I can survive it.

Sucking in a deep breath, I nod seriously, my whole body aching, blood dripping down my curves, and agony ripping through my veins. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you…”

They both wait expectantly as I try to make myself look meek and broken, even letting tears fill my eyes, real ones from the hurt. Sucking in another painful breath, my ribs protesting, I belt out, “And I will always love you…” Andrew flinches from how loud I sing.

He backhands me again, cutting me off mid-song, so I spit the blood out and spin back to him. “No? Not feeling it? What about some Metallica? No, what about Tay-Tay? You look like a secret Swifty fan!”

Baldie steps forward, aiming his gun at me. “Make her talk,” he demands. “We don’t have long before they come for her.”

I grin at that. “Franny, they already are, and you’re so fucked. Now where was I? Oh, Tay-Tay—” I start to sing and, with a growl, he rips open the door and storms off. “Wait!” I call. “We were having so much fun, Franny! I didn’t even get to my originals yet!”

Andrew sighs as if he’s disappointed in me. “Roxy, this could have been so easy. You could have died quickly.”

“Yeah, I never liked the easy option. What can I say? I like them hard.” I grin at him.

He rips off that calm mask now, though, and I know I’ve got a world of pain coming. Let’s hope I can survive this shit, because my Vipers are coming, I know that, and if they find me dead…the city wouldn’t survive their wrath.

The time passes slowly, excruciatingly slowly, like the pain flowing through me all over my body. He’s masochistic, not as good as D, but it still does the trick. My screams ring out around us, and tears finally fall, covering my cheeks. Blood pools beneath me, my fingers slippery with it. He pulls some toenails, breaks some toes. He snaps my finger. He stabs, slices, and cuts. He covers my head in a bag and pours water across it until I can’t breathe, until I think I might drown, and when he rips it free, water flows from my mouth to my chest, my lungs burning from the icy liquid.

“Thanks, I was thirsty,” I croak.

He’s trying his hardest. His job and life are on the line if he doesn’t get the information, but here’s the thing…I would die before I betrayed them, before I betrayed anyone who gave me a chance, who was kind to me…and my Vipers?

They love me.

And, weirdly enough, I fucking love them too.

So if I die here, alone in a goddamn nasty room, then so be it. I’ve been flirting with death since I was a kid, and dying for the people you love seems like a good way to go.

Andrew can’t change that. He can break my body over and over again, he can make me scream and cry, he can make me beg for death, but not one word about my men will pass my lips. I think he’s beginning to realise that when he sits back and watches me.

“I have to admire your loyalty.” He sighs. “Irritating, but impressive. Tell me, did they really buy you?”

I nod, wetting my lips.

“So, why the loyalty?” he asks curiously.

“’Cause we started off badly, but now they are my everything.” I shrug. “You know how it is, let’s face it, every romantic story is fucked up in some way. Romeo and Juliet? They were fucking kids, and they died. Don’t even get me started on that atonement, Jesus, I cried like a baby. Loyalty is earned, not bought.”

“And they earned it?” he queries.

I don’t answer, and he nods. “I have to update my boss, think on that.” He stands and leaves, and I watch him go, the slam of the door and click of the lock loud in the dank room.

Have they earned it? His question reverberates in my head.

There is no question we are all messed up and our love is weird…but loyalty? Yes, they earned it, and they will continue to, because I know they will do anything to protect me. Save me. Give me anything I need.

When no one else did, they saw past the attitude and scars, and kept going until they got to me.

I’m not a child or stupid. I know if I betray them they will kill me, even if they love me, but that’s not why I don’t do it. It’s because I couldn’t stand to hurt them that way, even to save my own life, and if that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.

Sometimes in life, you meet people worth dying for, and they are usually the same people who are also worth living for. But you can’t always have both. If all I can offer them now is my silence and death, I’ll do it.

I just wish I could take some of these fuckers down with me.

My men might be criminals and deal in death and power, but when it comes down to it, all they really want is love. A family. I refuse to break that.

They might be my strength, but I’m their weakness.

Just then, an explosion sounds above me, and the whole building rocks as dust falls from the ceiling. I smirk, knowing exactly who it is.

I don’t need no fucking hero to come save me, I can save myself, yet not once did I doubt they would help me, help me save myself, and I was right.

For once, someone didn’t let me down.

And I refuse to disappoint them.

It’s time to get free and meet my boys, then we are killing all these motherfuckers.

Okay, Roxy, time to rock this shit. As more explosions and gunshots go off upstairs, I look around before an idea comes to mind. It’s a stupid fucking idea, but it’s better than nothing. So, rocking from side to side, I build up momentum.

The chair starts to wobble, rocking with me, the creak loud in the room, but it’s drowned out by the fight going on. I swing harder and, with a yelp, the chair falls to the side. Crashing to the floor, I groan as I bang my head, but the chair explodes. I roll onto my back and moan, lying there for a moment. I landed on my left shoulder, which isn’t working. Shit, I think I dislocated it.

Fuck me, John Wick made that shit look easy. He lied, it hurts like a son of bitch, worse than that first cock in the ass.

Sitting up, I notice the chair pieces are still attached to my arms and legs by the wire. Shit. Smashing my wrist into the floor, I manage to get the wood free and then unwrap each wire before doing the same to my ankles. I’m only able to use one hand, since my other arm is hanging funny. I whimper as I peel the barbs away, watching the blood gushing from my ankles and hands. The bitches.

It’s slow going, really slow going, and when I’m done, I’m panting and drenched in sweat. Now to get the door open. Pushing up to stand on unsteady bare feet, I hold my arm across my chest protectively, wincing at the pain racing through me.

Here’s another dumb idea.

“Yo, Franny, you out there?” I scream. “Franny, I’m free, better come get me!”

The door clicks and opens, revealing Franny. When he sees me, he growls and comes at me. Here goes nothing…

I pretend to fall, grabbing the bottom of the chair arm in my good hand, before I leap up as he gets closer and smash it into his stupid face again and again with a scream. He howls and lurches back, trying to block me, his gun dropping to the floor.

I keep smashing until he’s on the ground. Panting, I grab the gun in my other hand and press it to his head. His eyes widen, blood flowing down his face. “Bye, Franny, been nice knowing you.” I pull the trigger. Clutching the gun closer, I groan as I step towards the door.