'Tis Thursday, my dudes. Holy crap, my dad's birthday is tomorrow. I'm going to the drive-ins to watch Greece and Footloose with the fam and my brother's S/O tomorrow, and it's gonna be insane. You guys have any preferences for how you'd like to get to know me? Also, I can't freaking believe how much I'm spoiling you guys with this chapter. They're usually just over 1,000 words. This one is 3,700. I better get some damn good comments.
(3rd P.O.V.)
Derek Hale's phone buzzes loudly from a table littered with various tools, the screen lighting up to show numerous texts from Scott McCall. A man reaches over and clicks the power button, ignoring the messages. Across the room, Derek and Peter Hale are tied, shirtless, to metal fencing. Derek turns his head to glare at his uncle, and Peter gives him a look of confusion and surprise.
"Why are you looking at me like this is my fault?" He snaps at his nephew.
"Because it is your fault." Derek sighs, looking back down at the floor in front of them. No more words are spoken, because the man at the table turns a dial, sending volts of electricity through the werewolves.
"Yeah, you're probably right." Peter pants when it briefly stops. The lights violently flicker as the electrocution continues.
"You see this equipment?" The man from before questions, Spanish accent thick. "Very old. The settings are not quite accurate anymore. So it's hard to tell just how far to turn the dial."
"I think it's a little high." Peter manages to say through gritted teeth, sparks flying around him and Derek. The man turns the dial up further and Peter screams.
"I've seen some crack their teeth. Others, they just shake and shake even after their heart stops. Sometimes we don't even know they're dead." He chuckles and turns the dial off. "But nobody wants to play a guessing game. So, why don't you just tell us? Where is la loba?"
"We don't know where la loba is." Derek pants.
"No? Maybe you need a different method of persuasion? Maybe we cut one of you in half, the other talks?"
"I would love to be there for volunteer," Peter starts. "but we really don't know what you're talking about. And honestly, isn't bisecting people with a broadsword a little medieval?"
"Broadsword?" The Spanish man chuckles. "We're not savages."
Derek looks at his uncle in annoyance as another man off to the side starts up a chainsaw.
"We all wonder how far your little healing trick goes. What do you think? Can you grow back an arm? We're pretty sure you can't grow back your head."
The glare remains on Derek's face as the man holds the chainsaw up to his throat.
"Boys." A woman's voice echoes through the room as she walks through the hanging beads acting as a door. "No tiene que ser tan duro." (You don't have to be so hard.)
The man lowers the chainsaw and turns it off as the woman stalks closer.
"No hablo espanol." Derek mutters.
"Tu hablas muchos idiomas, Derek Hale." (You speak many languages, Derek Hale.) The woman denies with a small grin. "You know exactly what I'm saying. And you know who we want. Where is the she-wolf?"
"We don't know any she-wolf." Derek denies.
"I know you won't talk, lobito." She grins before pointing her knife at Peter. "This one will talk. This one loves the sound of his own voice."
"You should hear me sing." Peter sasses.
"We want to hear you scream." The man from before pipes up.
YOU ARE READING
The Mother of Beacon Hills
Fanfiction//Book 2 in the Mama Hale Series// Lyrica Hale's story continues, 4 weeks after the events that ended so many lives and almost ended more. New friends are made, and aside from the obvious fact that Derek's still not home, all seems to be well. Until...
