Andi King didn't know how to play nice, because quite frankly, she didn't like people. She was a loner and that was how she liked it. Especially with a sadistic demon dead set on destroying her and anyone she got close to.
But that all changes when...
"I've been sick and fucking tired of feelin' numb The only thing I want is to give up"
Suffering by Melrose Avenue
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I stared down at the bloody binds on my wrists, wishing I hadn't tried so hard to break them. Struggling had been useless, and now, I was not only bound to a chair next to a man I had never met, but I was in excruciating pain with no chance of escaping. At least not before Meg came back, and even if there had been, I had no idea where I was or what the sleeping man next to me would do if I even managed to break free.
It could have been a trap.
He could have been there to make sure I didn't move. Meg could have been waiting on the other side of the door, waiting for him to let her know that I wasn't following her orders. One wrong move and Dean was dead. Her words. John Winchester was still alive, which meant, at least to Meg, that Dean was fair game and the only leverage she had to get me to play along with her sick and twisted game.
Minutes turned to hours, and I waited as patiently as possible for the man next to me to stir. His calloused hands were bound to the chair as well as his legs, and if it hadn't been for the excessive amount of dirt and blood that stained his clothes, I wouldn't have doubted my suspicions. I was on the fence. He was either a mole, tied up next to me, hoping I would tell him that the Winchesters were after something that could save us all, or he was like me- another casualty of war.
When his eyes finally opened, it took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone, and he stared at me in confusion.
"Where the hell am I?" He groaned, pulling at his binds.
I watched him quietly as he bounced up and down, slamming the legs of his chair against the floor. He may have been a decent-sized guy, but he wasn't going anywhere.
"Who are you?" I finally asked him as he gave up on the tight ropes. At least his jacket gave the thin skin of his wrist protection from the burns I had dug into my own. "What are you doing here?"
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" He shouted at me.
"How do you know Meg?"
"Meg? Who the fuck is Meg?" he spat. I watched him rack his brain for any semblance of a clue, and when his eyes fell shut, and he began pulling and kicking in frustration, I knew he figured it out. "That little bitch!"
"So you do know her?"
He tilted his head as he looked at me, anger flooding his eyes. "Tall? Skinny? Short blond hair?" I nodded. "Yeah, I bought her a drink at Bellamy's two days ago."
"You've been here for two days?"
He glanced around the room, his gaze trailing from the tears in the dingy floral wallpaper to the dirty mattress in the middle of the floor. Wherever we were, I was certain no one had been here in at least a decade.
