Let Hope Burn in Your Eyes [1/?]
Title: Let Hope Burn in Your Eyes [1/?]
Fandom: X-Men
Words: 5,000
Summary: Erik never expected to have to take a kid for ransom, let alone the persistently
annoying Charles Xavier.
Warning(s): Character abuse, Stockholm Syndrome/Lima Syndrome, Underage Character
Erik prided himself in his efficiency for picking locks - even more so for getting in and out of places inconspicuously enough that not a single moment of suspicion was uttered from guards or residents alike.
He stared up the tall and looming walls of the Westchester Mansion, body encased in simple black attire that clung to him as he clung to the shadows. There would be enough things in this mansion that Erik wouldn't need to steal anything else to acquire funding in the next step of his chase for Shaw. He fiddled with the lock on the back door with the small pick-kit he'd bought, opening it whenever the metal bolts gave a satisfying click and the knob turned easily beneath his hand.
There was a family that lived here, yes, but he was well versed in their schedule. The step-children were the only ones likely to occupy the mansion's vast and empty rooms. Erik doubted he would come across either of them - though a chance thought flickered though his head, entertaining the idea of ransoming one of them in order to gain even more money from this wealthy family.
He shook his head, dashing the thought. It would be too hard to search each room and find either one of the children - a boy and a girl in their teens - let alone get them back out without alerting anyone of his presence.
Erik slipped into the house quickly, fingers trailing over random objects and he mentally assessed the things best for him to take. He had a small duffel, but quantity didn't matter much in the face of quality.
Erik stepped into the kitchen, eyes landing on a pantry full of silver and gold encrusted houseware just outside of its entry on the other side. Grinning to himself, the man slipped his duffel from his shoulder, a firm hand twisting the knob and easily breaking the small lock that was most likely installed to keep small children out, not 28 year old man who'd done far worse things in his life than stealing some silverware and a couple trinkets from a mansion that would hardly notice their absence.
"Who are you?"
Erik whirled around, eyes landing on a thin teenage boy clad in pale blue, silk pajamas, his brown hair wild from sleep and a baseball bat clenched in shaking hands. Erik grinned, all teeth, and gestured to the bat.
"Someone you don't want to use that on, I suggest." He responded, moving towards the teen and smiling even wider when the kid jerked back a step and rose his bat.
"Leave my house!" The boy - Charles Xavier, Erik bet - cried angrily. Erik's grin fell into a scowl, dropping his duffel next to the pantry and stepping closer to Charles, crowding the kid up against the wall.
"Don't. Shout." He snapped, voice low and dangerous. He didn't need to deal with some stupid teenager messing up a few hundred dollars that this place would inevitably earn him. Charles didn't seem deterred, and clenched his eyes shut as he took a swing - obviously expecting it to hit like they did in so many action movies. Erik brought a hand up, catching the tip in his palm with a deafening smack. Pain lanced up his hand - but not nearly as much as the man expected.
"You can't expect a bat to do much damage without the right strength behind it." Erik said, jerking his hand and wrenching the aluminum weapon out of Charles' hand. Charles released an undignified noise of startlement, blue eyes wide with terror and mouth opened to scream - most likely for his sister.
Erik twisted the bat around and rammed the blunt end of it into the side of Charles' head before anything else could be done. The kid went down like a sack of bricks, a split in his temple and blood trickling down the side of his face. Tossing the bat down beside the kid's body, Erik went back to his task of clearing out the silverware display.
Finished with that, Erik perused the remainder of the bottom floor before satisfied with the things he'd picked up. He moved to step over Charles' crumpled body on his way out and hesitated. He had enough money to follow Shaw over the border, but from there, Erik wasn't sure how much things cost or whether Shaw would be moving too fast for Erik to earn anything else once he caught a fresh lead. It would do to have a couple thousand dollars at his dispense.
Assuaged by these thoughts, Erik slung the strap of his duffel over his head and let it rest across his chest. He left the bat, but grabbed the teenager's unconscious body and slung it over his shoulder. There were no forms of security at this place, and it seemed that the younger sister was either dead asleep or not at home, because Erik strode out of the mansion down the road to where he's parked the plain blue Elantra that he'd stolen from a parking garage.
Charles remained unconscious in the passenger seat for the entire ride back to the slums and into the shitty motel room two doors down from the very end. Given that it was well past three in the morning, Erik wasn't surprised with the disgusted eyeroll he received from the woman who was standing outside of her room with a cigarette in one hand and the leash for her dog in the other.
He tossed Charles onto the one bed in the room and rummaged about for something to tie him up with. Memory happened to serve him correctly, and Erik found a small bundle of nylon rope in one of his suitcases. Pulling it out, the man set to work on binding Charles' hands together, as well as his upper arms and legs. For good measure, he attached all of them together so one movement would impede the other - given that he wasn't too sure how adamant the teenager would be in escaping. He rolled Charles onto his side, taking a moment to admire pale skin that contrasted sharply with each strand of dark brown hair that hung in the teen's face.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Erik brushed a few locks behind Charles' ear. He couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen, with thin hands (nails worn down to the nubs from chewing, it seemed) red lips and a body that boasted no fat or muscle at all. His body was slumped a tad awkwardly - dried blood smearing a tiny streak of red along the pasty blue pillow of the bed.
Erik stood again, mentally going over a checklist. He had to return to the mansion, deposit a note in the mail slot about the price for Charles' return, and then go about returning the car.(returning it was much less hassle than disposing of it, as long as he remained undetected) He'd have to find a way of securing another one, if this ransom didn't pull through. His Ducati wasn't the best mode of transportation when two individuals were concerned. It would also be best for him to go at least two towns over for pawning off the items he'd gotten from Westchester, to draw away any suspicion of his location.
Before he left, Erik rummaged around in his bags in search of the duct tape he knew he had somewhere. Once found, it was used in great length to tape up the lower half of Charles's face so that no amount of mouth-wiggling could free it enough for him to scream for help.
Satisfied, Erik left the motel a quarter after four in the morning to finish his errands. (The pawn shop would have to be done when they opened in the morning- before news of Charles' kidnapping hit the media.)
By the time he was back, it was just past six thirty and Erik could feel exhaustion creeping at the corners of his vision. He unlocked the motel room, glancing around in surprise to see that Charles' was nowhere in his immediate sight. He grinned a little, stepping into the room and locking the door. He made it four steps in when Erik caught a glimpse of naked toes peeking out from underneath of the bed, sheets brushing the very top of them.
"You do realize there's no fathomable way to hide from me in my own motel room, don't you, Charles?" Erik called out, voice laced with utter amusement. The toes curled and dragged themselves under the bed, pulling a sigh of mild irritation from Erik.
"That's no way to treat your host." Erik chastised, and knelt down to reach under the bed and grasp firmly at a thin ankle. Charles released a muffled cry of fright as Erik wrenched him out from under the bed with a mighty pull, exposing the teen to the dull yellow light of the motel lamps. Charles' eyes were rimmed red as he squirmed against his restraints, yelling something incomprehensible beneath the duct tape.
Erik tutted softly, wagging a finger. "You're not behaving very well, Charles." He warned, letting go of the teen's ankle. Charles attempted to kick out at him, but it was rather futile when his ankles were tied together and the rope attached to his wrists, forcing the teen's back at an awkward bend.
Erik grabbed Charles' foot, slamming it(and the one tied to it) into the ground with enough force to jar a sound of pain from the child. Charles' squirmed, but it did little to make Erik release the punishing grip he had on the appendage. Digging his fingers into the flesh beneath his hand, Erik's smile fell into an irritated scowl.
"Don't fight me, Charles. You're not going anywhere until I get what I want." He snarled, satisfied in the look of utter fright his statement received. He knew that Charles was most likely taking his words in the worst way possible, but Erik did nothing to assuage his fears. There was a moment of blessed silence before Charles' struggles became frantic, trying his damndest to wriggle out of Erik's grasp.
Erik snarled, this time with more anger, and he backhanded Charles so hard that the teen's head whipped to the side, cheek smashing against the dirty carpet with a barely audible thud.
"I said don't. fight me."
Charles ignored him, whimpering and squirming to the point where Erik knew his restraints were probably chafing something awful. Sighing, the man leaned back, reaching behind Charles' to grab the length of rope connecting his wrists to his ankles. With a grunt, he pulled, lifting Charles and tossing him onto the bed - satisfied to hear a shout of pain that the action caused.
Charles' shout cut off when he hit the bed, instantly transforming into another sound of terror. Erik walked around the side of the bed, hand shooting out to slap the teen with even more force in an attempt to still his struggles for unlikely freedom.
"I don't want to hurt you, Charles, but you're making it very difficult for me to do otherwise." Erik sighed, turning to the small bedside table and reaching for the small dagger he kept there. He fingered the tip of it fondly, glancing to see that Charles had stopped his futile efforts.
"Afraid of knives, are we?" He teased, turning to face Charles with the blade pointed at the shaking teen. Charles' eyes darted from Erik's hand to his face, seemingly unsure if he should nod or shake his head.
"You should be." Erik added, stepping towards the bed and bringing it up to press against the underside of Charles' jaw, tracing pale flesh with an almost entranced rapture. Charles clenched his eyes shut, breath huffing nervously through his nose and shoulders trembling when a half-sob escaped the back of his throat.
Erik tutted, dragging the blade across the teenager's flesh and tapping his Adam's apple, which bobbed with every nervous sound Charles emitted. "Don't cry, Charles." He soothed, "I need you alive, after all."
Charles said something, but it was utterly inaudible due to the layers of duct tape wrapped around his mouth. Erik tilted his head to the side, never once ceasing in tracing undefined patterns on the boy's skin.
"I'm not a rapist, Charles." He assured after a moment, drawing back with a sigh and setting the dagger back onto the table. From the corner of his eye, he could see Charles visibly slump against the bed in relief.
"But I am a man with little patience for those who don't listen." Erik added as an afterthought, giving Charles a pointed look. Charles' brows were furrowed in confusion, eyes red with unshed tears and shakes subsiding just a fraction.
"I'm going to take a quick nap. It would be in your best interest not to try and escape - you won't get far." Erik reached forward, torn between the thrill that rushed through him and the guilt that ate at him when Charles flinched back violently. He paused, stroking the back of his knuckles over Charles' cheek in a soothing motion before grabbing his shoulders and shoving him over to one edge of the bed.
"Try not to move too much, I'm a light sleeper." Erik noted, kicking his shoes off as well as shucking his pants and shirt. Charles whimpered when Erik stepped towards the bed again, this time only in his boxer briefs, but the man ignored it in favor of climbing under the covers and shutting off the bedside lamp.
"And don't cry too loudly." Erik muttered, grabbing his cell phone and setting the alarm. Within seconds of putting his head to the pillow, he was fast asleep.
Erik's alarm went off promptly at 8 and the man jerked awake. The sudden movement seemed to startle Charles, because the kid let out a startled shriek and jumped enough that he fell off the side of the bed. Erik laughed - loudly - leaning to the side and peering over the edge where Charles was wedged beneath the bed and the wall.
"Having fun down there?" He teased. Charles' wide eyes quickly transformed into an irritated glare and he snapped some muffled sort of response that Erik couldn't really decipher. Shrugging and chuckling, Erik got up and headed to the tiny bathroom on the other end of the motel room. He paused, turning and peeking over at Charles - who was still trapped against the bed and the wall.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?"
Charles stared back at him for a few long seconds before he hesitantly nodded. Erik hummed low in his throat, turning on his heel and walking back towards the teen. Charles flinched away and Erik ignored it, hauling him up after getting a firm grasp on the rope binding him. Charles squeaked in pain and then in surprise when he was slung over a broad shoulder - forcing a groaned huff of air out of him when it dug into his stomach.
Erik carried him to the bathroom, grunting and using his foot to pick up the toilet seat. He set Charles down none-too-gently, moving the rope out of the way (twisting Charles' arms and legs to the side in order to do so) and reaching the teen's pajama bottoms.
Charles let out a sound of distress and Erik laughed. "I'm not going to untie you, so you'll have to get over it." He said before pulling Charles' bottoms down.
He stood, turning to the side and gesturing for Charles to get on with his business. He caught a glimpse of a petulant blue-eyed glare before staring at the sink. Charles sighed through his nose and a second later Erik closed his eyes to the sound of the teenager urinating.
Silence followed after a few seconds and Charles made another sound to let Erik know he was finished. The man nodded, pulling Charles' pants and boxers back up. He flushed the toilet, hefting Charles back over his shoulder and carrying him out into the main room. Tossing the teen onto the bed, Erik retreated back into the bathroom to use the shower.
He emerged fifteen minutes later, clean-shaven and dripping bits of water with a towel slung around his waist and another one being rubbed through his hair. Making his way towards his suitcase, Erik caught sight of Charles' stare, glancing up and grinning wide at the flushed state of the teen's cheeks. Sure, Erik had his share of scars (who wouldn't, in his line of work) but his body was perfectly fit to keep up with the things his 'job' required. Charles, upon realizing that he'd been caught staring, pointedly looked at the wall.
Erik laughed softly, dropping his towel (and pointedly ignoring the small huff of surprise from Charles) and getting dressed in a pair of jeans and turtleneck. He sat on the edge of the bed, donning socks and shoes.
"I have to finish some errands, but I doubt they'll take very long. If you don't try to escape, I'll bring you back some food when I'm done. Sound good?" Erik glanced over his shoulder, catching Charles' hesitant nod of affirmation.
"Good." Erik stood, grabbing his leather jacket and duffel full of things he'd nicked from Westchester, and headed out. He made sure to throw on the 'do not disturb' sign over the knob - though he doubted the maid service would actually bother- and headed for his Ducati.
By the time Erik had finished his trips to various pawn shops in the nearby towns, he'd brought in nearly three thousand dollars - enough to get him over the border and settled for a few days. It was early afternoon when he stopped at a small diner, ordering lunch for himself and a sandwich for Charles. (though he wasn't even sure if the kid would be allowed to eat it, what with all the sound he made when he WAS gagged)
Stopping at a payphone two streets from his motel, Erik rang up the number for Westchester mansion, surprised when it picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?" A young girl's voice answered, weary and thick with tears. Erik lowered his voice into a deep growl.
"Did you get my message?" He asked, under the impression that Raven Xavier was likely the one he was talking to, and the one who would have found the ransom note in the post that morning.
"Wh- what do you want with him? I don't have any money!" The young girl cried. Erik barked out a laugh.
"I don't want your money, I want your father's money." He shot back, voice nearly a snarl. Raven - probably no older than fourteen- broke down into sobs.
"Ku-Kurt won't listen to me!" She cried, sniffling wetly. Erik's eyes narrowed in frustration and his fist clenched around the edge of the payphone box.
"You'd better make him, if you ever want to see your brother again." He snapped, pulling the phone from his ear as Raven cried into the receiver not to hurt Charles. He hung up with more force than necessary, pausing to calm himself and running a hand through his hair.
He returned to his Ducati, revving it and making the quick drive back to the motel. When he unlocked the door, Erik was more than pleased to see Charles in nearly the same spot he'd left him - this time fast asleep.
Shutting the door was enough to wake the teen, and Erik answered the sleepy-surprised stare by holding up the wrapped sandwich in his hand.
"Hungry?" He asked. Charles hesitated, and then nodded slowly. Erik set his duffel down, locking the door and making his way over to the teen. He set the sandwich down, turning and grabbing his dagger. Charles squeaked, edging away when Erik brought the knife to his face.
"Hold still." The man snapped, grabbing Charles' jaw in strong hands and lifting the knife to the edge of the tape. Charles clenched his eyes shut, snapping them open a second later when he felt the dagger slide between his cheek and the duct tape, sawing it away and uncovering his mouth for the first time in nearly twelve hours.
For a moment, the teen looked like he was about to cry for help, but he was silenced whenever Erik turned the blade to press it warningly against the edge of his skin. Quieting, Charles swallowed thickly and glanced down at the sandwich.
Satisfied with the results, Erik put the dagger back on the bedside table and unwrapped the sandwich.
"Open." He barked, taking the first half and holding it to Charles' lips. Charles eyed him hesitantly before opening his mouth wide and taking a bite. He made a grunt of satisfaction, chewing quickly and swallowing just as face before opening his mouth again - like an infant bird, Erik thought to himself. He fed Charles the rest of the first half and then setting the other half down to stand.
"What about the rest?" Charles blurted, his voice soft and nervous. Erik glanced over at him and then went back to getting something from his duffel.
"Are you not thirsty? I thought you might want some water." He pointed out lightly, grabbing one of the bottles in his bag and waving it around at Charles.
Charles made a soft 'oh' of surprise. "Y-Yes, I'd like that very much, thank you. Sir." Charles licked a sliver of mustard from the corner of his mouth, head instantly tilting up when Erik came over and brought the now-opened bottle to his lips. He drank greedily from it, releasing a small sound to let Erik know when to pull it away.
"Thank you." Charles added again, watching Erik grab the second half of the sandwich.
"You talk too much." Erik answered, feeding Charles the rest of his food in silence. He offered him one last drink of water before capping the bottle and tossing the trash in the bin.
"What's your name?" Charles asked, watching Erik bend to get something else from his bag. Erik grunted noncommittally, standing up with the roll of duct tape.
"None of your business." The man answered, stepping towards Charles and using a few slivers of tape to repair the slice he'd made earlier, once again silencing the teen. Charles looked more disgruntled than anything and Erik patted him fondly on the head.
"Good boy." He said, grinning wide. Charles narrowed his eyes into a glare that was more adorable than menacing and Erik laughed.
"Cute." He pointed out dryly, and then proceeded to grab his duffel and set it on the small table beside the curtain-drawn window. Charles mumbled something inaudible back and Erik paused in the middle of pulling his Glock out. He saw the way the teen tensed when he approached with the gun, but Erik said nothing other than to grab the remote control and flick the television on to some daytime drama.
"There you go, sweetheart." Erik said as he went back to the table and pulled out his Desert Eagle and SR-25 (which hardly ever came into play, much to Erik's disappointment.) Charles had finally fallen silent- either watching whatever soap opera Erik had put on, or watching the man set about cleaning each of his guns meticulously - and Erik was left to his thoughts for the first time since the previous night.
Mentally, he went over the plans he'd set up. Shaw had booked a flight to Jamaica that wasn't scheduled to leave for another two weeks, having a handful of tasks that he needed to see through before leaving the country. That gave Erik ample time, not only to get the money he needed from the random, but to configure a fake ID and passport just for the occasion.
He'd probably need a new wardrobe, given the drastic difference in climate between New York and Jamaica, and it would be wise to find a good weapon's dealer before he actually left. (He needed to put aside a couple hundred for a storage unit here in New York. Erik had grown rather fond of his guns, and his dagger, but he didn't want to deal with trying to sneak them past airport security.)
It was late afternoon when Charles made a distressed sound that drew Erik out of his thoughts.(and his meticulous, unnecessary wiping down of his SR-25's barrel) He glanced up and Charles stared at him imploringly, another incomprehensible sound escaping the teen. Erik sighed, setting his guns down and grabbing his dagger.
"This had better be good." He snapped, "You're going to waste all of my tape." He slid the blade across the tape, nicking Charles' cheek the slightest bit - not that he felt all too guilty, the kid was sure needy for a captive- and wrenching it away from Charles' mouth.
"Ah, not so rough, my friend." Charles winced, licking at his red and swollen lips. Erik gave him a flat look and Charles cleared his throat. "Ah yes. Well. I know I'm a captive and all, but it would be really, really great if you could untie me for a bit. I'm getting a tad stiff, you see an-"
"Shut up." Erik growled, irritation rising as he went to grab the duct tape and silence the teen once more.
"Wait, please!" Charles cried, wiggling uselessly on the bed. Erik turned to stare at him expectantly.
"I swear to you that I won't run. You can keep me tied, if you must. Can you just tie me in a different position? It would be greatly appreciated." Charles pleaded, lips pursed in anticipation and eyebrows as high as they could possibly go - the epitome of innocence.
Erik narrowed his eyes, debating his options before standing up straight. "If you make a single move to escape, I will cut the tendons in your ankles and make sure that you never run again." He snarled lowly, stomping over to grab Charles and roll him onto his stomach.
"Oh thank you. I truly appreciate this. I'm relatively certain of your motives and I really must stress that my step-father is the one-"
"Shut. Up." Erik snapped, untying the knots as quickly as possible and forcing Charles onto his back. Charles brought his hands up, rubbing his wrists and unfolding his legs with a distressed look, hair splayed about his face and gaze imploring at Erik.
"No, you must understand, my step-father is-"
Erik slapped him. Hard.
"I said shut up!" He barked. There was nothing that Charles could say that would stop Erik from trying to get his money, he needed this money, if he was ever going to kill the man who'd so pointlessly murdered his mother. "I don't care what you have to say, I'm not going to let you go, not until I get what I ne- what I want!"
Charles brought a shaking hand up, fingertips tapping the small split on the corner of his mouth. "I understand." The teen said, voice as even it could be with the scared tremble that coursed through him. "I'm not stopping you. I just need you to know that you won't-"
Erik's hands were around Charles' throat in a split second, earning a choked squeak from the smaller male. Charles' hands flew to Erik's, tugging at them in fright.
He squeezed harder, hoping to get his message across. "I have been told all my life that I will never get what I want. I don't need to hear it from some rich, spoiled brat who's never known hardship in his entire life." He hissed, hands tightening when Charles tried to kick at him. It took the teen a moment of airless struggling before he realized that Erik wouldn't let go until he stopped. In that moment, Charles fell blessedly still, hands dropping to the bed and legs going limp. His face was red, eyes starting to bug out just the slightest bit, and Erik released him.
Charles sucked in a great, pained breath that has his entire chest inflating with the effort. The teen coughed painfully, gasping for air and covering his mouth to try and stifle the noise. The shaking was back and Erik sat up to brush his hair back and calm himself.
"I'm sorry." Charles croaked weakly, still struggling to get his breathing under control. Erik straightened his shirt, grabbing the rope that lay about the teen and gesturing at him.
"Give me your hands." He snapped. Charles instantly held his wrists out, letting Erik tie them together. "Feet too." Charles ankles tapped together from the force of which he obeyed Erik's command. Erik brought the rope down to bind them as well, tying the ropes in an old knot that he doubted Charles would know how to undo regardless.
"I trust you not to try and escape." Erik warned, sitting back and staring at the bright red rings around Charles' neck from his own fingers. An odd feeling stirred in his gut and he focused on the boy's face instead. "Do not break my trust."
Charles barely managed a sobbing nod before Erik was bringing the tape back over his mouth.
*Feedback is much appreciated!*
[x] Next
Fandom: X-Men
Words: 5,000
Summary: Erik never expected to have to take a kid for ransom, let alone the persistently
annoying Charles Xavier.
Warning(s): Character abuse, Stockholm Syndrome/Lima Syndrome, Underage Character
Erik prided himself in his efficiency for picking locks - even more so for getting in and out of places inconspicuously enough that not a single moment of suspicion was uttered from guards or residents alike.
He stared up the tall and looming walls of the Westchester Mansion, body encased in simple black attire that clung to him as he clung to the shadows. There would be enough things in this mansion that Erik wouldn't need to steal anything else to acquire funding in the next step of his chase for Shaw. He fiddled with the lock on the back door with the small pick-kit he'd bought, opening it whenever the metal bolts gave a satisfying click and the knob turned easily beneath his hand.
There was a family that lived here, yes, but he was well versed in their schedule. The step-children were the only ones likely to occupy the mansion's vast and empty rooms. Erik doubted he would come across either of them - though a chance thought flickered though his head, entertaining the idea of ransoming one of them in order to gain even more money from this wealthy family.
He shook his head, dashing the thought. It would be too hard to search each room and find either one of the children - a boy and a girl in their teens - let alone get them back out without alerting anyone of his presence.
Erik slipped into the house quickly, fingers trailing over random objects and he mentally assessed the things best for him to take. He had a small duffel, but quantity didn't matter much in the face of quality.
Erik stepped into the kitchen, eyes landing on a pantry full of silver and gold encrusted houseware just outside of its entry on the other side. Grinning to himself, the man slipped his duffel from his shoulder, a firm hand twisting the knob and easily breaking the small lock that was most likely installed to keep small children out, not 28 year old man who'd done far worse things in his life than stealing some silverware and a couple trinkets from a mansion that would hardly notice their absence.
"Who are you?"
Erik whirled around, eyes landing on a thin teenage boy clad in pale blue, silk pajamas, his brown hair wild from sleep and a baseball bat clenched in shaking hands. Erik grinned, all teeth, and gestured to the bat.
"Someone you don't want to use that on, I suggest." He responded, moving towards the teen and smiling even wider when the kid jerked back a step and rose his bat.
"Leave my house!" The boy - Charles Xavier, Erik bet - cried angrily. Erik's grin fell into a scowl, dropping his duffel next to the pantry and stepping closer to Charles, crowding the kid up against the wall.
"Don't. Shout." He snapped, voice low and dangerous. He didn't need to deal with some stupid teenager messing up a few hundred dollars that this place would inevitably earn him. Charles didn't seem deterred, and clenched his eyes shut as he took a swing - obviously expecting it to hit like they did in so many action movies. Erik brought a hand up, catching the tip in his palm with a deafening smack. Pain lanced up his hand - but not nearly as much as the man expected.
"You can't expect a bat to do much damage without the right strength behind it." Erik said, jerking his hand and wrenching the aluminum weapon out of Charles' hand. Charles released an undignified noise of startlement, blue eyes wide with terror and mouth opened to scream - most likely for his sister.
Erik twisted the bat around and rammed the blunt end of it into the side of Charles' head before anything else could be done. The kid went down like a sack of bricks, a split in his temple and blood trickling down the side of his face. Tossing the bat down beside the kid's body, Erik went back to his task of clearing out the silverware display.
Finished with that, Erik perused the remainder of the bottom floor before satisfied with the things he'd picked up. He moved to step over Charles' crumpled body on his way out and hesitated. He had enough money to follow Shaw over the border, but from there, Erik wasn't sure how much things cost or whether Shaw would be moving too fast for Erik to earn anything else once he caught a fresh lead. It would do to have a couple thousand dollars at his dispense.
Assuaged by these thoughts, Erik slung the strap of his duffel over his head and let it rest across his chest. He left the bat, but grabbed the teenager's unconscious body and slung it over his shoulder. There were no forms of security at this place, and it seemed that the younger sister was either dead asleep or not at home, because Erik strode out of the mansion down the road to where he's parked the plain blue Elantra that he'd stolen from a parking garage.
Charles remained unconscious in the passenger seat for the entire ride back to the slums and into the shitty motel room two doors down from the very end. Given that it was well past three in the morning, Erik wasn't surprised with the disgusted eyeroll he received from the woman who was standing outside of her room with a cigarette in one hand and the leash for her dog in the other.
He tossed Charles onto the one bed in the room and rummaged about for something to tie him up with. Memory happened to serve him correctly, and Erik found a small bundle of nylon rope in one of his suitcases. Pulling it out, the man set to work on binding Charles' hands together, as well as his upper arms and legs. For good measure, he attached all of them together so one movement would impede the other - given that he wasn't too sure how adamant the teenager would be in escaping. He rolled Charles onto his side, taking a moment to admire pale skin that contrasted sharply with each strand of dark brown hair that hung in the teen's face.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Erik brushed a few locks behind Charles' ear. He couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen, with thin hands (nails worn down to the nubs from chewing, it seemed) red lips and a body that boasted no fat or muscle at all. His body was slumped a tad awkwardly - dried blood smearing a tiny streak of red along the pasty blue pillow of the bed.
Erik stood again, mentally going over a checklist. He had to return to the mansion, deposit a note in the mail slot about the price for Charles' return, and then go about returning the car.(returning it was much less hassle than disposing of it, as long as he remained undetected) He'd have to find a way of securing another one, if this ransom didn't pull through. His Ducati wasn't the best mode of transportation when two individuals were concerned. It would also be best for him to go at least two towns over for pawning off the items he'd gotten from Westchester, to draw away any suspicion of his location.
Before he left, Erik rummaged around in his bags in search of the duct tape he knew he had somewhere. Once found, it was used in great length to tape up the lower half of Charles's face so that no amount of mouth-wiggling could free it enough for him to scream for help.
Satisfied, Erik left the motel a quarter after four in the morning to finish his errands. (The pawn shop would have to be done when they opened in the morning- before news of Charles' kidnapping hit the media.)
By the time he was back, it was just past six thirty and Erik could feel exhaustion creeping at the corners of his vision. He unlocked the motel room, glancing around in surprise to see that Charles' was nowhere in his immediate sight. He grinned a little, stepping into the room and locking the door. He made it four steps in when Erik caught a glimpse of naked toes peeking out from underneath of the bed, sheets brushing the very top of them.
"You do realize there's no fathomable way to hide from me in my own motel room, don't you, Charles?" Erik called out, voice laced with utter amusement. The toes curled and dragged themselves under the bed, pulling a sigh of mild irritation from Erik.
"That's no way to treat your host." Erik chastised, and knelt down to reach under the bed and grasp firmly at a thin ankle. Charles released a muffled cry of fright as Erik wrenched him out from under the bed with a mighty pull, exposing the teen to the dull yellow light of the motel lamps. Charles' eyes were rimmed red as he squirmed against his restraints, yelling something incomprehensible beneath the duct tape.
Erik tutted softly, wagging a finger. "You're not behaving very well, Charles." He warned, letting go of the teen's ankle. Charles attempted to kick out at him, but it was rather futile when his ankles were tied together and the rope attached to his wrists, forcing the teen's back at an awkward bend.
Erik grabbed Charles' foot, slamming it(and the one tied to it) into the ground with enough force to jar a sound of pain from the child. Charles' squirmed, but it did little to make Erik release the punishing grip he had on the appendage. Digging his fingers into the flesh beneath his hand, Erik's smile fell into an irritated scowl.
"Don't fight me, Charles. You're not going anywhere until I get what I want." He snarled, satisfied in the look of utter fright his statement received. He knew that Charles was most likely taking his words in the worst way possible, but Erik did nothing to assuage his fears. There was a moment of blessed silence before Charles' struggles became frantic, trying his damndest to wriggle out of Erik's grasp.
Erik snarled, this time with more anger, and he backhanded Charles so hard that the teen's head whipped to the side, cheek smashing against the dirty carpet with a barely audible thud.
"I said don't. fight me."
Charles ignored him, whimpering and squirming to the point where Erik knew his restraints were probably chafing something awful. Sighing, the man leaned back, reaching behind Charles' to grab the length of rope connecting his wrists to his ankles. With a grunt, he pulled, lifting Charles and tossing him onto the bed - satisfied to hear a shout of pain that the action caused.
Charles' shout cut off when he hit the bed, instantly transforming into another sound of terror. Erik walked around the side of the bed, hand shooting out to slap the teen with even more force in an attempt to still his struggles for unlikely freedom.
"I don't want to hurt you, Charles, but you're making it very difficult for me to do otherwise." Erik sighed, turning to the small bedside table and reaching for the small dagger he kept there. He fingered the tip of it fondly, glancing to see that Charles had stopped his futile efforts.
"Afraid of knives, are we?" He teased, turning to face Charles with the blade pointed at the shaking teen. Charles' eyes darted from Erik's hand to his face, seemingly unsure if he should nod or shake his head.
"You should be." Erik added, stepping towards the bed and bringing it up to press against the underside of Charles' jaw, tracing pale flesh with an almost entranced rapture. Charles clenched his eyes shut, breath huffing nervously through his nose and shoulders trembling when a half-sob escaped the back of his throat.
Erik tutted, dragging the blade across the teenager's flesh and tapping his Adam's apple, which bobbed with every nervous sound Charles emitted. "Don't cry, Charles." He soothed, "I need you alive, after all."
Charles said something, but it was utterly inaudible due to the layers of duct tape wrapped around his mouth. Erik tilted his head to the side, never once ceasing in tracing undefined patterns on the boy's skin.
"I'm not a rapist, Charles." He assured after a moment, drawing back with a sigh and setting the dagger back onto the table. From the corner of his eye, he could see Charles visibly slump against the bed in relief.
"But I am a man with little patience for those who don't listen." Erik added as an afterthought, giving Charles a pointed look. Charles' brows were furrowed in confusion, eyes red with unshed tears and shakes subsiding just a fraction.
"I'm going to take a quick nap. It would be in your best interest not to try and escape - you won't get far." Erik reached forward, torn between the thrill that rushed through him and the guilt that ate at him when Charles flinched back violently. He paused, stroking the back of his knuckles over Charles' cheek in a soothing motion before grabbing his shoulders and shoving him over to one edge of the bed.
"Try not to move too much, I'm a light sleeper." Erik noted, kicking his shoes off as well as shucking his pants and shirt. Charles whimpered when Erik stepped towards the bed again, this time only in his boxer briefs, but the man ignored it in favor of climbing under the covers and shutting off the bedside lamp.
"And don't cry too loudly." Erik muttered, grabbing his cell phone and setting the alarm. Within seconds of putting his head to the pillow, he was fast asleep.
Erik's alarm went off promptly at 8 and the man jerked awake. The sudden movement seemed to startle Charles, because the kid let out a startled shriek and jumped enough that he fell off the side of the bed. Erik laughed - loudly - leaning to the side and peering over the edge where Charles was wedged beneath the bed and the wall.
"Having fun down there?" He teased. Charles' wide eyes quickly transformed into an irritated glare and he snapped some muffled sort of response that Erik couldn't really decipher. Shrugging and chuckling, Erik got up and headed to the tiny bathroom on the other end of the motel room. He paused, turning and peeking over at Charles - who was still trapped against the bed and the wall.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?"
Charles stared back at him for a few long seconds before he hesitantly nodded. Erik hummed low in his throat, turning on his heel and walking back towards the teen. Charles flinched away and Erik ignored it, hauling him up after getting a firm grasp on the rope binding him. Charles squeaked in pain and then in surprise when he was slung over a broad shoulder - forcing a groaned huff of air out of him when it dug into his stomach.
Erik carried him to the bathroom, grunting and using his foot to pick up the toilet seat. He set Charles down none-too-gently, moving the rope out of the way (twisting Charles' arms and legs to the side in order to do so) and reaching the teen's pajama bottoms.
Charles let out a sound of distress and Erik laughed. "I'm not going to untie you, so you'll have to get over it." He said before pulling Charles' bottoms down.
He stood, turning to the side and gesturing for Charles to get on with his business. He caught a glimpse of a petulant blue-eyed glare before staring at the sink. Charles sighed through his nose and a second later Erik closed his eyes to the sound of the teenager urinating.
Silence followed after a few seconds and Charles made another sound to let Erik know he was finished. The man nodded, pulling Charles' pants and boxers back up. He flushed the toilet, hefting Charles back over his shoulder and carrying him out into the main room. Tossing the teen onto the bed, Erik retreated back into the bathroom to use the shower.
He emerged fifteen minutes later, clean-shaven and dripping bits of water with a towel slung around his waist and another one being rubbed through his hair. Making his way towards his suitcase, Erik caught sight of Charles' stare, glancing up and grinning wide at the flushed state of the teen's cheeks. Sure, Erik had his share of scars (who wouldn't, in his line of work) but his body was perfectly fit to keep up with the things his 'job' required. Charles, upon realizing that he'd been caught staring, pointedly looked at the wall.
Erik laughed softly, dropping his towel (and pointedly ignoring the small huff of surprise from Charles) and getting dressed in a pair of jeans and turtleneck. He sat on the edge of the bed, donning socks and shoes.
"I have to finish some errands, but I doubt they'll take very long. If you don't try to escape, I'll bring you back some food when I'm done. Sound good?" Erik glanced over his shoulder, catching Charles' hesitant nod of affirmation.
"Good." Erik stood, grabbing his leather jacket and duffel full of things he'd nicked from Westchester, and headed out. He made sure to throw on the 'do not disturb' sign over the knob - though he doubted the maid service would actually bother- and headed for his Ducati.
By the time Erik had finished his trips to various pawn shops in the nearby towns, he'd brought in nearly three thousand dollars - enough to get him over the border and settled for a few days. It was early afternoon when he stopped at a small diner, ordering lunch for himself and a sandwich for Charles. (though he wasn't even sure if the kid would be allowed to eat it, what with all the sound he made when he WAS gagged)
Stopping at a payphone two streets from his motel, Erik rang up the number for Westchester mansion, surprised when it picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?" A young girl's voice answered, weary and thick with tears. Erik lowered his voice into a deep growl.
"Did you get my message?" He asked, under the impression that Raven Xavier was likely the one he was talking to, and the one who would have found the ransom note in the post that morning.
"Wh- what do you want with him? I don't have any money!" The young girl cried. Erik barked out a laugh.
"I don't want your money, I want your father's money." He shot back, voice nearly a snarl. Raven - probably no older than fourteen- broke down into sobs.
"Ku-Kurt won't listen to me!" She cried, sniffling wetly. Erik's eyes narrowed in frustration and his fist clenched around the edge of the payphone box.
"You'd better make him, if you ever want to see your brother again." He snapped, pulling the phone from his ear as Raven cried into the receiver not to hurt Charles. He hung up with more force than necessary, pausing to calm himself and running a hand through his hair.
He returned to his Ducati, revving it and making the quick drive back to the motel. When he unlocked the door, Erik was more than pleased to see Charles in nearly the same spot he'd left him - this time fast asleep.
Shutting the door was enough to wake the teen, and Erik answered the sleepy-surprised stare by holding up the wrapped sandwich in his hand.
"Hungry?" He asked. Charles hesitated, and then nodded slowly. Erik set his duffel down, locking the door and making his way over to the teen. He set the sandwich down, turning and grabbing his dagger. Charles squeaked, edging away when Erik brought the knife to his face.
"Hold still." The man snapped, grabbing Charles' jaw in strong hands and lifting the knife to the edge of the tape. Charles clenched his eyes shut, snapping them open a second later when he felt the dagger slide between his cheek and the duct tape, sawing it away and uncovering his mouth for the first time in nearly twelve hours.
For a moment, the teen looked like he was about to cry for help, but he was silenced whenever Erik turned the blade to press it warningly against the edge of his skin. Quieting, Charles swallowed thickly and glanced down at the sandwich.
Satisfied with the results, Erik put the dagger back on the bedside table and unwrapped the sandwich.
"Open." He barked, taking the first half and holding it to Charles' lips. Charles eyed him hesitantly before opening his mouth wide and taking a bite. He made a grunt of satisfaction, chewing quickly and swallowing just as face before opening his mouth again - like an infant bird, Erik thought to himself. He fed Charles the rest of the first half and then setting the other half down to stand.
"What about the rest?" Charles blurted, his voice soft and nervous. Erik glanced over at him and then went back to getting something from his duffel.
"Are you not thirsty? I thought you might want some water." He pointed out lightly, grabbing one of the bottles in his bag and waving it around at Charles.
Charles made a soft 'oh' of surprise. "Y-Yes, I'd like that very much, thank you. Sir." Charles licked a sliver of mustard from the corner of his mouth, head instantly tilting up when Erik came over and brought the now-opened bottle to his lips. He drank greedily from it, releasing a small sound to let Erik know when to pull it away.
"Thank you." Charles added again, watching Erik grab the second half of the sandwich.
"You talk too much." Erik answered, feeding Charles the rest of his food in silence. He offered him one last drink of water before capping the bottle and tossing the trash in the bin.
"What's your name?" Charles asked, watching Erik bend to get something else from his bag. Erik grunted noncommittally, standing up with the roll of duct tape.
"None of your business." The man answered, stepping towards Charles and using a few slivers of tape to repair the slice he'd made earlier, once again silencing the teen. Charles looked more disgruntled than anything and Erik patted him fondly on the head.
"Good boy." He said, grinning wide. Charles narrowed his eyes into a glare that was more adorable than menacing and Erik laughed.
"Cute." He pointed out dryly, and then proceeded to grab his duffel and set it on the small table beside the curtain-drawn window. Charles mumbled something inaudible back and Erik paused in the middle of pulling his Glock out. He saw the way the teen tensed when he approached with the gun, but Erik said nothing other than to grab the remote control and flick the television on to some daytime drama.
"There you go, sweetheart." Erik said as he went back to the table and pulled out his Desert Eagle and SR-25 (which hardly ever came into play, much to Erik's disappointment.) Charles had finally fallen silent- either watching whatever soap opera Erik had put on, or watching the man set about cleaning each of his guns meticulously - and Erik was left to his thoughts for the first time since the previous night.
Mentally, he went over the plans he'd set up. Shaw had booked a flight to Jamaica that wasn't scheduled to leave for another two weeks, having a handful of tasks that he needed to see through before leaving the country. That gave Erik ample time, not only to get the money he needed from the random, but to configure a fake ID and passport just for the occasion.
He'd probably need a new wardrobe, given the drastic difference in climate between New York and Jamaica, and it would be wise to find a good weapon's dealer before he actually left. (He needed to put aside a couple hundred for a storage unit here in New York. Erik had grown rather fond of his guns, and his dagger, but he didn't want to deal with trying to sneak them past airport security.)
It was late afternoon when Charles made a distressed sound that drew Erik out of his thoughts.(and his meticulous, unnecessary wiping down of his SR-25's barrel) He glanced up and Charles stared at him imploringly, another incomprehensible sound escaping the teen. Erik sighed, setting his guns down and grabbing his dagger.
"This had better be good." He snapped, "You're going to waste all of my tape." He slid the blade across the tape, nicking Charles' cheek the slightest bit - not that he felt all too guilty, the kid was sure needy for a captive- and wrenching it away from Charles' mouth.
"Ah, not so rough, my friend." Charles winced, licking at his red and swollen lips. Erik gave him a flat look and Charles cleared his throat. "Ah yes. Well. I know I'm a captive and all, but it would be really, really great if you could untie me for a bit. I'm getting a tad stiff, you see an-"
"Shut up." Erik growled, irritation rising as he went to grab the duct tape and silence the teen once more.
"Wait, please!" Charles cried, wiggling uselessly on the bed. Erik turned to stare at him expectantly.
"I swear to you that I won't run. You can keep me tied, if you must. Can you just tie me in a different position? It would be greatly appreciated." Charles pleaded, lips pursed in anticipation and eyebrows as high as they could possibly go - the epitome of innocence.
Erik narrowed his eyes, debating his options before standing up straight. "If you make a single move to escape, I will cut the tendons in your ankles and make sure that you never run again." He snarled lowly, stomping over to grab Charles and roll him onto his stomach.
"Oh thank you. I truly appreciate this. I'm relatively certain of your motives and I really must stress that my step-father is the one-"
"Shut. Up." Erik snapped, untying the knots as quickly as possible and forcing Charles onto his back. Charles brought his hands up, rubbing his wrists and unfolding his legs with a distressed look, hair splayed about his face and gaze imploring at Erik.
"No, you must understand, my step-father is-"
Erik slapped him. Hard.
"I said shut up!" He barked. There was nothing that Charles could say that would stop Erik from trying to get his money, he needed this money, if he was ever going to kill the man who'd so pointlessly murdered his mother. "I don't care what you have to say, I'm not going to let you go, not until I get what I ne- what I want!"
Charles brought a shaking hand up, fingertips tapping the small split on the corner of his mouth. "I understand." The teen said, voice as even it could be with the scared tremble that coursed through him. "I'm not stopping you. I just need you to know that you won't-"
Erik's hands were around Charles' throat in a split second, earning a choked squeak from the smaller male. Charles' hands flew to Erik's, tugging at them in fright.
He squeezed harder, hoping to get his message across. "I have been told all my life that I will never get what I want. I don't need to hear it from some rich, spoiled brat who's never known hardship in his entire life." He hissed, hands tightening when Charles tried to kick at him. It took the teen a moment of airless struggling before he realized that Erik wouldn't let go until he stopped. In that moment, Charles fell blessedly still, hands dropping to the bed and legs going limp. His face was red, eyes starting to bug out just the slightest bit, and Erik released him.
Charles sucked in a great, pained breath that has his entire chest inflating with the effort. The teen coughed painfully, gasping for air and covering his mouth to try and stifle the noise. The shaking was back and Erik sat up to brush his hair back and calm himself.
"I'm sorry." Charles croaked weakly, still struggling to get his breathing under control. Erik straightened his shirt, grabbing the rope that lay about the teen and gesturing at him.
"Give me your hands." He snapped. Charles instantly held his wrists out, letting Erik tie them together. "Feet too." Charles ankles tapped together from the force of which he obeyed Erik's command. Erik brought the rope down to bind them as well, tying the ropes in an old knot that he doubted Charles would know how to undo regardless.
"I trust you not to try and escape." Erik warned, sitting back and staring at the bright red rings around Charles' neck from his own fingers. An odd feeling stirred in his gut and he focused on the boy's face instead. "Do not break my trust."
Charles barely managed a sobbing nod before Erik was bringing the tape back over his mouth.
*Feedback is much appreciated!*
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