Romancing the Pain - Part 16
Title: Romancing the Pain
Rating: M (for language and violence)
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
Summary: Post episode 104 as well as my last fic, Come Back to Me. It’s basically its sequel; the events that occur after Silvia was released from the hospital.
A/N: There is NOTHING like a good night out at a country music gig and awards ceremony to boost the ol’ imagination. *chuckles* I was talking to Kekse about my runaway muse; this is why this update is so darn late. Sorry y’all. But hey, I found her! The little shit bolted off and was sitting in my seat sipping a bourbon and coke at the club the gig was playing at. *shakes head* But I suppose I should be grateful she came home with me. And oh man, oh man! What a night out!
There were 5 finalists for the Golden Saddle Awards and after we got to meet and greet with them! I got pictures taken with the artists, I practically blew my bank account to pieces buying merchandise so they’d sign it (it was worth it) and we all mingled after the ceremony ended! *sighs* I swear it was better than getting laid. *pauses and wince* Uh…don’t tell my wives that. I’d be in the doghouse for sure. *scrambles to screen that last comment…whistles innocently* And the main act was Melinda Schneider! She’s one of Australia’s most prominent female country artists…and she signed my dvd cover!! *bounces happily* Can y’all tell I’m hyper happy? Yeah I better shut up now, this A/N is waaay long. Enjoy reading guys!
ROMANCING THE PAIN - Part 16
Three days later
Pepa was hovering in that fuzzy realm between consciousness and sleep, taking sweet refuge from the constant pain that seemed to have become a permanent fixture on her body. The only reason why she didn’t sink deeper into the comforting darkness that sleep offered was because she was petrified at what her captors would do in her vulnerably unconscious state. If they were going to torture her, she wanted to be awake for every punch and every bruise they would tattoo on her already abused body. The brunette had noticed after the first day that whilst they made great use of their fists to redecorate her face and body with bruises, cuts and blood, they were conscious enough to not cause permanent damage. Make her bleed and bruise sure. But it was never enough for the bruises and cuts to take days to heal up. This scared Pepa more than anything, because it most probably meant a build up to something worse.
The brunette was rudely awakened when someone threw a pail of arctic cold water onto her face. Hurled back into consciousness, sputtering and choking on the liquid, the first inane thought that entered her mind was why she did not hear her captor come in. Not that it was relevant. It was just a kick to Pepa’s ego that she had not sensed his presence. The tied woman did not ponder this for long as a second splash of water to her face; its near sub-zero temperature and chips of ice mingling in the liquid, smacked the brunette’s skin with all the ferocity of a belly-flop onto the surface of a swimming pool.
Pepa gasped aloud and gritted her teeth together. The cold quickly penetrated her skin, skimming down to lick at raw nerves with hedonistic pleasure. In response, the nerves howled out its dismay, causing pain to explode throughout the various cuts and grazes Pepa had on her face. Some droplets of water seeped into open wounds, pressing onto damaged skin and tissue with all the gentleness of acid onto naked skin. The brunette hissed in retaliation, sucking in a deep breath to temper down the fireworks of pain that seemed to flit from one wound to another in quick succession.
“Well, well, well. The little bitch is awake.”
Pepa peeled back the eyelid of one eye, the other one having been swollen shut after one of her captors decked her whilst wearing a ring. Her blurry vision had trouble adjusting to the scene in front of her and it took a few subtle shakes of her head before Pepa’s vision sharpened, colors and images solidifying like someone placed a magnifying glass over her eye. She finally made out one of her captors; he was a mountain of a man with a barrel-like chest, endlessly broad shoulders and a shaved head. To say he was intimidating was an understatement. Pepa’s eye zoomed down to the piece of bread he held in his one meaty paw and despite herself, her stomach betrayed her; growling out its displeasure at being denied food for the last few days.
The man picked up on the sound and laughed cruelly; the sound was akin to nails of a chalkboard and as it made its way to Pepa’s ears, the bound woman winced in response. She watched the man warily as he sauntered over to her and bent down close until his nose was level with hers. He sneered at Pepa. “Are you hungry, bitch?” He accentuated his question with a fist to her stomach.
Pepa doubled over as much as her tied frame allowed. She bit the inside of her cheeks, refusing to give him the pleasure of hearing her grunt in pain. She drew in a few deep breaths to calm the dull ache, then straightened. Eye narrowed, she lifted her head…and spat straight into the man’s face.
“Vete al la mierda!” Pepa snarled vehemently. She swung her head forward and cracked her forehead against the man’s nose, watching and hearing in deep satisfaction as the bone snapped under the skin, the beginnings of a dark shadow coloring the skin above the broken bone. She smiled a little wildly as the man howled, dropping the piece of bread onto the floor as he reared back, clutching his now broken nose. Pepa laughed at the sight, despite the fact that it made her ears ring and her dry throat protest.
The man stumbled back a few more steps, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He breathed in harshly through his mouth as he stared at the defiant woman tied to the chair. He caught her cocky smirk and it only inflamed his anger. One hand still gripping his broken nose, he marched over to her and promptly backhanded her in the face. “Maldita puta!” he roared, backhanding her again for good measure.
The man’s knuckles collided with the soft tissue of Pepa’s lip causing the skin to re-split open. Blood flew out from the torn skin, peppering the floor in dark splashes. Pepa felt some pool in her mouth and spat it out, the irony taste making her stomach turn. Her tied hands formed fists, nails digging painfully into her palms against the pain that radiated from the epicenter that was her split lip. The pain screamed and pulsated outwards, rubbing frazzled nerves up the wrong way. Pepa did not have time to recover as the man stretched out a hand to grab a fistful of her hair, wrenching her head back and forcing Pepa to look at him.
“No vales nada cabrona,” he spat out nasally as one hand still gripped his broken nose. “You hear me? You are worth NOTHING. You’re not going to make it out of here alive. Or in one fuckin’ piece.”
And with that he purposely snapped Pepa’s head forward, the momentum forcing Pepa’s chin to smack the top of her chest painfully. The brunette grounded her teeth together, feeling like the top of her spine had been momentarily severed by the man’s brute action. However, she bit back a verbal comeback and made a show of ignoring him instead. She kept her head down but watched with her one good eye as he stalked over to the door, yanking it open before slamming it behind him forcefully. Pepa heard the deadbolt slide shut and knew she was left alone...for now.
*************
Silvia sat down heavily in her chair, having learned very quickly that it simply would be foolish to confront the contents within the envelope whilst standing. She shut her eyes briefly before extending out a hand to drag the brown envelope towards her. She bit her lip as she turned the envelope over, tucking a nail under its flap and sliding it across its length to open it. Hand shaking, she slipped it inside the envelope and closed reluctant fingers around the photograph she knew would be nestled inside. Pulling it out, it was all Silvia could do not to burst into tears.
It was a colored picture of Pepa this time. Purposely developed with color to show Silvia and the precinct just what they were doing with the captured agent. Silvia’s medical eye took in the bruises, the smudges of discoloration that adorned a good three quarters of Pepa’s face. The muscles in her cheek rippled in agitation as the redhead’s gaze landed on Pepa’s swollen eye; the skin around it was so dark and puffy that the eyelid had sealed itself shut of its own accord. Silvia threw down the photograph, unable to take anymore. She did not even want to know the mass amount of bruises and injuries she just knew were under Pepa’s clothes. She had caught the rigidity of Pepa’s shoulders in that photograph. It was the most blatant sign to anybody who knew the brunette that she was in pain.
Silvia tugged a hand through her unruly hair. She did not even bother dusting the envelope nor the picture for prints; she knew she would find none. The first picture had proven that the mafia knew what a forensic inspector’s gambit was; they would leave no evidence for them to find. The pictures were sent simply to torment Pepa’s loved ones. And their device was working effectively. Silvia looked like somebody had taken ten years off her life; her face was pasty and gaunt. Her eyes held none of the spark or life that was normally present in those chocolate orbs. Even her auburn hair had lost its bounce and shine. It hung off either side of Silvia’s face, lackluster and lifeless.
Don Lorenzo bursting in through the lab door almost gave Silvia a heart attack. She whirled around in her chair and pinned her father with a glowering look. He ignored it and waved a piece of paper impatiently between them. “Silvia, we have a lead. We found Pepa’s car!”
Silvia shot off her chair like she’d been stung. “Dondé?” she inquired urgently. She began shedding her lab coat, tossing it onto the desk then marched over to one of the shelves and pulled out a forensics kit case.
“About an hour or an hour and a half outside of town,” Don Lorenzo replied. He watched his daughter meticulously get the equipment ready and couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Silvia was always nothing but prepared. “I got a call from a friend in the tow truck company who said that they got a call from some barkeeper to pick up an abandoned car. He ran Pepa’s license plate through the company database and matched it up to the car’s.”
Silvia nodded and scanned the kit critically once more before bolting it shut. She hefted it off the table and made a beeline for the door. “Let’s go, papa.”
Don Lorenzo followed his daughter out. “I sent Paco ahead to tape off the scene. Hopefully we’ll find something.”
Silvia didn’t answer as she and her father made their way to the garage. All that occupied her troubled mind right now was the fact that they had found something. And something was always better than nothing.
*************
Pepa sighed resignedly as she heard the door open. She braced herself, waiting for the next round of beatings but her breath caught in her throat when a man walked in dressed in an impeccable creamy white suit, complete with a white hat. Her eyes widened involuntarily as her eyes soaked up the vision of El Gordo.
He merely stood by the door, observing her bruised frame then yelled out something in Italian. A glint of mental passed by the threshold of the door and Pepa’s one eye strained to see what it was. Bile rose in her throat when she realized that El Gordo held a seven-inch hunting knife in his hands Pepa couldn’t help but shiver at the sight. She knew she was really in trouble this time. She watched as El Gordo closed the door softly behind him and leaned against it, tapping the blade almost unconsciously against his palm.
“Let’s you and I have a talk, shall we?” He spoke congenially in fluent Spanish.