burns and bullets

two - two wrongs make one right

and here it starts...

[with a bit of playful zayn because who doesn't need that]

(also, im going to start doing this thing where i dont update until i have 5 votes and 3 comments. sorry guys. call me thirsty) 

Two

two wrongs make one right

—

The place they had chosen was filthy, to say at least; an underground cellar, found on a long walk through the woods many, many years ago. He had made sure his tools were there—which were an old bed with a filthy mattress—

(the blood stains on it revealed that she wouldn’t be the first to be tied to that)

—chains, which didn’t seem too hard to break (his experiences with them proved otherwise), and several devices he had provided himself with—necessary things, to keep her sedated, to gag her, to torture her.

He had meant what he said, before. Why couldn’t he have a little fun with the woman that was going to be chained to this bed in a matter of hours? She was a tasty little thing, he had seen.

And she meant a lot to the Tomlinsons—so they could rot in hell knowing that they failed her. That she was hurt and that they couldn’t protect her because they—were—dead.

Ironic, though, that their precious thing would be chained up here soon enough, on the very same bed with the very same chains he had her chained up with. She was into it—everything. She was submissive, obedient, it was what he needed. She never thought she would enjoy the lifestyle he had chosen for them, but eventually, she learned to do so.

And he would chain her up and fuck her and she would love it. Because even though she didn’t want to admit it out loud, she needed it. She needed someone to be in charge and she needed someone to dominate her.

And now she was gone. Just when she started to get into the routine, just when she knew that this life didn’t mean he loved her any less, just when she knew that this was what she wanted—she was gone.

And he couldn’t kill the man who gave orders, but he could kill the men who had killed her. And so he would take their most precious object, the woman they had been dragging around for years, and he would do to her what he couldn’t do to his wife anymore.

And then, he would kill them.

—

‘And, you craving the pot yet?’

Besides the Tomlinsons, there was one person in the world Katherine could actually call family. Stella, blue-eyed blonde, total bitch, but blessed with the infamous Ryder charm, which is known to woo any man within eyesight. She was nice—

(well, she was to Katherine. With others, greetings were replaced with threats and the statement that she knew at least seven people who could kill you with the blink of an eye)

—and had an excellent timing. The moment you thought about calling Stella, she was already calling you. And—

(unfortunately for the Tomlinsons)

—Katherine thought about that a lot.

‘Honestly? Yes,’ the blonde answered as she lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘But am I going to act upon that urge? No. Isn’t that what they taught you in rehab?’

An annoyed sigh escaped from Stella’s lips. ‘I wouldn’t know. I was way too high to pay attention, most of the time.’—

—yes, Stella Ryder had found a way to sneak drugs into rehab. It wasn’t that hard, if you had the contacts she had.