Love & Bullets (bucky barnes x oc)

18: Pools of Red

Back in the warehouse, the Don grows more and more frustrated that Barnes and the others haven't shown up yet. As you watch him fidget and pace back and forth for the millionth time, you notice his fists hanging from his sides, dangling with each movement. He was never one to be patient, you think to yourself. He stops and stares at you for a moment before storming in your direction.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" This time, his voice is edgy and sarcastic, making it clear he's more than furious.

"Nothing..." You turn your head to the side, instantly regretting having ever looking his direction.

"Bullshit."

He crouches down to your level and smirks, his gaze never leaving your face. He twists a strand of your smooth hair between his fingers, paying no mind to your quivering frame and fearful whimpers.

"Those idiots are about to be late, princess, and you know  I hate waiting..."

All you can do is whimper and cry silently. If they don't show up within the next five minutes, the Don won't hesitate to kill you with his bare hands. Slowly. Mercilessly. Like the monster he is. And yet, you hold on to the sliver of hope that they'll get here in time.

He shifts his hands from your hair to your neck, wrapping his cold fingers firmly around your soft skin. The feeling makes you gag as he squeezes harder and harder, making it difficult to breathe. "Oh, don't pretend you don't like it, princess." The words send shivers down your spine as the past trauma replays in your mind like never-ending flashbacks. He smiles down at you, toying with you, paying no mind to how firm his hold is around your neck.

A tear falls from your eye as you tremble under his abrasive hold. "Be quiet." Don digs into his pockets and pulls out a long black penknife, flicking it open with a gut-wrenching snap. A whimper escapes your lips as you struggle to turn away from the blade.

You recoil in on yourself, desperately trying to lean away from the cold steel. The blade presses against your cheek, making you halt your movements. Pushing down hard, the blade slices into your fragile skin with one swipe of his wrist.

An agonizing cry shoots out of your lips at the stinging feeling. Warm, sticky blood oozes out of the cut, dripping down your cheek and into your lap, leaving a pool of red at your feet. The feeling makes you jerk away, but the Don is faster with his movements, catching a handful of your hair and pulling your head back up towards his. You scrunch your eyes shut at the burning in your scalp.

"Don't fucking move." He whispers violently in your ear, flashing the red-stained blade to your face. "What makes you think you can take away from my fun?" He stares down at you as if you're his possession, like he craves  you.

He flips the blade around with a click and balls his hand into a fist. Taking one final look at your beat-up body, he punches you square in the jaw, knocking your head back with his sudden move. Your vision blurs, ears ringing loudly as you gasp for air.

You spit out a thick glob of blood, tasting the iron-like flavor in your mouth. The blood pours down over your chin, dripping down your thighs. At this point, your skin is covered in red, not a speck left untouched.

The Don smiles down at the mess he made in front of him. There is nothing but pride and satisfaction in his eyes as he watches you struggle to breathe.

The faint sound of movement outside makes his head snap back up. You're too dazed to comprehend anything, ears still ringing from the Don's violent punch.

"And the guests have arrived." The Don flicks his wrist, looking down at the pure gold Rolex sitting on his wrist. "On the dot."

A moment later, the door kicks open and James storms inside, raising a gun in front of him, his finger on the trigger. The moment he sees you sitting on the chair tied up, he sees red. You barely look alive, blood still dripping down your neck. The sight of James gives you a speck of hope, which is all you need to keep you alive. For now.

Quickly absorbing everything in front of him, he analyzes his plan of attack. He shifts his gaze over to the Don, pointing his gun to his head.

Nobody moved. Nobody talked. Nobody did a single thing as they locked eyes with their targets.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally made it." The Don cuts off the silence with his cocky voice. "Glad you could follow this order, Barnes."

He keeps his aim on Don, growling low in his throat, "Shut the fuck up, Don. I know everything you did to her. I know about your marriage, I know all of the fucked up SHIT you put her through. I know it all." He grits his teeth, holding himself back.

"Oh, enough of that. Save the sob story for later, we have work to-"

"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, DON."

You remain still and silent, given the fact that there is a loaded gun pressed to your head, courtesy of the Don himself. "J-James, help me..." You beg, unsure of what you're even asking for.

He looks at you with guilt in his eyes and nods, not saying a single word.

The Don taps his foot in annoyance. "Why don't you put the gun down, Barnes? Either that or I shoot your girl."

Barnes remains still, completely ignoring the suggestion. "Fuck no."

It only takes a second. One lengthy second before the sound of the back door opening fills your ears. They're here. The Don and his men turn around to face it, and James shoots a bullet to Don's shoulder, watching him fall to the ground, gripping his arm in agony. "You're gonna PAY for that!"

The ear-splitting sounds of guns firing fills the room, as bullets fly from one side to the other. All you can do is whimper in silence, unable to move or say a a word under the raining bullets.

You notice a knife flying through the air in a particular style. Romanoff.  You breathe a sigh of relief knowing that the others are fighting for you. James sprints to the other side of the warehouse, huddling behind a pile of storage boxes. Somehow, the Don manages to lift his gun and pull the trigger. On you. It only takes a second before a bullet is wedged right next to the previous one in your stomach.

You scream out at the feeling. A loud wail flying from your lips, filling the room. James hesitates out of sheer panic, but instantly goes back to raining bullets on the Don, trying hard not to miss. In a moment of rage, he lunges forward, gripping him hard by his collar, lifting his feet off of the ground.

Slamming his fist into his face over and over again, he holds nothing back. For the first time in weeks, he lets go, seeing nothing but red.

A pained whimper from behind him, that single sound is reason enough to pound his fists into his face, inflicting maximum damage. He spins around to find you still tied to the chair, now with blood gushing from your stomach and cheeks, down to your neck and legs. He rips off his jacket, tying the sleeves roughly around your wound, struggling to stop the bleeding. His panicked movements make you writhe in pain from underneath him, but he continues anyway.

He grabs the thick ropes binding your hands and feet to the chair and rips them open with his bare hands, freeing you from your prison. As you cry into his shoulder, your blood seeps deep into his clothes, ruining the once-perfect black silk. Not that he even cares.

Without saying a word, he carries you into the car, laying your delicate body on top of his, cradling you like a baby. As everyone rushes into the car, Rogers takes the driver's seat, speeding past every red light on the way to the hospital. James remains silent as he looks down at you from above. Your tiny body is covered in purple bruises and bright red blood. Your once-porcelain skin now a pool of blood and sweat, virtually every inch plastered in cuts and scrapes, some fresh and some from the previous day.

Your eyes flutter shut, giving in to all the pain and blood loss from the past hour alone. James runs his hand across your cheek as gently as possible, doing all he can to comfort you. But you had already passed out, feeling nothing but searing pain throughout your body.