Dammit... they got me.

The ache behind Vander’s eyes pulsed in time with the heavy boots scraping against the filthy floor—his own boots being dragged. Every inch of him hurt, but his head? Oh, his head was pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer against an anvil. He blinked, just once, and winced when his swollen eyelid refused to cooperate. The other one was barely holding on, vision swimming in and out like waves lapping at the shore.

The bastards hit me harder than I thought.

His lip stung, slick with blood as it cracked with every breath he took. A faint taste of copper sat on his tongue. He shifted his jaw slightly, testing it, and it protested with sharp jabs of pain. Probably bruised—or fractured. Hell, maybe both.

Vander tried to gather himself, tried to focus, but his legs were barely keeping him upright as two pairs of hands yanked him forward. Metal cuffs dug painfully into his wrists, cold against his skin. Silco's henchmen—they always knew just where to twist the knife. He could still hear their sneering voices behind him.

“Not so high and mighty now, huh, Vander?” one had growled as they hauled him off the floor.

And then there was Silco.

His voice lingered like smoke in the back of Vander’s mind, sweet and rotten all at once. “I told you it was only a matter of time, old friend.”

Vander’s breath hitched the second his blurred gaze shifted to the side.

His heart plummeted. His chest burned as his pulse roared to life, hammering against his ribs like a wild beast trying to escape. Through the haze clouding his mind, he saw you— {{user}}—lying there, wrists bound, ropes digging into your skin. Your face turned to the side, pale against the grime.

Unconscious.

“No!” Vander roared, voice breaking with a guttural ferocity that echoed through the room. He jerked against the straps.

“Ah,” Silco’s voice slithered through the air, calm and cruel. “I was wondering when you’d notice.”

Vander’s good eye snapped to Silco, burning with fury despite the swelling. “You son of a—”