"Prince Charming's awake." One of the men whispered, nudging one of his companions and laughing. The realization made his stomach sink. The last thing he remembered was trying to be a good Samaritan. If he ever got out of here, he'd make damned sure to never do that shit again... Beyond that, he could vaguely recall dropping Seth off at home, but everything was fuzzy. He couldn't quite recall the sequence of events and trying to remember only made his head hurt worse. What the fuck had he stepped in?
He felt nauseous and before long, he was struggling once more against his restraints. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth and as he struggled to make sure everything was intact, he could only sigh in frustration. "Fuck me..." He mumbled, only to garner harsh laughter and a swift kick in the ribs that forced the air from his lungs. There was a sickening crack and still, he didn't cry out. He could - would - survive. He had to, for Harper's sake.
If he died now, he'd never hear the end of it. Coughing up a gob of blood, he turned his steely gaze upon one of his assailants. "What the fuck do you want from me? Who sent you?" He snarled, dark hues flashing dangerously. "That would be me, sweetie." A demure voice purred from the darkness and like that, his stomach sank yet again. What in the fuck...? He had known his wife was psycho, but this... this was a whole new low. "Let me go, O... Let's talk about this..." He said quietly, trying to figure out where in the fuck his wife was in that godforsaken room.
There was a short burst of harsh laughter, followed by the sound of heels clicking out of the room. He knew then that the chances of him getting out of this in one piece were practically nil but regardless, he tried valiantly to hold out, through the beatings and the various torture methods. Every one of his pain receptors was practically screaming at him to give in, but he ignored them, for the most part. All he could hope for was that somebody would take note of his absence and actually give a damn. His consciousness started to ebb and even though the pain was getting increasingly worse, he still didn't cry out. He didn't give them even the smallest hint of satisfaction, but he could feel himself slipping, slowly but surely.
Ice cold water was dumped on him and he came to with a start, only to be greeted with more harsh laughter. "Oh, no, sweetie... You can't fall asleep yet." Ophelia purred in his ear, biting down gently on his earlobe. "We've got so much more in store for you yet." With that, she snapped her fingers and the men at her command chained him to the floor. Two of the men approached, one with a rat held at arm's length and the other with a metallic container. Once again, he tried to fight his way free, but his muscles felt heavy and overall, he was just exhausted... Perhaps, more exhausted than he'd ever been with three toddlers and a newborn.
As the rat was trapped beneath the metallic container, he shuddered. Why had they needed to use such a foul creature against his skin? He knew what was coming next and he dreaded it. The sound of the rat's squeaking reached his ears and he tried desperately to block out what he knew was coming next. A third fellow started heating up the container and within the span of a few minutes, he could hear - feel - the rat starting to chew its way through his flesh. The smell of blood hit him shortly after the pain started to register. His wife started to caress his face. "Just think, sweetie, it'll all be over soon... And, then, you won't have to put a brave face on anymore nor will you have to worry about where you belong..." She whispered, planting a kiss on his bloodstained lips. Did this bitch ever shut the fuck up?