Grand Theft Autumn

Chapter Eight

Patrick's POV

I was awake when the picture slipped under the door. I was still tied to the chair, so all I could do was stare at it. I could tell it was a picture, and if I squinted, it looked like a person. After a few more minutes, the door opened. I braced myself, but in all honesty, I was not prepared.

Long brown hair. Leather pants. A snarky-know-it-all smile. That familiar face, one that looked so similar to someone else. I let out a breath, and shook my head.

"I should have known." I said simply.

Natasha laughed, and stepped fully into the room.

"You are a smart guy, Stump. I knew you would figure it out at one point." She swooped down and picked up the photo. "Apologies for sliding this picture under the door. I did it for dramatic effect, but then realized that you were a bit... Tied up." Natasha laughed again, and walked towards me. After all these years, she still walked the same way. "But I needed to show you this. I believe you know who this is." Natasha stopped in front of me, and held the picture up so I could see it. "Sorry about the bruises, but some others got to him first."

I squinted at the photo. It was...

"No. Whe- Why-," Pete. Pete fucking Wentz was in the photo, all beat up. There was blood on his cheek, and I fought the urge to reach out to the picture (not that I could, seeing how my arms were tied up). Pete's eyes were closed. "Is he dead?" My voice was hushed.

"No. Just asleep. As soon as I dragged his sorry ass back to his hotel room, he fell asleep. I thought you might want to know that your wannabe superhero is trying- and failing- to find you." Natasha's voice was cold as ice, but also quiet. Quiet enough so I could hear, but cameras that were in the room could not pick up her voice.

I kept staring at Pete's picture. He looked tired, even though he was sleeping. He had a bruise on his cheek, and another on his eye. His lip was cut open, and there was blood spilling onto his chin. His hair was sticking up, in the way he hated. Why was he here? How did he know that I was here? Who beat him up?

Why did Natasha help him?

Natasha pulled the picture away. I looked back up at her.

"I hope you understand what this means." She said, louder now. "You have to pay your dues."

"My dues, as well as Lukas's dues?" I sneered. If the others were watching, I better put on a show. And I was still pissed at Natasha.

My words had the desired effect. Natasha took a step back, and her face hardened.

"Shut up about him." She said quietly. I sneered again. Natasha walked towards me, and slapped me across the face. "Listen. You ran away, like a coward. It is time that you come back, and finish what you started. You belong to us now." Without giving me time to respond, Natasha walked out of the room again, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, I screamed. I screamed and shouted curses at Natasha, even though she couldn't hear me.

After a few minutes, I stopped. I felt tears on my face. They were mocking me. I showed my weakness, and now they would utilize that.

Jesus, Pete. Why did you come here? How did you know that I was here? What have you gotten yourself into?

And why Natasha? Why must they hash up all of these memories, and shove them in my face? Damn, it has been a long time since I had seen her. She looked good, for a person in her position. I could still see that teenager who loved life all those years ago, but now she was burdened by (our) past.

I looked down at the picture that was on the ground. Pete, get out of here. I thought. You have no idea what you are getting into. This is a dangerous place that plays a dangerous game. You could get yourself hurt... More than you are now. Hell, you are going to get yourself killed at this rate. Just... Let me handle this. I don't know if I will ever see you- I cursed myself.

I am talking to myself, again. This place makes me do this, it makes me go crazy. They have not drugged me since they have gotten me here, so that was good. But knowing them, it wouldn't be long.

The door slid open again. I tensed up, and prepared for it to be Natasha. It wasn't.

It was a guy with ugly orange hair, and a bruise on his face. He grinned, and I fought the urge to scoot my chair away.

"Your next mission is comin' up soon." He said. Orange hair cracked his knuckles. "And make sure if you see your lover boy, give him a punch in the face. He has already caused me enough trouble." I grinned in spite of myself. If Pete somehow hurt Orange hair, that was good. But Pete got the brunt of the pain, obviously.

"What is my mission?" I asked. I knew that I would get missions. Usually they were collecting drugs, or collecting money. Low-ranking jobs that could turn deadly in a heartbeat. If I died out on a mission, they wouldn't care. They had me, and I would have paid my dues. Orange hair sneered.

"Like I'd tell you. Hey, look it that. You have something on your face." Orange hair said, getting closer to my face.

"What the fuck are you talk-" I started, but Orange hair spit on me. He spit blood on my face. "Fuck you, bitch!" I screamed. Orange hair only smirked, and walked out.

"Be ready for tomorrow!" Orange hair yelled as he slammed the door shut. I grit my teeth, and strained against the ropes that held my arms. I tried to kick my feet too, but they were still tightly tied to the chair.

"Shit!" I yelled as the chair fell down. I was laying face down on the floor. I shouted in frustration. I know I usually don't curse, or at least I try not to. But here in the gang, it brings the worst out in me. The memories, the people, the drugs. It all brings out the worst in me.

It must have been twenty minutes later, when the door opened. The lights went out first, and I didn't react. I heard footsteps approach me, and I was not in the right position to see who it was. It was so dark, I highly doubted that I could see who it was otherwise.

Someone hauled up my chair so it was sitting correctly. I still couldn't see who it was, but I saw the silver flash of a syringe.

"No." I said, panic rising in my body. "No, no, no, I will listen to what you say, I will do what you want me to do, please no!" My voice started rising. The person ignored me, and brought the syringe closer to me. As it pierced my skin, I flinched, and bit down on my lip. As I tried to hold onto reality, the person who injected me spoke.

"Sorry, about it bud." And I swear to god that it was Lukas.