Had some free time after my midterms. Enjoy!

I used to go to church with my family every Sunday. I suppose that was odd, considering I wasn't exactly on the straight and narrow and was doing things that God would definitely frown upon. I'm sure if my parents had ever been aware of it they would have been sure to sit a few rows away from me so that when I got struck down with lightning they wouldn't accidentally get hit.

The one thing from church that I really retained, was also what my parents would tell me every night after we were put into witness protection. God has a plan for all of us.

Well, my plan hadn't included in staying in witness protection and getting my family killed. My plan also hadn't included being on the run, car chases, explosions, or FBI Agent Ryder Asshole Stevenson.

Ultimately though, I was beginning to believe that God did, in fact, have a plan for me and my life.

I was thoroughly convinced he was trying to kill me.

This latest episode of being thrown into the back of a car was only more proof. The fact that I wasn't dead yet had me wishing God would strike me down already and spare me from this stupid cat and mouse game.

I was getting real sick and tired of being the mouse.

As a matter of fact, I'd rather be the dragon that came in and burned the cat and mouse to a blackened crisp.

I could hear voices around me but I couldn't make out anything they were saying. My head was too fuzzy.

I couldn't tell how long I've been out for. It could have only been ten minutes, or it could have been a couple of days. Vaguely I remember them continuously drugging me every time I began to come to consciousness.

I also vaguely remember getting slapped after I suggested that they take a long walk off a short pier with cinderblocks tied to their feet.

The more I begin to come to consciousness the more annoyed I was becoming. I mean if I really thought about it, this was all Ryder's fault.

I would have been perfectly fine if I'd never been forced to tag along with him. And, he was supposed to be protecting me, but where was he now?

If I have to continue to have him protect me, I'm screwed. I mean really, let's put this into perspective.

He's already lost me three times in less than a week.

He kidnapped-oh, I'm sorry-retrieved me.

I've been handcuffed by him more times than I care to count.

And his fashion choices completely suck.

The only thing left for him to do is to get me killed or kill me himself. That is, if I don't kill him first.

The first thing I notice when I've come to is the hard concrete floor, and the awful lights shining down from the ceiling.

The second thing I take note of is the fact that I've worked myself up so much over how this ultimately is all Ryder's fault, that I'm so pissed off I'm actually hoping for a fight. I need to hit something. And while I prefer that something to be Ryder, I'll take what I can get at this point.

I start to push myself up into a seated position and I'm shoved back down. I let out a sharp breath of air. Oh, I know they didn't just do that.

I shove off the ground and jump to my feet, and I'm once again pushed to the ground, much harder this time, and I can hear people laughing. It's only when I try to find the source of the laughter that I finally realize I no longer have my glasses.

Well, this just gets better and better.

I feel hands grab into my hair and I'm being forcefully pulled to my feet. I'm dragged over to a chair and shoved into it, my hands getting cuffed behind my back.

I'm really beginning to hate handcuffs.

"Took you long enough to wake up," I hear a voice say, but my head is still pounding from whatever they used to drug me. "I was getting impatient." I know this voice . . . "I wanted to make sure you were awake when started to get . . . reacquainted."

I freeze as it all comes back to me, my muscles tense. Panic spreads through me and pure fear ices through my veins. But it can't be true. He's dead. He was killed.

My fears are confirmed when I feel his touch as he brushes my hair back from my face and slides my glasses on over my eyes and I come face to face with him, the very definition of the word monster.

I had been sure he was dead. Now, there were obviously some doubts.

The more I think about it, the more I realize something. I never asked. I never asked for sure if he had been killed on that day I had been rescued all those years ago. I had just assumed when they said anyone left in the building had been killed that he was one of them. That doesn't appear to be the case.

Still, I'm half hoping they've drugged me enough that they've killed me, and I'm now in hell. That would actually make me feel immensely better because that would mean he's stuck rotting in hell with me.

Unfortunately, I already know that's not the case, cause I'm nowhere near that lucky.

"No," I whisper.

He smiles at me, but it's sickening, dark. Once upon a time, I thought that smile was beautiful, until the day I woke the hell up. I just thank God I never made the mistake of ever dating this psycho.

He had always been a very handsome individual. He had a sort of boyish charm that he was frequently using to his advantage. It was only when you got close enough that you could smell the insanity.

"Hello, Nicky," He says softly, leaning down. His hands are on his knees and his face is mere inches from mine. Perfect spitting distance. "Did you miss me?" He asks, that dark smile still in place.

"Has hell frozen over?"

My head snaps to the side as his hand makes contact with my cheek.

In my defense, I have no idea where that answer came from. I know from experience it's better not to answer him. Clearly, my mouth momentarily forgot that fact. But you know something, I don't feel sorry at all. Fearful, maybe, but sorry? Nope.

"It's been a while. Four years, right?" He says as he grabs hold of my hair and pulls my head back. I resist the urge to scream, but I don't resist the urge to spit in his face.

He doesn't appreciate that. For a second I think I'm going to get slapped again, but he only tightens his hold on my hair and wipes at his face.

His eyes begin to wander up and down my body and I can't stop the shudder that goes through me. "You've grown up Nicky," He says, his voice almost wistful.

This is so not good. I never had to worry about him in this aspect before. He used to only want to brutally torture me. Not that that is any better. But he used to view me as a kid, granted when I first started out with the gang I was sixteen and the last time he had seen me I had been eighteen, but he still viewed me as a kid. Not to his taste. Clearly, his thoughts have changed now.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!

I struggle in the chair, trying to get his grip to loosen and just trying to put as much space between us as possible. He laughs and pulls harder on my hair. Tears form in my eyes.

"I want what you stole Nicky," He says in a deadly calm tone.

"It's gone," I tell him and gasp as his hand digs painfully into my thigh. "I donated it all to charity. The orphans thank you."

I'm slapped again. Not surprising. I expected it this time.

"Nicolette," His tone is condescending, bordering on angry. Not good for me. "You should know better than to lie to me." He stares me in the eyes. "You remember what happens when someone lies to me, don't you?"

I can't drown out the screams that fill my head at the memory. The images of blood.

See here's the real problem with this guy, he's an enforcer for the gang. Which also interprets to interrogator, torturer, a monster, psychopath, Satan.

And I know exactly what he's capable of. I never had the misfortune of having him turn any of his little torture instruments on me-came very close one time-but I did witness what he could do. How he could make them scream. How he'd make the blood run across the floor. At the time none of that mattered because I was one of them, I'd never have to suffer that punishment. It mattered now.

Why did I choose to be a hacker? Why couldn't I have chosen something less dangerous? Like a human crash test dummy.

He smiles darkly once again. "Yes, I can see that you do remember. Good, I don't have to refresh your memory then." He gets to his feet and moves over to a table set up against the wall.

It's only now that I actually take a chance to look around at where I am. I appear to be in some kind of factory. I shudder at the thought. I have no desire to find out what any of those machines do.

Unless they make ice cream. In that case, count me in.

Though I don't think you need blades and a huge furnace to make ice cream, but I've been wrong before. Not often though.

I look around at the number of other people in here and grimace. No way I make it out here. Probability zero. Nada.

There's easily another ten people in here with me and him at least.

I'm kind of flattered he thought I'd be this tough to get a hold of. He's way overestimating me though. I'd be lucky to take down one.

He turns and looks over his shoulder at me as he continues to sort through his instruments of death. He then looks to two big goons standing nearby.

"Put her up on that table and strap her down," He orders, gesturing with a nod of his head the empty table set up next to one of the big machines.

Um, no thanks.

The handcuffs are unlocked and I'm hoisted up to my feet. I kick and claw and dig my feet into the floor to keep them from moving me. I'm not making a whole lot of progress.

I'm making enough progress to annoy them though.

Each one had been holding onto one of my arms. One of them lets go and moves around in front of me to grab hold of my legs. The other one keeps hold of my arms and they effortless start to carry me closer to the table.

"No!" I shout as I twist in their grip. I manage to get one of my legs free so I kick the guy in the face. He swears and grabs hold of my leg again.

We get closer to the table. I struggle even more.

"God's going to strike you down for this!" I shout as I continue to twist in their grip but it does no good.

Panic starts to set in once again followed closely by fear. "Let go! Help! Somebody help!"

"Shut her up!" He shouts as he continues with his death toys.

A big hand is clamped down firmly over my mouth. I feel tears beginning to run down my cheeks as I continue to struggle uselessly.

I'm dropped unceremoniously on the table and held down before I can move to jump off. I feel rope begin to cut into my ankles and wrists as more people move forward to help tie me down. Each arm and leg tied to a table leg.

What did I do to deserve this?

I don't actually want an answer.

When they've finally finished tying me down, only the two guys who carried me over stay on either end of the table, watching me to make sure I don't escape. The one still has his hand over my mouth.

I shout curses but it sounds like muffled gibberish.

Suddenly the guy standing by my feet drops to the floor without warning and doesn't get back up. The hand over my mouth is suddenly falling away shortly after the first guy fell as the second one joins him on the floor.

I suck in gasps of air like I haven't been able to breathe until now. Not the case since I could still breathe through my nose.

Everyone's starting in shock at the two guys who collapsed.

"What the hell happened?" He growls, turning to look at me as if this is somehow my fault.

Well, I've got an answer for him. Granted he's not going to like it.

"God struck them down. I warned them."

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