Together Until We Die...

Chapter 6

Chris Pronger returned to his two captive Chicago Blackhawk superstars. Patrick looked completely devastated. Pronger stormed up to him and ripped away the tape, silencing him. The dried blood from the Chicago forward had caked around the adhesive material.

Patrick's mouth parted, slightly, allowing him to inhale some fresh air. He was breathing heavily and his head hurt like hell. There was horrible pounding sensation, like someone was hammering him in the skull.

"Are you going to continue to mouth off to me, little Kanerboo, or are you going to behave like a good boy!"

The Blackhawk forward spat at Pronger, furiously. "Go to hell, Prongs!"

The ex-Flyer took a handful of Patrick's blonde locks in his fingers and slammed his head backward, forcing him to gaze at the irritated goon.

"Looks like you are. Now, now, Kanerboo, you need to be nicer."

"You kidnapped and tortured us, drawing blood, piss off!" the shaggy haired goal scored shot.

Pronger cocked his head. He began to cackle, which sent shivers up and down Patrick's spine. "Tell you what. I'll humor you. Riny and I will let you do a photoshoot."

Patrick moaned. "I don't want to!"

"I didn't ask you, little bitch, I'm telling you, because we're going to take some pictures, so that your beloved teammates can see you. We don't want them to fret too much over not being able to see their precious captain and his drunk friend!"

"That was one time, long ago!"

"But we'll make absolute sure to send sweet Sharpy and that bastard Burish the images of their favorite "kids"! After all, Burish started this whole thing!"

"Don't bring Bur into this! He's not a Hawk anymore!"

"But you are all still friends and once upon a time, Burish was a Blackhawk and he was a major asshole who chirped nonstop!"

"Bur was a great player!"

"He accused me of stealing, on live TV!"

"Because you fucking did steal! You stole my fucking game-winning puck!"

Pronger slid his hand down Patrick's head and dug his fingernails into the forward's chin. Patrick flinched, squirming the chair, uncomfortably.

"I already went over this shit with you, Kanerboo, dear."

Patrick worked at the ropes around his wrists, which burned with pain from the tight binding that hold them captive behind his back and the chair. The Chicago Blackhawk couldn't fight it anymore, he opened his mouth wide and screamed at the top of his lungs. He hoped that the walls were paper thin, so that someone outside might hear him or something.