Penumbra

Penumbra 7

Summary: Birdie is taken and Luke will do anything to get her back

Warnings: gang activity, little bit of pain? angst

Word Count: 5.1k

Chapter Song: Pretty When You Cry - Lana Del Rey

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The second the door to the room Luke was supposed to be in opened, and no one was inside, Birdie's heart hammered in her chest. By the time she'd turned, the door had closed and the click of a lock moving into place made Birdie's skin prickle.

Harry had told her he was taking her to Luke's apartment and Birdie had blindly believed him, having never been there herself. The lush penthouse hadn't seemed like much of a stretch now that Birdie knew Luke was in a gang.

The room Birdie was in had floor to ceiling windows but no furniture other than a chair in the centre of the room. It was very ominous.

Birdie ran to the window, looking out as her hands banged against the glass, but she was too high up. She could scream all she wanted, as loud as she could, but the small ant sized specks of people on the streets would never hear her.

She couldn't believe her naivety.

She'd just blindly trusted the man who'd flashed a dimpled smile and said he worked with her boyfriend... well, ex.

Birdie got frustrated at the thought, unable to hold back the idea that if Luke had told her about the gang earlier, she would have been on alert for dark, attractive, suspicious men... especially ones with accents.

But he hadn't told her.

And he hadn't given her any means to protect herself against his life that, evidentially, had chased her when she'd ran.

When the men came in with rope, Birdie didn't even try to fight back.

In fact, she went and sat in the chair. Her body was shaking as they tied her to the wooden frame and the men looked at her with slight curiosity and amusement in their eyes.

Head bowed, tears flowing, Birdie hadn't noticed Harry had entered the room until he squatted in front of her, both hands coming up to cup her cheeks and brush the tears away with his thumbs.

In any other situation, Birdie may have found this to be almost funny. Something about men in gangs wiping away her tears was amusing to her. Her English major head couldn't help but think of all the contradictions, the irony.

"There's my pretty little dove, been all nice and good for my men, 'ave you?" he said, eyes looking into hers with something like concern.

"There's been a mistake." Birdie said.

"Hmmm." Harry hummed, "and what mistake is that?"

"Luke and I broke up, I'm useless-"

"Yes and no little bird." Harry tutted, thumb on his right hand continuing to rub circles against her cheek bone, the cold of his rings brushing her skin with each stroke, "you may have left the sorry sod, but that doesn't make you useless, not to me."

In another context, this would have almost been a sweet sentiment.

Birdie had always wanted to be told she wasn't useless, she supposed every girl enjoyed knowing they had value. Just not this value.

"Here's what we're going to do, love," Harry continued, standing, "going to call your boyfriend and we'll see if he cares enough to come over here and get you himself, how does that sound?"