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whumblr · 10 months

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Weapon

So, a lil while ago, @whumpedydump asked about Zayne working with Emery and why Zayne says it's better to be tortured by him than by Emery. Here we go.

Warning: Dead dove. Don't want to spoil, so if you're not sure, check the tags for warnings, if ya don't care, keep going.

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

“What the hell happened to your hands?” Jay gaped at the bruises and scratches over Zayne’s knuckles.

Zayne instantly pulled back and turned away.

“Punched a wall because I have to put up with your stupid questions.” His left hand – unconsciously – slid over his right, covering the worst of the bruises, the raw, reddish split skin, and lightly rubbed over it.

“Yeah, sure, a little one-two combo to a brick wall.”

“Now you’re just begging for a one-two combo to your face.”

“Just saying,” Jay held his hands up, “if you found someone else to torment, be my gu—"

Zayne sharply turned. “Don’t ask,” he snarled and pointed a shaky finger in Jay’s face. “Okay?”

“Did I say you could stop?”

“Sir, he’s… he can’t take much more.”

Zayne took another step back, revealing the man kneeling in front of him to show Emery the state he was in. He was quite sure that another hit would knock him clear out. Which, honestly, would probably be a mercy at this point.

The man barely had any strength left to stay upright on his knees, his clenched fists ziptied behind his back were trembling, blood poured from his nose, and even with gasps and heaves he couldn’t get his breathing under control.

Emery remained unimpressed and stayed where he was, just a few steps behind Zayne. He merely glanced down at the man, who struggled to look up but glared at him with all he had left. “Yes, he can. Keep going.”

Zayne hesitated. He felt disgusted having to do this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t beaten on someone before. But this was… different. Too random. Impersonal. He had no idea who the man was, what he’d done to deserve this, what Emery wanted from him. He’d just shown up to this warehouse as Emery had ordered, was presented with nothing more than a man tied up on his knees and the task to ‘make him talk’. That’s it.

But the man didn’t talk. And by now, Zayne wished the guy had actually passed out like half an hour ago. But he was stubborn, like a certain someone he knew. Emery, unfortunately, was also stubborn, and Zayne knew the guy was going to be the first to break.

And he had to do the breaking.

Emery never lifted a finger. He had others to do his dirty work for him.

While the man was obviously nearing a limit, he was not hitting a breaking point. He remained silent, unwilling to give up a scrap of information, and with the bits of strength he did have every now and then, just glared past Zayne right at Emery.

But Zayne felt that he was nearing a limit as well.

His hands were trembling and not just from the pain of bone striking unrelenting bone. But also from the sickening crunch that followed every strike, the blood that stuck to his hands, the grunts of pain followed by agonising silence in front of him, judging silence behind him. How much longer was this going to take?!

A coughing sound escaped the man’s lips, along with some blood as he tried to speak and Zayne found himself hoping he’d finally spill. But when the man found his voice he merely said:

“Yeah, man, keep going.” His voice was soft, tired, but the defiance in it was thundering loud. “Knocked out you’d get just as much out of me as you are getting now.”

Zayne peeked a look at his boss to see how he’d take this.

Not well. Emery’s face darkened.

“Your knife,” he merely said, narrowed eyes still on the man.

Reluctantly, Zayne reached into his pocket. He didn’t go for his actual knife, the one he used with Jay. That was his favourite, meant for play. This one was a spare, meant for work, to be put away after everything had ended and snap it closed to keep the memories of the job contained. All kept separate.

He held it out for Emery.

But Emery refused it and took back a step, making room for Zayne to stand over the kneeling man and positioning himself in just the right spot to watch over the whole spectacle.

Zayne wasn’t really sure what he expected. Of course he was going to have to do it.

He made a show of slowly folding the knife open, but his heart wasn’t into it. Usually he’d love the twitches of fear, the widening of eyes, the flinch as the knife clicked. Here he was just furiously hoping it would make the man relent. When he didn’t, he stepped behind him, kept him in place with a hand on his shoulder, and pricked the blade over the side of his ribs.

Last chance, man!

The man tensed under him, flinched hard when skin split and red soaked into the cut fabric of his shirt. But the warning by just cutting skin deep was not enough to make him either scream or talk. And before Zayne had to make himself go a step further, he heard a tutting sound.

Emery sighed, shaking his head, and stepped forward.

Before Zayne could pull away, Emery’s gloved hand was on his and pushed the knife deeper into the cut.

The blade sank in deep. Way too deep. Zayne startled and meant to pull back, but Emery’s hand clamped over his and actually pushed harder, dragging it along. The blade slid in up to the hilt, carving through skin, muscle, blood vessels; indifferent to what it severed. Blood immediately gushed free. A sickening scream rose up and Zayne had to force himself to keep the man down by his shoulders before his trashing made things even worse.

Emery finally withdrew his hand. “Stop petting him and get him to talk.”

With some effort – and with a disgusting squelching sound – Zayne had to actually pull the knife free. Blood kept running down the man’s side, sticking his shirt to his skin. If he had to dig that deep, the man would probably bleed out after about three or more cuts. This was no longer threatening a man to talk by torturing him; this was ‘talk fast or die’.

And the guy seemed to realise as well that he wouldn’t be able to walk away with this.

“No… no, don’t do that again,” he wheezed. “No!” He bucked again when Zayne held the knife under the first cu— he couldn’t even call it a cut; it was a full on open stab wound.

“Talk,” Emery said over the begging.

And something burst. Along with his tears, the man’s words spilled out of him, talking as fast as he could through gasps of pain and in-between heaving breaths.

Thank god. Zayne let him go and stepped away, relieved he didn’t have sink the knife in like that himself, that it was finally over.

Emery nodded, seemingly satisfied with the info he got. “Good.” And before Zayne could even fold his knife, he followed up with his final order:

“Slit his throat.”

Zayne froze up. “I… I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“I do,” came the cold reply, effectively ending any further protest.

The knife nearly slipped from his grasp. His heart skipped a beat and it felt like it just plummeted down into his stomach, dunking into the pool of dread that started to violently swirl around. It didn’t. After that world-stopping split-second it kept going, thundering against his ribs. Wide eyes shot from Emery to the man and back until Emery’s patience ran out.

“If I have to do it myself, I will do it twice. Do you understand me?”

Zayne clenched his jaw and tucked away all feelings before a hint of the despair whirling through him could slip free. When he turned his back on Emery, a tiny bit did slip out as he couldn’t help but glance at the two guards Emery always had with him, estimating his chances. Slim. And he had no doubt that the man wouldn’t follow up on his threat.

Something hardened inside him. Him or me. Or rather, him and me or just him. Survival instinct took over, wrapping all around him like a cloak protecting him. He did hear the man’s pleas, but the words just bounced off, like arrows against armour, never fully registering in his brain so that even if he wanted to he wouldn’t remember them later.

Besides, begging him was useless. He didn’t call the shots here. He was just the—

He stepped behind the man again, so at least he wouldn’t have to see the shock and betrayal in those eyes turn blank when— He firmly grabbed onto the man’s hair and dragged him back up on his knees, holding him up. All part of his determined, cold act.

But when he bent over, settling the knife just under the man’s jaw, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Then he let the blade sink in, immediately going in deep – letting him bleed out as fast as possible was the least bit of mercy he could offer – and he dragged the knife over his throat all the way to the other carotid artery, cutting both.

The trashing stopped as the finality of the act hit them both. The pull of gravity on Zayne’s hand turned heavy and he let the strands of hair slip from his grasp. The man slumped to the ground, wrists digging into plastic as he struggled against the zip ties as if reaching for his throat could somehow stop the bleeding, and Zayne looked away. Would rather look at even fucking Emery than watch the final moments of the man under him.

Emery watched impassively and with a certain disdain, cold eyes fixed on the man, following every twitch until he finally stilled. Then he abruptly turned and walked outside to his guards.

Taking just the slightest moment to compose himself, Zayne took a deep breath – that did fuck all like putting a band aid on one of those cuts he just inflicted – and followed.

Cold air swept over the river towards him. He didn’t notice the cold as much, but the breeze tickled over the cuts on his hands and he found that he was still holding onto the knife, fist clenched around it.

Emery glanced back at him, almost surprised that he was still here. “Someone will be along shortly to dispose of the body,” he said, tone dismissive and colder than the night air around them. “You are done for the day.”

A vague sense of immense relief that he didn’t have to clean this mess up hit him, but not as hard as it should. It was dulled, along with everything else. Zayne went along as if on autocue, making eye contact and nodding, hoping it would uphold a stoic pretence.

But as soon as Emery turned the corner, his mask shattered.

Every emotion that he had kept at bay all night burst free in a whirlwind of chaos, battling each other over which one would get released first. It was overwhelming. He didn’t know whether to cry or to scream his rage.

Because what even just happened?! Was he—did he just—

He refused to look back inside, just wanted to forget about that image as soon as he could. But even if he wanted to, to get confirmation on what he just fucking did, he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot. Completely paralysed, making him just stand there watch over the dark churning water.

The protective cloak of survival instinct ripped away. Immediately making way for something dark bubbling up, taking hold of him.

Guilt.

It clawed up inside him, whispering to him, calling him names, calling him murderer.

No…

No! This was not on him. It was not! It was Emery. It was all Emery!

If he hadn’t been here, Emery would have killed the guy himself. If Emery had called some other pawn to order around, the guy would still have been killed. Even if Zayne had refused, the guy would still be dead. And so would he. Every possible outcome ended up with the guy bleeding out on the ground.

This was not on me. It was on him, on him, not me! On him!

Because Emery already had his mind made up. And any bit of mercy Zayne’d tried to—

His breath caught.

If you hadn’t tried to spare him… If you’d just knocked him out… maybe…

No!

The blood was on Emery’s hands! Not his!

His knuckles ached as his fist clenched around the handle of his knife. Split skin burst open further, stinging, making him look down.

It wasn’t his blood… coating his knuckles, running over the flesh of his thumb.

And with a scream, he threw the knife as far as he could into the river.

Continuation here

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @scribbelle

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lights-out-knives-out · 4 months

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whump prompt ish

So I know we all love tying up our Whumpees, but what about our Whumpers? Tie up your Whumpers, show them to meeeee

also, who would tie Whumper up? Is it Whumpee? Angry Caretaker? Or perhaps a bigger, badder Whumper

#whump prompts #whump community #whump #whump stuff #i have normal thoughts

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whumpsday · 2 years

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Whumpmas in July Day 5: Who is your favorite whumpee?

i can’t pick just one, so i’m gonna go over a bunch of my faves! in alphabetical order:

Aaron & Henri from Of Vampires and Men by @whumpy-writings

I LOVE THESE GUYS. two amazingly resilient whumpees, each in their own way. of vampires and men takes place in a world where humans are subjugated by vampires, and is honestly a huge inspiration for me with my own work. i love aaron’s whole romance with micah and waiting the six years for micah to finish his military service and come save him. i love aaron’s love for his daughter. i love how henri sacrificed himself, offering himself up to be owned by a cruel whumper in aaron’s place, because he knows aaron has a chance of making it out. i love henri’s struggle with his panic attacks that aldon helps him through. everything about these guys (and this series in general) is SPECTACULAR.

Bailey from With Bloody Outstretched Hands by @wolfeyedwitch

ahhh villain whumpee showing up on hero’s doorstep for refuge while running away from a bigger bad, my beloved. bailey is awesome. i love how they’re recovering with the heroes, but also knowing that they were the one who tortured icarus and just waiting for someone to eventually find out and the other shoe to drop. guilt is a fave trait of mine in whumpees.

Briac from Smoke, Salt, and Asbestos by @quietly-by-myself

MY SWEETIE... MY BELOVED... briac is so special. i love him so dearly. his backstory is absolutely HEARTWRENCHING. believing himself to be a normal human his whole life, only to get the rug pulled out from under him when it’s revealed he’s a changeling. his mother who he’d been close to all his life suddenly turning against him. his friends, too. being tortured and forcibly having his personhood removed, all for something that happened when he was a baby that he had no control over. watching him recover from this and be LOVED for who he is has been magical. i want to give him a hug.

Brody from Brody by @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

one of the best pet whumpees out there! his progression is absolutely heartbreaking. being taken in by caretakers and learning how to be his own person... only to be recaptured and viciously torn down all over again. this guy just can’t catch a break. but honestly, what makes brody a favorite for me is knowing how his story ends. knowing he DOES eventually regain his freedom during the future where he becomes mr. patricks, helping other escaped pets. he’s such a sweetheart and i adore him.

Danny from Cat and Mouse by @t0rture-me

i love when a whumpee is thrown in a no-win situation, and that’s exactly what danny’s got: being held captive by two vampires who want opposite things from him. if he obeys one the other gets mad. how horribly, terrifyingly stressful. this poor guy. i wanna give him a HUG. he tries so hard. he just doesn’t want to be hurt. but it’s impossible. at least one of his whumpers is kind of nice sometimes.

El (Pumpkin) from Killing, Stalking, Whumping and SPK by @whumpshaped

EL!!!! MY FRIEND EL!!!!! i love them so much. their canon story is absolutely HEARTBREAKING, especially when you have the extra context of spk. all the things they could have accomplished, all the happiness they could have had, snuffed out by a cruel whumper who couldn’t even grant them the glorious type of death they wanted. and then in spk... seeing them recover from all of it, and getting to interweave that with my own story, is amazing. they have a really interesting conundrum where they still have this stockholm syndrome type attachment to their whumper that makes them a cool, unique character.

and the spk version of el has their own blog!! @pumpkin--anon

Haze from Hazeshift by @whumpwillow

haze is the absolute KING of whumper-turned-whumpees. from torturer to tortured, haze was first tortured by a bigger badder villain, and is now imprisoned by the heroes. and though it’s somewhat better here, his former whumpee and his friends are out for revenge and haze does NOT have a good time, though one of the heroes is looking out for him. i find haze really interesting because usually, whumper-turned-whumpee tends to be of the “disproportionate retribution” variety, but haze was FULLY a torturer. brings up some interesting moral questions and makes for great character motivations.

Joy from The Monster of Lindborough by @secretwhumplair

joy is INCREDIBLE. honestly possibly my favorite whumpee of all time? his writing is absolutely immaculate, this story is a masterpiece, i could hype it up all day. joy is just a werewolf who’s trying his best despite absolutely dismal circumstances. he reminds me of this quote from the show russian doll: “You were this tiny seed buried in darkness fighting your way to the light. You wanted to live. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.” i adore his arc so much, where despite everything he manages to win himself safety and love. he’s everything to me.

Rowe from Tomas and Rowe by @whumpzone

tomas and rowe was the first longform whump story i ever got really into, i might even go as far as to say that it got me into whump, and rowe will always hold a very special place in my heart. the fact that the whumping happens DURING the recovery arc is a super unique aspect to this story, and i love how rowe tries to recover and see tomas as a friend & safe person despite also being secretly tortured at the same time. and MOST OF ALL, i love his ending, which i will not spoil, but is incredibly satisfying. seeing him gain that strength was so cathartic. I LOVE ROWE

Wyatt from One Night’s Mistake by @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

AAAAAA WYATT MY SWEET PRINCE.... he’s such a sweetheart, i adore him. i love how he defends maisie even when it gets him hurt. i love how he tries so so hard. i love watching him learn to accept touch in a healthy, platonic way. learning to feel safe again. he’s SO sweet!!!

@whumpmasinjuly

#wij2022 #whumpmasinjuly

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whumpndump · 2 years

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You know what's fun? Mind controlled whumpers.

A whumper completely under the control of a bigger, badder whumper, forced to torture whumpee against their will. Until one day, something happens to the main whumper that causes mind controlled whumper to be freed.

They could snap back to reality mid way through torturing whumpee, slowly looking from the bloodied weapon in their hand, to the shaking person in front of them, before putting together the pieces and going into a confused panic.

Maybe the whole time they were aware of what was happening but unable to do anything to stop it, so as soon as they regain their free will they just throw themself at whumpee, pulling them into a hug and sobbing over and over that theyre so sorry.

How whumpee deals with it is just as fun.

Do they think whumper is trying to trick them? Maybe they believe them, and pity the sobbing confused whumper, seeing a bit of themself in them.

Or maybe they believe that whumper was mind controlled, but do not forgive them for how they hurt them. Perhaps they even think the disoriented whumper deserves a little taste of their own medicine (Whumpee turned whumper, oh what fun!)

Just- big scary whumper suddenly being rendered so vulnerable and broken, and whumpee with no clue how theyre meant to react.

#mind control whump #whump prompts #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump #whumpblr #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #whumpdumps

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octopus-reactivated · 2 years

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Whumpee was captured and every day Whumper came to torment him: whipping, cutting, leaving scars all over Whumpee's body.

Unknowingly to Whumpee, Whumper is prisoner of the bigger, badder Whumper.

Whumper #1 is forced to hurt Whumpee to keep him away from an even worse fate. Whumper#1 can earn bit of food or medicine for Whumpee, and sometimes - to take his punishment, but he’s never allowed to show marks of Whumper’s #2 anger.

And then one day, both Whumpee and Whumper get re-captured by Whumper#3 who does not care about playing games with prisoners, just outright hurts them both.

Of course, Whumpee thinks Whumper got what he deserved and never helps him, and sometimes even tries to get him in trouble. And since Whumper does feel guilty, he never confesses what he was forced to do under Whumper#2

And maybe one day Whumpee learns the truth. Maybe he saw Whumper’s# 2 brand on his cellmate’s chest, maybe Whumper#3 just tells him.

And now Whumpee feels guilty about hating on the wrong person, but is too afraid to apologize.

#whump #whump prompt #captivity whump #guilt

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sideblogformindtrash · 2 years

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I need a bigger badder whumper it's not possible that the worse I can come up with is a discount YouTuber

#pumpkin looking real whumpable rn #i gotta figure what i want to do with him #whump #rambling

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waywardwhump · 4 years

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A whumpee is kidnapped alongside their normal whumper, by a bigger, badder, more sadistic whumper.

The big bad whumper tortures the whumpee far worse than the local whumper ever did, to the point where the local whumper is horrified, and starts trying to get them to stop. Local whumper never wanted the whumpee permanently scarred, and more than that, they don’t want their whumpee dead.

#Whump #Whump the whumper #Tw: torture #Tw: threat of death #Tw: captured #mine

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whumpprompts · 4 years

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What are some motivations that whumpers could have I feel like how i'm writing right now is too two dimensional because he doesn't have a purpose.

Hmm, that’s an excellent question, and the answer isn’t that simple, since it really depends on your plot.

Unless of course you’re writing plotless whump (which I know I have written so many times, ahh, who needs plot when you’ve got pain and blood?) in which case you can just jump over to the generic reasons at the bottom.

I can give you generic reasons for someone to hurt someone else, but my advice here would be to think about your plot, and even more so, the conflict of your story. What is it that your main characters wants? What’s keeping them from getting it?

Basically, purposeful plot points (and that includes whump) connect to the big plot. Purposeful whump, like all other scenes in the story, either slows down your protagonist or helps them on their journey towards their goal — or both at once.

If the whumper is an antagonist, or just generally someone who is trying to keep the protagonist from reaching their goal, you could try to tie the whump to that. The bad guy hurts the good guy because that keeps the good guy from getting to their goal — or because that aids the bad guy in reaching their own goal. How that looks, exactly, depends on your plot, characters, and setting.

For example, your protagonist might want to get to the magic egg to save the city, but the antagonist wants the egg to themselves to sell it for profit. So, the antagonist kidnaps and hurts the protagonist because they don’t want to kill the protag, but just incapacitate them enough to make them useless. Cue whump. Afterward, the protagonist is able to escape, but they’re so injured the antagonist makes it to the egg before them, and now the protagonist needs to both heal as well as figure out a way to get the egg before it’s lost to some overseas buyer with too much money and power. Then, even later, they face off with the antagonist. Because of their lingering injuries, the fight seems hopeless, but as they’re losing, they remember the pain and helplessness they felt while being tortured and decide they won’t be beaten again. With newfound motivation, the protagonist manages to win and gets the egg. They save the city and all’s good.

But take that same setting and change it a little. Now, the antagonist kidnaps and hurts the protagonist because they have nothing better to do. They torture the protag a little, the protagonist escapes, and then makes it to the egg. They’re a little injured, but nothing a bandage around the wounds won’t heal. Then, they face off with the villain, win because they’re basically healthy, and save the town.

The second option could work in certain stories, but generally speaking, option number one is much better, because 1) the villain has a plot-related reason for hurting the protagonist, and 2) the torture has real consequences for the characters and the story.

So basically, if the whump in your story feels two-dimensional and without purpose, chances are, it doesn’t connect to the plot, or at least enough.

Okay, rant over. Now, to the general reasons!

The whumper wants money or other valuables

The whumper wants power

The whumper wants revenge on the whumpee

The whumper wants revenge on someone who loves the whumpee

The whumper wants to impress and look worthy/evil/ruthless in the eyes of an even bigger and badder bad guy

The whumper is bored

The whumper wants to scare the whumpee or someone who loves the whumpee

The whumper is some sort of sadistic person who creates art (etc) by mutilating bodies, live or dead

The whumper is trying to teach the whumpee how to be ”strong” (etc)

The whumper is trying to get information from the whumpee or someone who loves them (but just remember that in real life, torture doesn’t really make the tortured person tell the torturer any real information)

The whumper thinks that hurting the whumpee is showing them love and affection

The whumper is trying to slow down the whumpee

The whumper didn’t want to hurt the whumpee, but they won’t shut up/stay still/etc so they’re ”forced to”

The whumper gets drunk/angry and loses control of their actions

And that’s about all I can think of right now.

Hope this helps!

#writing whump #ask

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whumblr · 1 year

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Rematch

"Come on, you bunch of weaklings!" Whumpee spat, circling the group of fallen gang members. "I can do this all day!"

"Well, that's good to hear."

The calm voice behind him made him instantly turn on the spot. A flicker of fear in his eyes turned to anger.

"You," he snarled. "What are you doing here?"

Whumper, flanked by two of his men, simply shrugged. "When someone's having a brawl on my turf, of course my men would immediately summon me."

He looked down at the slew of bodies in front of him. Distaste crossed over his features. "I assumed it was your call for a rematch?"

He stepped forward, in-between and over the bodies of his fallen crew. Some were still twitching, others scrambled to their feet wiping at the blood on their face, a cruel glint relighting in their eyes focused on Whumpee now that their boss had arrived, but some didn't move and stayed facedown in shallow puddles on the pavement.

When Whumpee however didn't step forward to meet him and, in fact, fell back a step, he raised his eyebrows in understanding.

"It wasn't? Oh, I see. You couldn't stomach the fact that I left you broken in some alley and so you tried to get some of your pride back by beating up my men instead."

He sighed, then shrugged off his jacket, handed it to the man next to him, and started rolling up his sleeves. His chin tilted down and he sauntered forward.

"Well, I'll show you that from some losses, some breaks, there's no coming back."

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @cursedscribbles

#whump #whump drabble #beating #implied beating #impending violence!#whump writing #whumplr #I don't know what this is #gang whump?#bigger badder whumper #my writing

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whumblr · 3 years

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Loose ends

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1 - Continued from Part 30

The phone in his pocket pinged that dreaded tune. The one he couldn’t ignore, couldn’t afford to ignore.

Zayne plunged a hand in his jacket pocket. His mood instantly darkened when he heard the notification. And he’d had such a good time at Jay’s this evening.

He'd hit one of those rare moments where he got Jay begging on his own accord. Jay's mood was usually one of reluctant acceptance so this didn’t happen often. Mostly he'd have to tell him to beg but then the tone was spoiled by anger. When Jay chose to beg, Zayne knew he'd hit the right snare, and it played a tone of beautiful despair.

Twas good to feel in control.

But the text notification brought him right back to earth. Reminded him of his place.

$ $ $ - 18:26 New job for you. Details at 8pm.

Shit. It was 7.30 already. He’d better hurry. The business district was on the other side of town.

Zayne pulled his motor helmet from his head and looked up at the tall, darkened building; only on a spare number of floors a couple of lights were still on and the ground floor’s reception office was brightly lit. Zayne walked in, past the guard who just nodded at him.

He was only allowed to visit at night. The only person he bumped into every now and then was either the janitor or the guard at the reception. People who wouldn’t ask questions. Who probably didn’t even feel the need to ask questions. And if they did, they’d be out the building in a heartbeat.

He knew the way. After the initial meetings, it had taken some time before his employer had been comfortable enough to meet him in his own building again. And before Zayne could use the actual entrance, instead of having to use some back door only used by the garbage collectors. Zayne didn’t know whether the man just didn’t care anymore, had found some excuse and labelled Zayne as an employee or contractor, or whether he was just fed up with having to meet at random places. Probably the latter.

Even if he had been named as an employee, Zayne doubted he'd be on the employee list. As what, exactly? Saboteur? Business opponent strategist? Competition suppressor?

Still, Zayne thought as he walked past the empty offices and dark cubicles, he was probably the number one employee who brought in most of the revenue. Just not in an entirely legitimate way.

Not that he wanted to. And not that he’d ever receive a thank you.

God, how he regretted the day he even got involved in this mess and met this man.

He came to a halt in front of the largest office in the building. Top floor.

He took a deep breathe to calm himself before he knocked. Once inside, he’d have to keep his cool. Stay calm, don’t let him provoke you.

A muffled ‘Yes’ sounded through the door and Zayne entered, stepping inside the luxurious office of Gordon Emery, CEO, owner of the building and the company, and Zayne’s employer for over two years now. Or well… employer? That wouldn’t be Zayne’s choice of words. Maybe ‘exploiter’ was a better term. Asshole extraordinaire even, if you’d ask him.

“You’re late, Zayne.”

Two whole minutes, maybe? Already off to a good irritated start. Stay calm.

Zayne took in the man sitting at the large desk in front of the window, framed by the city lights. He’d probably been stuck to that desk pretty much all day, but he didn’t look it. He sat rigid as a board. His short dark hair was slickly combed back, not a hair out of place. He wore an immaculate dark grey suit with his wine red tie not loosened an inch. And his gaze was as sharp as ever, untainted by fatigue.

Emery hadn’t even looked up when Zayne’d entered, but his cold grey eyes now roamed up, questioning the silence that Zayne left.

Zayne quickly picked up on it. “I’m sorry, sir. I was—“

“With that reporter. Again.”

Zayne froze. He knew better than to ask how he knew, but this wasn’t good.

“I…”

Emery waved a hand. An impatient flick of the wrist that made Zayne go silent immediately. “Don’t. You know I despise liars. Why is that man still alive?”

“Because he’s not a threat. He knows nothing. Not of back then, nor what’s happening now. And certainly knows nothing about you. Sir.”

“He’s a loose end. Everything about that incident two years ago is wrapped up now. Except for him. Take care of it.”

Zayne wet his lips. “With respect… sir. Killing him now will only raise more suspicion. It’s better to leave him be. Besides, he’s not the only—“ he quickly cut himself off.

“What? What was that? Not the only?”

Zayne dawdled, obviously uncomfortable about running his mouth. Fuck this, he should’ve just stuck to the ‘yes sir, no sir’ routine and kept his mouth shut. Now that Jay’s friend, Dennis, was starting to get involved, things started to teeter to the edge of danger again. Jay didn’t know squat. Didn’t even want to know, as far as Zayne knew. He’d tried to see how much Jay knew, but the guy had clammed up. Jay just wanted to block out any memory of the incident and Zayne doubted he was gonna go digging. But Dennis grew more and more suspicious and probably knew more than he’d let on. Probably picked up the trail that was left two years ago and had been the one who called the police, messing things up.

But if he said that… here…

Emery slammed a fist on the desk. “Speak, Zayne!”

Zayne’s eyes slowly slid up to look the man in the eye. A look that, for most people, would send a shiver down their spine. With his head tilted down, his dark eyes flashing in anger slowly glancing up to make direct eye contact. Only now it wasn’t used as intimidation – he knew better here – it only showed his reluctance to answer. This man was not impressed by his dark look.

“I… Jay is…” he strained his brain to come up with anything else. “Jay is not the only loose end. Garrett knows, too.” Well, just a little. Nothing important.

Emery sat back in his leather chair. “I thought your little band was unaware of who employed them. Did you lie to me, Zayne?”

“I had to tell at least one of them where the money came from, otherwise the rest wouldn’t follow.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” the cold voice replied.

Emery’s gaze, fixed on Zayne’s eyes, slid down just a notch to the yellowing bruise on his cheekbone. A small cut, hidden earlier by the dark skin, now broke through and was clearly visible. Zayne winced lightly, as if the sharp gaze actually put pressure on the wound. He cast his eyes down, to the ring on Emery’s right hand that had caught him in a backhanded fist the last time he took too long to answer a question. The man had a short fuse.

Zayne knew better than to falter here, even though he had to suppress a shudder. He glanced up again, feigning a confidence by making direct eye contact.

“No, sir, I did not lie. I told you at the time I would do what was necessary to gain trust. That meant I needed at least one confidant. But I didn’t mention your name.”

A long silence followed.

“I suppose you have a point. You don’t know where Garrett is, do you?”

Zayne shook his head.

“But you do know where the rest of your gang is.”

That unsettled Zayne. With the exception of him and Garrett, everyone had been arrested. They both knew that.

“Where are they, Zayne?” Emery pressed.

“In jail, sir,” Zayne almost whispered.

“And you needed at least one confidant?”

Shit.

“Just one. Just Garret.”

Emery didn’t speak for a few agonizing seconds, but Zayne knew better than to press him. Even though he did not like where this was going. It was easy to throw Garrett under the bus, him not being in the vicinity to contradict this. But the old crew was pure leverage and Zayne didn’t want to put them in any more danger than they already were. The few of them that were left, anyway.

“And your reporter?” Emery finally asked.

“Learned his lesson. Dropped everything to do with that case as soon as he was out of hospital.”

The man hummed. “Maybe I’ll check up on that.”

Zayne opened his mouth to protest, but before he could ask Emery continued.

“To order of business,” Emery changed the subject easily. Too easily for Zayne’s taste after these very subtle threats.

Emery slid a folded piece of paper over his desk and sat back, lacing his fingers together as he watched Zayne pick it up and read it.

“Wait…” Zayne looked up. He recognised the address. “Don’t you own this branch?” That was odd. He mostly struck at property of any competitor who was doing too well. Give them a little setback. Sometimes even random companies where Emery had shorted stocks and could then reap in the profit.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how insurance works. I don’t care how you do it, as long as you leave no traces of it being wilful fire-raising. Short circuit, cigarettes, think of something.”

Yeah, think of something, as if it were that easy. Not leaving any traces was quite hard and would take up quite some time to make sure nothing would raise any eyebrows. Not to mention it was dangerous as he had no one to help him. But Zayne made no protest and slid the paper in his pocket.

“When?” he merely asked.

“As soon as you can arrange for it.” Which pretty much meant ‘within now and three days’, as Zayne had found out shortly after his first task.

“Yes, sir,” he said and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Zayne?”

Zayne stopped and looked back, but the man didn’t speak until he fully faced him again.

“Are you still staying in that old house?”

So much for that secret. “I… yes, sir.”

“It’s being demolished in a few weeks. Find some other arrangements.”

Zayne felt his stomach drop. Other? Like, what? He had nowhere else to go. But adding to the number of favours he owed this man wouldn’t help either. Not when he was so close to getting out. He wouldn’t ask for a replacement. He’d find some solution.

“Of course.”

Continued here

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#whump #angst #bigger badder whumper #intimidation #stoic whumper #power dynamics #implied murder #threatened murder #threats #Zayne #Emery #hiwthi #home is where the hurt is #my writing #moved the tag list down let's see if it still works #experimenting a little #no need to scroll a lot #hmm you though I'd have a story without an evil ceo? think again #man I've had to wait for months to post this and seeing the chapter title up now? *very nice*

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