stuff us in boxes that's where you want us

cardboard is boring, we brought our matches - look how it burns

'Because risqué wants you.' The words chilled her to the very marrow of her bone. Her face turns into a deep scowl, her eyes narrow in that way that showed a glimpse of that raging anger that swelled within her chest. She could give a flying fuck what Risque wanted. Harley had been living quite under the radar as far as she was concerned. How many times had she been down this well-travelled road before? She could practically see the fucking wear marks of foot prints. Part of her knew she probably just stormed out into the car, fuck she might as well drove herself. If only she had some warning, she could skip town for a few days and maybe by then Risque would find someone else to fuck with. What she could want with a human, except for eating anyway. Regardless with her pet here to retrieve her, she was left with very few options. Even if part of her knew her defeat was inevitable, it didn't mean she had to quietly. If this was going to be her last night on earth she was going to go out as loud as she possibly could. "I could give a flying shit what she wants." She stated defiantly.

She was grateful that her would be abductor was at least being gentle with her pup. The poor thing was just tossed across the room by Ryker a few months ago. He certainly seemed stronger and faster since after Sterling and her turned back the clock on her dog. But to not enjoy him while he was young again just because some vampire wanted her all of a sudden out of the goddamn blue? It was a load of hot steamy bullshit. It was almost sad watching Ace chow down on his treats, she couldn't help but wonder if that was that last time she would see that cute little tail wag, the way he growled at those snacks as if he declared IM GOING TO EAT YOU, RAAAWR!!

That sadness was replaced with anger. She had plenty to spare too.

So of course, she went for the closest weapon she could wrap her hands around. Of course, it wasn't her father's knife or even a damned steak knife, it was a fucking fork. She was going to fight a werepanther with a fucking fork. Well, she wasn't going to let that deter her. Not that it made any difference at all. But when did that ever stop the raven-haired spitfire, even if all she was doing was wasting all her damn energy on futile attempts? The fork was out of her hand in a flash and before she could even attempt to punch his stupid face, he had her bound. She called him all sorts of words... her finest being weasel fucker ass clown. Probably not the woman's finer moments but it wasn't like she gave a shit what he thought.

With no use of her arms anymore, she decides to use her legs, maybe she would have better luck. She aimed for his junk, trying to knee him anywhere where she could actually get ahead. Yeah, the raven-haired spitfire was only fooling herself. She claimed he was ruining bondage for her now and he seemed to respond with an apology that was as lame as her lost and fallen fork. "Of all the things you're sorry for, your sorry for my sex life. Maybe I should be sorry for your own.. having to please a corpse." Now, now.. that was just low.. she knew it, and she suspected he hated it. She was one to talk but she didn't care if she came off childish. Harley then tried to get him in any way she could, slamming her bound hands into his face or getting a good solid kick in. She kept missing and her anger and dread were only making her hasty.

By the time he merely threw her onto the sofa without breaking a sweat, her chest was heaving and the ropes hurt like hell, especially because she struggled against them. They only dug into her flesh further. He was able to bind her legs. She was fucking hogtied.. he was going to present her to the most psychotic vampire on a ready for slaughter spit. This was not how she wanted to go out.

So she took advantage with Tetradore looming overhead, her eyes a raging violet fire. If looks could kill, he would have been 6ft underground already. She didn't care how bad this would hurt, she didn't care if she split her own head open, she just wanted to make him hurt. She was so sick of being defenseless that any amount of hurt she could inflict was a win in her books. The thud of contact and the exclamation made her smirk.. Ha.. take that.. But that fucking hurt, she nearly winced but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. She felt something wet slide down the side of her face which she could only deduce as blood. Ouch. But his curse was distracting.. those particular words nearly made her laugh, she never thought she would hear the big JC's name and her own uttered in the same breath.

As he rubbed his head where she bashed him, he asked why she had hit him with her head? He really had to ask? Was she really supposed to just take her own demise all ladeeda? He then asked her if she was a ram and she smirked, she wanted to wipe away the blood but with her bound hands, all it did was smear it around. "Something to remember me by." She replied haughtily, all too smug with herself, impervious to his glare. "I am whatever I need to be." She replied almost bitterly to his words about being a ram. She was a survivor, a fighter, this much was true. A ram was definitely not the worst thing she had been called though so she would accept it. Nothing seemed to phase her. "You didn't want to be bashed in the head and I don't want to be served up to a vampire like a pig on a spit, so I guess you get off easy." She said as if insinuating he was lucky she wasn't able to do worse.

She attempted to remove a stray piece of hair that flew into her face, blowing at it in a way that almost looks comical, but it was an annoying raven strand that tickled her nose. He seemed to watch her in a way that was probably eyeballing his handy work but she was too busy trying to blow that annoying strand out of her face. With an awkward shake of her head, she at least rid herself of the strand. But it only made her more aware of how hurt her own head hurt from bashing Tetradore's head.

He lifted her shirt to look at a wound he inflicted what seemed like another lifetime ago, but it still burned in her mind like yesterday. He probably got off on his handy work with his claws. She was so furious, she squirmed as she tried to get away from his touch, even though it was terribly gentle. It was odd because nothing about him seemed gentle. She promised she was going to kill him, but she knew it was an idle threat. She knew it. Especially when she most likely knew she was going to make it passed the evening anyway. What surprised him was how he said she could try, his words soft as if he contemplated his own death. She huffed out a deep exhalation, looking at the drink she barely touched.. the art book splayed on the table she never got to fill the pages of. Then following the of sight to her little black fur ball. He seemed to look at him too as if in some mutual understanding.

"Taken care of?" Her eyes narrowed. "Not gangster taken care of.. I mean, Ace better live the best long damn life ever.." He seemed to understand, which was unbelievable at the moment that this man actually cared, but she wanted this to be crystal. She was still glad that she was able to shoot those messages out, but she sure hoped they reached someone. She knew better than to ask for help.

"Promise me that and I won't kick you." She hated the feeling of being slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. She dreaded every lingering second she got closer and closer to the vampire woman's domain. Before she knew it they were out the door and the cold air assaulted her bare arms. She nearly shivered at the cold bite. He opened the car door with ease, and he thrusts her inside the back seat. "Watch it." I'm not dead yet, she glowered. At least that was one up from the trunk and she wasn't gagged. She tried to situate herself in a way that wasn't entirely uncomfortable, but her wrists throbbed. She eyed him from the tinted window, watching his every move as if trying to calculate something.

"On a scale from 1-10... 10 being the worst. What are my chances of surviving the night?" She asked as he slid in the car. She didn't even really know why she asked but the morbid part of her was curious. Actually, on second thought. Maybe he shouldn't answer her.

"Can you turn on the music?" She asked, maybe the drive didn't have to be terrible. Or maybe she could just make her own music in the form of his seat as a drum set and her volume set to 100. All she knew is, if she had to listen to silence on this unbearable car ride, she was going to lose it.

Harley Westward