinet, changing from her elegant business suit into a white summer dress. Frankie was a pragmatic man, but he suspected there was some sort of poetry in that choice on a day like today. "Just in time to zip me up, though."
He stepped in behind her and carefully brushed her blond hair aside, before he reached down for the zipper.
She was gorgeous. Sun tanned, soft skin. The freckles over her shoulders. The fit body, with just the perfect mixture of curves and muscle. His hand rested on her ass just some moments, mapping her shape to keep her in his memories.
All of this would belong to someone else, soon.
"Frankie." She raised a brow at him through the mirror. "We're past this, remember? Focus."
His other hand searched for her hip, too, and he pulled her back against him. She didn't fight it. Fuck. She felt too good, her body pressed to his, just like the many times before. "Come on," he whispered into her hair. "One last time?"
Dany turned her head, and it made him shiver how close she was, how her soft breath caressed his skin. "You don't call the shots, babe," she whispered back, her hand on his cheek. "I do." She twisted her hip out of his grip. "Not today."
He wondered, how it would feel to just take her, right here, in her office. What would happen, if he just grabbed her, hand in that blond locks, tossed her over her own desk and fucked her. She was feisty, but he was stronger than her. Paid to be. He could easily overwhelm her. He'd thought about this, more than once. Never done it. Always let her call the shots. Always let her be in power. What a meek little power that was, though. All deduced, from family, from wealth.
And someone out there was about to do what Frankie couldn't. Strip that off her. That power. That name. That arrogance. All of it. And make her into a submissive little fucktoy.
Oh, he fucking hated them for getting what he longed for.
"Focus," Dany said sharply.
He took a deep breath and nodded. And he did focus. On the smell of her shampoo, on the way her hair tingled over his skin, on the curve of her ass under the zipper.
Focus.
Frankie would become a rich man today. Rich, satisfied, free. He'd just have to make it through this.
"Sorry, babe," he mumbled.
He wasn't.
~
"Why did you say that?" Dany asked, when they were going down in the elevator, looking at him through the huge mirror. "A last time? You usually don't give up that easily."
Frankie had to hide a flinch. "I... Did I really say that?"
She stared at him from honey eyes, eyebrow raised. Expectant. "Yeah."
He hated her. For being gorgeous, for that white dress, for being in charge, for looking right through him. Fifteen minutes. He just needed this to not blow up in his face for fifteen more minutes. Just needed her to trust him for fifteen more minutes. "I... I think we should end this," he said. Improvised. It felt hollow. It sounded real. "It's... It's sort of getting nowhere, right? And I... I think I deserve better."
She paused for a moment, searched his face, before she shrugged. "Okay. Yeah. I guess." She smirked. "It's really been a bit of a cliche, anyway."
The doors slid open towards the lobby, but he couldn't move.
"That's it?" Frankie asked in disbelief. "That's how simple you think this is?"
"Wasn't it always? Come on, Frankie. We fucked. It was fun, it was good, and not gonna lie-" She winked at him. "I did like spanking you. But I mean. It's just sex, right? When it's over, it's over. No hard feelings." She held out an arm to keep the elevator door open for them. "Now. Are we leaving or do you want Peter to cover your shift?"
He really considered it. For a second or two, Frankie imagined going home, having a beer, calling his parents, telling them he'd come back to work in their repair shop. Imagined a life without Dany Hammond.
No.
He'd close this chapter of his life in a much more rewarding way.
"I'm good." He gave her a sharp nod. "Yeah. No hard feelings."
He pushed past her into the lobby, took the room in with a sweeping glance. For a short moment, someone locked eyes with him.
Alex Nadler. That short, awkward WRU client satisfaction manager, dressed just like a businessperson passing by. They weren't awkward now. Their gaze felt like steel.
Frankie shivered.
Move, their lips formed as they tilted their head towards the street.
Focus, Frankie thought.
Focus.
He guided her to the door, just some steps after Alex.
By his side Dany, utterly unfazed by their past conversation, had pulled a stack of index cards from her white purse and skimmed through them, mumbling to herself. She was invited to give a speech at some charity's summer event, just two blocks south.
She wasn't scheduled to arrive.
He walked half a step behind her shoulder, as always, shielded her from behind and towards the street. And as always, his gaze constantly flicked from the surroundings to her. Her long legs, short white dress, perfectly curved ass, blond strands dancing in the wind. People made space for her on instinct, looked at her, jealous, admiring, greedy. And herself - she didn't even notice, deep into her notes, trusting the man behind her to keep her safe.
The man she'd let into her bed, but nowhere else. The man who'd been good enough to guard her, but not to be more than an affair out of dozens. The man she'd led him on, made feel special, and then proved over and over that to her, he was anything but.
A van closed in from behind them. In front, Alex slowed their steps to down to fall back to Dany's side.
Everything was in place.
Dany had no idea.
Frankie smiled grimly.
For someone as savvy as she was, she was pathetically naive.
Then, Alex raised their hand.
~
It happened in seconds. The van slowed by the curb, its door sliding open. Masks. Machine guns.
Dany's index cards silently drifting to the sidewalk. Her white dress still dancing around her thighs, while she stood frozen in shock.
Her first move was for him. A hand, reaching back, to where she knew her protector would be.
Frankie grabbed her waist, a move so familiar he could almost laugh. "I've got you, babe" he mumbled. He could swear that he felt her relax the tiniest bit.
Then he hefted her into the van, right between the armed men.
He jumped in, Alex followed, and the van accelerated, sped off, before Dany had even said a word.
She didn't, still, even when one of the captors took her purse and passed it on to toss it out. Even when another pulled back her wrists and fixed them with zip ties. Even when they forced her to her knees and bound her ankles as well.
Even with a stranger's hand in her hair, a gun to her head, she stayed silent, attentive, aware. Her gaze was on Frankie alone.
And oh. He could drown in those eyes.
When someone touched his wrist, disturbed the image, he angrily flinched. "Sit," a masked man next to him said. "It's getting bumpy."
"I'm -" Frankie grabbed for a hold on the side, just before the van sped around a corner.
"An asshole," Dany said flatly. "I should've known."
Somebody chuckled. But apart from that, nobody spoke.
She didn't say anything more either. Smart girl, he thought. Just as him and the security guys had talked through with her dozens of times. Don't give them anything. Stay calm. Stay alert. Don't fight. Could even have helped, had this been what she probably assumed it to be.
A kidnapping for ransom, for information, for leverage. A kidnapping that matched her worldview. Matched her self image of being the centre of the world.
He idly wondered, what they'd do with that cute white dress. Trash it, probably. Too bad. He'd have liked to fuck her in it.
The van hit a speedbump, another one, and Dany let out a short gasp when the man behind her yanked at her hair trying to keep his footing. The outside noises changed, grew dull, and the van drove into a long, spiraled curve. Parking garage, Frankie thought.
The door slid open, and without spoken commands, their captors emerged into the dark, boots echoing on concrete.
They were alone.
Frankie and Dany, his charge, his lover, his boss. He'd have given his life for her, a long time. Now, he'd sold hers.
She tried to push herself off the ground, get onto her knees again. Under the dim inside light of the van, her dress seemed to emit light. He saw her eyes skim over the inside of the car, the door, back at him, assessing the situation. It was hopeless.
She knew.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why, Frankie?"
"Money," Frankie said with a shrug and crouched down in front of her. "A new life. Seeing you on your knees. Actually, mostly the latter." He reached out and gently traced her cheek. She did flinch now. Cute. "Because you're a bitch, Dany." He grabbed her chin harder. "Because I get paid to see you destroyed."
She stared at him. He wondered if her lip was trembling, or if it was just the light. "It... You know it doesn't make sense, right?" she said.
Frankie pulled back from the kiss he'd just wanted to press on her lips, irritated. "What?"
"That story. You're a loose end. No mobster in their right mind would just let you walk. You betrayed me, you sold me out to be destroyed, but they'll kill you first." She let out a low chuckle. "Oh Frankie. You've always been a fucking idiot."
Fucking bitch tried to belittle him, even at her lowest.
"Oh no, babe." He shook his head. "You have no idea. They're not the mob. They're something else. They just planned to make it look like-"
Dany raised an eyebrow.
Fuck.
Something cold pressed into the back of his neck.
Frankie froze.
"She's right," Alex said behind him, their voice even. "We're professionals. At WRU, we don't leave loose ends."
Dany's gorgeous, brown eyes widened with sudden understanding, her mask of smug confidence finally shattered. "No," she breathed. "No, no, not WRU, not that, not -"
Dany Hammond looked lovely, he thought, when she fell apart.
He held on to that image, as he took his last breath.
---
[Next]
- --
Angel tag list (ask to be added or removed): @whumplr-reader @there-will-always-be-blood @whimpers-and-whumpers @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @risk606
olivia rodrigo, lesbian, woman, she/her. ♡ now entering the apartment building is deidre flores, a twenty-one year old who is currently a true crime creator & advocator. netizens have said they seem timid but others have said they’re benevolent ! gossip aside, we’re sure they’re bound to be a fan favorite !
content warnings include abduction, trauma, & abuse.
basics
Name: Deidre Dahlia Flores
Nickname/s: Deedee
Preferred name/s: Deidre
Gender: Woman
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 21
Birthday: December 17th
Zodiac: Sagittarius
Sexuality: Lesbian
Relationship status: Single
Occupation: True crime creator & advocator
Hometown: Santa Monica, California
Accent: American (Olivia Rodrigo vc)
backstory
Deidre grew up in a dance-focused household, with her mother as a ballet teacher, which instilled in her a passion for dance from an early age.
At just seven years old, she and three other girls from her dance troupe were kidnapped by a competition head, enduring a harrowing experience before being rescued.
The trauma from the abduction kept her out of dance for several years as she struggled to cope with the aftermath.
At ten, her family moved to South Korea for her mother's job opportunity as a choreographer, hoping for a fresh start.
Deidre faced significant dehumanization as her case was publicized; even though their identities were protected, the trauma resurfaced in her teenage years when evidence of her identity leaked.
The revelation at school was devastating, leading to bullying and isolation, which deepened her desire to help others in similar situations.
This experience fueled her passion for advocacy, and she began working to support victims of crimes through awareness and education.
Eventually, she channeled her experiences into creating an ethical true crime podcast and YouTube channel, focusing on the stories of victims and their families.
With the support of her small community, Deidre found the strength to return to dance, reclaiming a part of her identity that had been lost.
Seeking connection and healing, she applied to join the web series Seoulmates to find a supportive network and explore new friendships after her trauma stunted her social interactions.
Through her podcast and dance, Deidre aims to empower others, reminding them that they are not defined by their trauma but by their resilience and courage.
personality & more
Deidre is compassionate and deeply empathetic, often putting herself in others' shoes to understand their struggles.
She possesses a strong sense of justice and is driven to advocate for victims' rights and awareness.
Creative and articulate, she excels in storytelling, both in dance and through her podcasting.
Deidre is resilient, demonstrating remarkable strength in overcoming her past trauma and using it to fuel her passions.
She has a strong moral compass, prioritizing ethical practices in her true crime content to honor victims' stories.
A natural leader, she inspires others in her community to speak out and support one another.
Despite her past, she maintains a playful and light-hearted side, often using humor to cope with difficult topics.
Deidre values authenticity and encourages open conversations about mental health and trauma.
She has a passion for learning, often exploring new topics related to crime, justice, and advocacy.
Her experience in dance has made her disciplined and dedicated, qualities she applies to all her pursuits.
Deidre is a lover of storytelling in all forms, enjoying books, films, and podcasts that explore human experiences.
She dreams of creating a platform that not only educates but also empowers victims and advocates for systemic change.
Deidre is timid, and feels socially stunted, but she's always trying her best to live the life she once wasn't sure she'd still have.
FIGHT NIGHT @ THE FACTORY / THE TWENTIETH OF MARCH / @ginnyren
What is at first a lucky accident turns into full fledged plan for retribution, a murderous spectacle that all stems from Sacha’s quick thinking — Warden princess arrives on scene with imperfect timing, fucking with the scheduled bombing, nearly throwing them off course, though it’s nothing a little chloroform can’t fix as long as Sacha strikes fast. They’re just glad they have Gwen at their side to help carry home their spoils, someone well equipped to handle a little unplanned violence. With a Seraphim in custody, the pieces of Mortem fall into place, Uriel tasking Sacha again with the same game of capture and retreat; Famine is a fucking risky operation though, given all the funny little friendships Sacha feigns while trying to find weak links. Now, sneaking in is a minefield, though Sacha manages, much like they always do, distracting sweethearted Kitty Mallick with weapons and sleazy conversation, trying on a new persona like clothing.
Not that Ginny is fond of the disguise, freely making comments on dingy Ecko hoodie and wornout trainers, prosthetic nose and added facial hair, the look a stark contrast to even Sacha’s most outlandish outfits. Even as they lurk in the depths of the athlete’s lounge, eerily quiet this close to the start of the match, she has something to say. “I get it, okay, you don’t like the fit. I can’t exactly wear the fucking mask right now and I needed to be sure I wouldn’t be recognized.” Whisper shouts feel amplified in the narrow hallway, the pair flitting between empty offices, conference rooms, and dining area, coming up empty handed. No Leon in sight, only a few straggling employees incapacitated at Death’s hands in order to move through The Factory undetected. One last room is left to clear, the locker room waiting for them at the end of the long hallway. They have their orders to nab Famine’s prized fighter as payment for the their sins, and it all comes down to this moment, their successes. Sacha reaches into their hoodie, grabbing at the bottle of chloroform hidden inside bullet-proof vest, pre-mixed and courtesy of Jack Tanner. Ready for anything, now.
Eyes tear away from closed door and back to Ginny. “You’re going in first, like we talked about. Buy me some time and I’ll sneak in after you,” they start, voice low and steady. “You could say you’re collecting him for the fight, or that Marcus or Ikki need him, tell him the fucking building’s on fire, whatever. Just get him up and headed to the door.” With enough time to get in place, hiding behind lockers or waiting just out of sight in a corner, Sacha will strike. “Then I’ll take care of the rest.” Between the bombing and this operation, they’re becoming quite well-versed in the subtle art of chloroform. One last detail to be cleared up — “are you armed?” Sacha manages to sneak a small pistol tucked under layers of clothing, hidden beneath vest.
pansy parkinson didn’t do favours. she didn’t freely sacrifice her time to help a stranger in need without getting something from it, and she didn’t loan a coworker anything unless she had the guarantee of seeing it again. above all, she didn’t babysit, no matter the crisis. children made her uncomfortable ( & left her feeling MORE unsure than she liked to be ), and it had been made abundantly clear long before her sister had ten fingers & ten toes that they could never rely on her for childcare. unless there was money involved. unless, for example, the threat of a revoked allowance was issued, or, as it were, the promise of an increase was made. fear was the better motivator, but heath parkinson had never been a very good businessman. a substantial number of galleons was bound for her vault by end of day, and that was how pansy had ended up here : dragging a four year old along on a trip to diagon alley. it wasn’t going well.
as expected, she wouldn’t stay still. pansy had bought her a little bag of sweets when she’d asked & made conversation with her as they walked. she wasn’t treating her unkindly, or letting her run riot : but the little witch was only four, and she only had to take her eyes off her for a moment ( the time it took to open a snap from draco / to ponder whether a necklace in a shop window would look good around her neck / to issue a request to a server on a coffee stand ) for her to dart away, thoughtlessly. as she strode forward to stop her from disappearing into yet another crowd - slipping her phone into her work jacket, adjusting the hold on her shopping bag - pansy decided then & there that it was time for some tough love. “paloma,” she admonished, reaching forward to grab her hand, “i’ve told you to stay with me. if you run away again, i’m going to let them TAKE you.” you see, pansy wasn’t her father, and fear was a better motivator : she had no problem gesturing to the nearest bystander and using them as a threat, and from the way paloma gripped her hand tighter, she felt it had worked WONDERS. straightening up and flashing a smile that was all teeth, she directed her next words to them, “we wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?”
Operation Angel, Alex Nadler had baptized the latest acquisition job. Patrick didn't know their reasons - Nadler played everything close to their chest, and WRU drove a strict need-to-know policy anyway. But having seen the target stroll down the street in that pristinely white dress of hers, he couldn't deny the poetry in that designation.
It was a pleasure, working with Nadler. Their experience in planning ops didn't come from serving under the same flag that Pat and his men had once sworn on; but it was brutally efficient. And they'd all long given up serving governments, anyway.
Corporations paid better. And - Pat paused to look into the rearview mirror, remembering the smooth skin and long legs of the naked woman stuffed in the trunk - corporations were much more relaxed about rules of engagement.
"All good?", Nadler's voice sounded over the earpiece. They'd stayed behind, doing what they did best: Logistics. Nadler would make sure that bodyguard's body was dumped somewhere he'd found; the decoy's body somewhere she'd never be. They'd take care of the surveillance video to show just the right parts of her death in that white dress; they'd clean up, pay off a witness or two, plant evidence and spread liberal amounts of the target's stolen blood in that parking garage.
Beautiful, stubborn society girl Danielle Hammond would be declared dead, even before she'd fully realized what was coming for her.
And if they dropped her off at the facility as ordered, Pat and his comrades would be on the team that got to break her in. 'Preparation protocol', WRU called it. Sanitized term for some highly objectionable work. Undeniably hot though.
Pat couldn't be any less interested in fucking a meek and braindead pet. But the target of an acquisition mission, while they still processed, while they struggled, while they understood, what they were about to lose? It was the best wind-down he could imagine. And if they looked like Danielle Hammond did? Even better. Girl was his type for sure.
Yeah. Corporations were much better than governments.
With a content sigh, Pat leaned back in the driver's seat and checked the navigation system. Only a few klicks left to go. His gun was next to him on the passenger sheet, hidden under his jacket, two cars with his comrades following them as back-up. This mission wouldn't need either. Nobody had caught up on them. Alex had made sure the police were looking at all the wrong places.
Pat tapped his headset with one finger. "Yup. All good," he confirmed, allowing himself a wide smile. "Excellent, actually."
-
When Pat opened the trunk with a cheerful whistle on his lips, the target was barely conscious. He tossed his mask and gear onto the plastic tarp next to her, before he grabbed a fistful of her blond hair to pull her upright to her knees.
She yelped, bucked under his hold, giving him a lovely display of the way her lithe body could curve.
"We've arrived, sweetheart," he said. "WRU Preprocessing Facility C1. The last place you'll remember."
"I'm not -", she whimpered, with a stubborn edge to her voice, eyes still half closed "- not anyone's fucking sweetheart."
Pathetic. Adorable.
"Wrong," Pat playfully slapped her bloodied cheek with his free hand. She hissed at him, weakly lifted her bound hands to push him away. He just grabbed her hair faster instead, leaned in closer over her shape in the trunk, hisvoice dropping to a whisper. "You're going to be everyone's sweetheart. First mine. Then my team's. And then every single handler's this dirty facility has to offer."
"You… you can't." Her breathing was shallow. "I'm - My father is Stuart Hammond, he-"
"Wrong again," Pat said patiently, letting his hand run down the side of her body and explore her curves. "Ms Hammond is dead. You? You're a nameless, powerless, empty - however, very nicely shaped - body, with delusions of personhood. You're 002238. And you're free for the taking."
She winced, when his hand cupped her cute boob, thumb playing with her nipple. There was no way of her fighting him off, bound as she was, feeble from blood loss. He knew it. And she knew it, too. She didn't even try. Pat smirked, watching her nipple perk up in reaction to his attention.
Tears gathered in his target's dark honey eyes. "Please, no," she whispered. "No."
His hand in her hair settled on the back of her head, forced her face up towards him. "Yes." He pulled her in for a kiss.
She let him. To his own surprise, her lips parted for him, a soft invitation, and then she kissed him back, that sweet, naked body pressing closer into his.
Gosh, she felt fantastic.
"You can get so much more," she whispered against his mouth, her breath a soft tingle on his skin. "Take me out of here, I'll make you a rich man, I'll let you fuck me, I'll play along, give you the time of your life." Her eyes seemed darker than before, when she met his gaze, something like a challenge shining in them. "It's more fun when you don't have to share."
Pat thought about it for a hot second. Shoving her back down into the trunk, slamming the hood shut over her once more, speeding off, taking her with him for himself. To some beach, maybe, just the two of them, her on top of him, riding him in front of a cinematic sunset.
She was a millionaire in her own right, she'd be good for a decent ransom - and for a more than decent fuck.
"You are undeniably hot, Danielle" he said softly, raising a hand to brush away a speck of Mueller's blood on her cheek with his thumb. "But I'm afraid not hot enough to risk being the next guy having his brain spattered all over you."
She flinched in his arms, tried to pull away, disappointment and something almost like grief flaring up in her gaze. Pat didn't let her.
"Shhh." He gently wiped his bloody thumb over her trembling lip, admiring how well the red suited her. "Don't worry, 238. You'll make me rich and well fucked anyway." He pressed a kiss on her lips again.
This time, she didn't kiss back.
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HE was a well-dressed and well-groomed man, who perspired business and old money at the same time. confidently he followed the waiter through the back of the expensive restaurant in this cold city quite according to his like ( the cold always helped to ease the burning fire in this small body ), exactly on time: not one minute too early, not one minute too late. luc ( ifer ) beaumont, a french name arriving from the english country side; dealing with stocks during daytime & armed warfare during the night and hell in between. he had asked to start off the business talks of the next days with a nice dinner and tasked mr alkaev with choosing the perfect restaurant for the occasion; trusting him more in that regard than providing him food in his own home. he also had announced asked that he would take his wife with him, this gentle soul; had she ever so rarely ever the chance to get out of the country. ( and the last time she had attempted on her own, it had been the day of their m e e t i n g. )
she was an appearance and echo at the same time. hair as blond as gold, and dressed in flowing robes of lace and silk, he had adorned her with diamonds and silver reflecting every light in this dark country. lucia he had called her on the phone, and she had to be at least fifteen years his junior; not a trophy wife but a fairie queen caught in a cage. big brown eyes which took in everything while at her husband’s side, she seemed to be at the same time stunned as overwhelmed by the shine and glimmer this other world provided. words of passerbys in a language so foreign to her, she let her husband lead her to their expected hosts. careful she was, scared behind the curious expression she carried. there was a clever mind behind the bars.
lucifer talked, and she offered her hand as his queen.
“mister alkaev, it is a pleasure. this is my wife, lucia.”
