30(L&S)

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I didn't have it in myself to go with grace,

'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave.

And if I am dead to you, why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed,

Look at how my tears ricochet.

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(Got four votes, so here is the chapter!)

Liam's POV

"Is this it?" Oliver asks, fidgeting.

"Yes," I say, eyeing the small, two-floor cottage in front of me.

"It looks cozy," he says, looking at the gun, putting the safety on and off as I had just taught him to. "Liam," he says, turning towards me, his eyes welled with tears. 

"What is it?"

"I-" he says, looking down, "I don't know in what...condition, Sierra might be in," he says, scratching his wrist.

"What do you mean?"

"Kay-Killian tortured her, Liam. Assaulted her, sexually and physically," he winces, "I don't know the details of it, but she was quite out of it for a few days when she returned," he says.

"Elaborate, for fuck's sake, Oliver!" I say furiously.

"I didn't see it myself, but Caroline told me that Sierra stripped down many times, just putting on the hoodie she brought with her. She thought she wasn't allowed to wear clothes, or speak, or eat without someone ordering her to," he blurts out quickly.

I freeze.

"What?!" I whisper. 

"I know you hadn't seen her that way, so submissive, devoid of life, and I just wanted to warn you. Do you still want to do this yourself? We can still call the police, Lia-"

"No. We're doing this. I can't wait for the police. Killian's an American, I don't know if they even have jurisdiction over him. Who knows what the hell happens?! Do you know how to use the Glock?"

"I-I think so," he says, his light green eyes wide with anticipation.

"Good," I say getting out of the car.


Sierra's POV

"Seems like your friends are here, my slave," Master says, holding my throat in a painful grip, "What did you do, hmm?" he asks too gently, breathing heavily. The half-eaten plate of food is swept from the table, and I wince as it shatters.

"I-I did nothing , master, I promise," I say, clawing at his hand.

"Is that true?" he asks condescendingly, gripping my throat tighter as my vision blackens. I nod lazily, muttering out a 'yes, master'.

"Too bad," he says, and my eyes roll into my head.

When I wake up, my hands are bound above my head, and I am suspended from the ground, my body barely on my feet. I whimper, my mouth gagged as I taste the dry cloth in my mouth. I lazily open my eyes, the room damp, dark, and cold. I hear the slightest commotion above me, and I realize that I am in the basement of this house. The room is similar to the one back in Boston, and tears flow freely as I recall all the memories of pain and assault.

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