Angel (Daryl Dixion x Reader)

~73~

   Later that night. You'd managed to fall asleep. Some how. Probably because of the seven hours straight in the tattoo chair. Poor Pedro's hand was spent, and had to be cramping up like cement by the time he'd gotten done. But he finished, and you were happy with it. Correction, you fucking loved it. The black shaded angel wings that emerged from your shoulder blades, spread out proud to come up over your shoulders till the tips on them came over to end at your elbows. It was like if your husband's wings had taken to life and spread out proudly across your upper back. It gave you some sense of him with you. It was your personal way of marking Daryl on your body, as permanently as Negan had. It was a plus that they were bigger than the brand that now deeply scarred into your skin. Which was also why you were now sleeping. Deeply. Deeper than you usually did. Which was exactly why, you didn't hear your door creek open. Didn't hear the several sets of foot steps sneak into your room. Didn't know until it was too late. Until hands grab your arms and legs, pinning you to the floor you slept on religiously now. Making your heart lurch into your throat and eyes snap open. Immediately ready to kill whatever moves in your room. They'd left the lights off, and you had foolishly gotten comfortable enough to stop sleeping in your weapons. Couldn't even reach the knife you kept under the pillow beneath your head. A cloth wrenches over your nose, stinging your eyes from the pressure before it's forced into your mouth when you growl at the fearful pair of blue eyes over you. A gag, so you couldn't scream for help. Like you'd do that anyway. "Knock her out." The man holding your legs grunts out as he tries to hold your thrashing and squirming legs. "Do it now! She's getting free!" He seethes in a lispy, panicked whisper yell when your legs in fact start to kick free. Your cheek gets struck with something cold and hard. Not a gun butt. Brass knuckles. Apart of you was worried you wouldn't wake up agian, because these assholes were obviously here to kill you.

You heard their mumbled voices come back before any feeling to your body does. When it does, your rage starts to simmer. Threatening to melt the chains that you'd internally bound it down with. Because you realize from the bite of ice cold air on your skin that you were now stripped damn near bare of your sleep shirt, pants, and even socks. And suddenly you wonder if this was Negan finally doing away with you because of your conversation earlier. Suddenly the adrenaline hits, and so does the rest of your body's function. Able to now feel the scrape of cement against the top of your bare feet and chins. Your head snaps up, and you jerk your arm from the man on the left. He stumbles, and you fall to the side with him. You almost caught your balance, but the man on your right tackles you. Sending all three of you down the cement stairs just outside. You grunt as your ribs, head, arms, legs, and back bark from the sharp cement steps slamming ruthlessly into you. Still, you force yourself to roll over as soon as you hit gravel. Trying to fight the sluggish heaviness of your body. You're tackled by not one but two more men as the other two that's had went down the stairs with you force themselves up with cursing grunts. Their massive weight keeping you pinned on your stomach. "Pin her down." A different voice says as your hands grasp fist fulls of gravel. Clawing for purchase that doesn't take. Your face is slammed into the gravel below and you growl. A feral dark growl of animalistic rage leaving you when loose stone bites into your cheek. "Grab her fucking arms, and do not let go. Break them if you have too-" one starts only to be cut off. "Man, just slit her throat! This is going to far! If Negan finds out-" another starts obviously very afraid, only to be cut off by the man he'd cut off. "Negan. Will. Never. Know." He growls sternly. Your eyes snap up, barely able to make out the man whose boots were dangerously close to your face. One kick and you'd lose all your front teeth down your throat. He didn't kick you though, just looks down at you, and you realized. They thought there was a chance you'd live through this, because he was masked. The only visible thing on him was his eyes. Brown cold glaring eyes. You didn't recognize him by his eyes. Hell, you didn't recognize any of the voices who'd spoken.