Whipped - Drake Merwin x OC

Ripple

     ~~~87 hours, 30 minutes-SAM-~~~
Sam took a deep, steadying breath and plunged his hands into the cement.
Ew.
The kid with the shovel dumped a load of wet, heavy cement into the hole and then poked it down with a trowel.
Ew.
Then half a shovelful and the boy used the trowel to smooth it over and return the excess to the wheelbarrow.
(Seriously, dude? I doubt you need to conserve it.)
Sam knelt there helplessly, hands encased, his brain crazed with wild calculations and desperate plans. If he moved, Astrid would die.
If he did nothing, they would be slaves and Astrid might still die.
It really seemed like fate had some sort of grudge against Astrid.
Or, Lily and Drake did.
"OK, Astrid, your turn," Drake ordered.
Yeah, definitely those two.

Another hole, the same horrifying process.
Astrid was crying, saying,"It'll be OK, Petey," through her tears.
One of the mixers was digging a third hole with quick, practiced moves, slicing the turf with a trowel.
Some faraway part of Sam wondered how many times he'd done it before.
"Takes about ten minutes is all, Sam," Drake said, smirking all the while.
Jesus Christ, name one time this kid wasn't smirking.
"If you're going to do something brave, you've got about eight minutes," he added. "Tick-tock."
The last two words seemed to make him grow colder, twisting the smirk into something sharper, but yet more vulnerable.
"This is how you have to deal with freaks," Quinn was saying. "No choice, Drake."
Sam could feel the concrete hardening.
Already if he tried to move his fingers, he was met with stony resistance.
Astrid was more upset than Sam had ever seen her, crying openly and taking long, shuddering breaths between. Her fear fed his. He couldn't bear it. Sam's own terror was bad enough, but seeing her this scared...
And yet, Astrid wasn't returning his gaze, she was focused entirely on Little Pete. Almost as if she were crying for his benefit, communicating her terror to him.
Of course she was. But it wasn't working. Little Pete was in his game, in another world.

"I think time's about up for you, Sam," Drake said with a laugh that sounded about as real as an air guitar. "Try pulling your hands out. Can't do it, can you?"
Sure enough, he couldn't. That didn't stop him trying again, though.
"Come on, Sam. Even Caine's scared of you, so you must be tough. Come on, show me what you've got."
Drake hit him then, with the barrel of his gun.
Sam collapsed face down in the dirt.
He raised himself up and tugged as hard as he could, but his hands were imprisoned. His flesh itched. He fought against a tide of panic.
Sam wanted to scream curses, but that would only entertain Drake.
Psychopathic bastard.
"Yeah, take it like a man." Drake crowed.
Careful, Drake, your inner sexist is showing.
"After all, you're fourteen, right? So how long till you vacate? It's all just a passing phase here in the FAYZ, right?"
'Oh my god, will that boy ever shut up' was most likely the shared thought of everyone in a concrete block. Seriously. Drake did not know when to quit.
The mixers dug the block out of the dirt, and now, as he tried to stand, Sam felt the terrible weight of the thing. He could stand, but not without struggling.

The countdown in his head had come back, reminding him of how little he had left.
And as much as Sam did not want to admit it...
That debt to be called in would never be repaid.
Dead or worse? Alive and suffering? Sam had no idea what had happened to the girl with the ice like eyes.
And if he was honest, he didn't want to know.
Drake had gotten closer to him.
"Who brought you and the rest of these freaks down? That's right. Me. And me without any powers at all."
Sam thought Lily might have something to say about that, if she were here.
Then again, if she were here, none of this would be happening.
Sam had to stay strong, keep his thoughts under control. There was no point crying over spilled milk...or spilled guts. Something had happened, but it didn't matter.
Sam needed a plan.
Sam had a plan.
Sam's plan was to get a plan.
Sam really needed to get a better plan.

A door slammed, turning Sam's attention to the two kids walking across the lawn.
Caine had a sickening smile, but Diana looked upset. He wondered if it had anything to do with her missing friend.
Caine walked at a languid pace across the lawn,
smiling more broadly the closer he got.
"Well, if it isn't the defiant Sam Temple," he greeted. "I'd shake your hand, but-"
Caine looked pointedly at the concrete block encasing his hands, the block preventing his escape. He laughed then, a sound that seemed more a release of tension than anything else.
"I got him," Drake announced, as though that wasn't obvious already. "All of them."
"I can see that," Caine replied, raising an eyebrow. "Good work, Drake."
Diana looked both sad and angry, like she was close to tears but fighting back harsh words.
"Why don't you give Drake a little scratch behind the ears, Caine, he's been such a good dog," Diana spat, face turning red.
There was something there that Sam didn't know about- something that made her this irritated.
And once again, Sam didn't have time to think about it.
The mixers had dug Astrid's hands out of the dirt, leaving her free to stand up- but she couldn't, not really. She was crying hysterically, unable to stand all the way up. Little Pete went to her, walking as if in a dream, head down over his Game Boy.
Astrid bumped her concrete block into Little Pete.
And suddenly Sam knew what she was doing, knew what he then had to do. He had to provide a distraction, keep the trio's attention firmly on himself and away from the siblings.