Stark And The Spider

The Man In the Shadows and The Plan

(Stark's P.O.V.) (a.k.a. (Y/n))

(Please turn your page setting to black for this chapter, at least for the first part)

The sweet smell of the sedative burns my nose as it finally wears off.

My body aches, as if I'd either ran a marathon or got run over by a bus. I move to stretch, hoping to relieve some of the pain, only to find that I can't move. That's when I notice the cool metal encasing my wrists and ankles.

I start to thrash against the restraints that bind me to the cold metal chair, but it's no use. The metal cuffs cut into my wrists as I continue to struggle anyway, trying desperately to get free.

I take a deep breath, but it burns my lungs. I have to use my brain. There has to be a logical solution to this. I have to think my way out.

But the sedative still hasn't completely worn off and it clouds my thoughts, preventing my ability to come up with a plan.

I'm trapped.

The cold metal of the chair stings like it's burning my thighs. My jean shorts are ripped in several pieces and are covered in blood. Blood of which I don't remember how it got there. My grey T-shirt is no better.

After what seems like hours of struggling, I notice the absence of the familiar weight around my neck. I tilt my head down, trying to feel for it with my chin, but it isn't there.

They took my locket.

I start thrashing again, harder this time. That locket has pictures of me with my friends in it. If they have it, which I am sure they do, they could find my friends. They somehow found me, after all. My friends are in danger.

The metal continues to deepen the cuts on my wrists and ankles, but I keep struggling anyway. As I struggle, and the sedative wears off more and more, I try to remember how I got here. I continue to thrash harder, out of frustration and desperation, as I can't seem to remember anything other than the sickeningly sweet smell of the sedative and the burning of my nostrils as I struggled not to inhale it.

It's only when I hear the door slam shut that I stop thrashing.

I stay as still as possible as I hear heavy footsteps grow louder and louder. Closer and closer.

In the pitch-black room around me, I can't see who those footsteps belong to.

But I have a feeling they can see me.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Step.

They grow closer and closer, and I can't do anything to stop it.

"Well, well, well," a deep scratchy voice calls from somewhere in the shadows. "If it isn't little Miss Stark."

I rally up what little courage I have. "You know me?" I hate the sound of my weak, barely-there voice, and the pain it causes me to speak.

He chuckles, a harsh, brutal, merciless laugh. "Of course I know who you are. I also know who your father is. Or rather, how rich he is."

I knew it. I knew that my identity being revealed was going to get me into some sort of situation where they hold me hostage for ransom. Ransom that no matter how high, my dad is sure to pay.

"I met your father once you know. Should I demand a fortune for your return?" He asks. He laughs that same cold laugh again. "Or should I cause him pain? The same amount of pain that he caused me!"