after unlocked: a sokeefe fanfic

Chapter 42-Keefe

A/N: just wanted to say super quickly that this chapter deals with a bit of t0rture/bl4des/etc. —I tried not to get very graphic, and I don't know if this will affect anyone, but I just wanted to say so in case.

***

Vespera's bodyguards grabbed his arms, yanking him from Sophie, even as he fought wildly.

"She needs help!"

"It was on stun," Vespera rolled her eyes disinterested. "Honestly, you youth are too dramatic. She's not even dead yet."

Yet.

"I'll kill you," he snarled, lunging for her.

The bodyguards stopped him, holding a sword to his throat.

Vespera chuckled. "So much energy for the girl you love." The smiled vanished. "Take her to the cells, and bring him with us."

They bound his mouth, muffling his protests—and the pleas to not to hurt her.

***

Keefe hadn't helped them.

He didn't know how they tracked them, or found out.

All he knew was that if given the chance, even if his guilt might kill him, he would kill Vespera.

"Why am I here?" Keefe asked, training his expression to be as bored as possible, though he knew that if he looked in a mirror his eyes would be filled with icy fury.

He tried to ignore the glint of steel on the rack in the corner of the room.

"Information." Vespers said simply.

Well, at least now she was talking.

Better than he staring at him.

It was really creepy when she did that.

"Well, you can't read my mind, especially here, so that sucks. Add that to the fact that I won't be gifting up any information, as you say, and we find ourselves at a stalemate."

"Perhaps." She swept her fingers over the knives, not even flinching when the droplet of blood fell from her fingers. "Funny thing about blades. Before their use, victims are stubborn, refusing to go the easy way. After..." she picked up the blade and watched the blood roll down the hilt. "They beg for mercy. And they regret not taking the earlier mercy."

A sick feeling formed in his stomach as she sighed and stepped close. He squirmed.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

"Considering I'm tied up, shirtless, in front of a creepy old lady, who doesn't have feelings, and is currently waving a knife under my chin, yes, I am definitely uncomfortable."

She smiled. "Your sense of spirit is admirable, but unfortunately, it won't keep you from bleeding out."

Her smile turned vicious. 

"So..." he dragged out, ignoring the obvious implication of what had just been said. "Where's Mommy Dearest?"

"Your mother is on a mission. Meaningless one, really, but she is not an empath. She's a liability. She cannot bury her feelings, become numb, like you and I can."

"I don't bury my feelings. Not like you."

"Really?"

"Really?" He mocked, bringing his voice into her imitation.