This is such a bad idea. Her lips are set in a thin line as she eyes the mansion looming in the distance, crouching behind a tree with her hood drawn over her head, hiding Hypatia's flaming red hair, which she's tied back into a single long braid hanging down her back. There is no part of her that wants to be here, but she doesn't have much of a choice. One last job, a payout big enough to get them out, and then they can be free to start living.
At least, that's what she's been telling herself.
The only problem is, the man who owns the opulent property sprawling in front of her has earned a reputation for himself in this city, and it's not a good one. She's good—really good—at what she does, but a little voice in the back of her head says he might be better. It doesn't matter, though. The payout for this job is enough to release her from her debt to a master she never wanted, and enough to get her and her sister both out of this god forsaken city. She doesn't know why the client is willing to pay so much for a fucking ring of all things, and she doesn't care. At least it's something small and easy to get out with.
Hypatia had done her research before coming here. There's a gala in the city tonight, and the mansion's owner is there, whilst she is here. Of course, that doesn't mean getting in will be easy. The security here is top-notch and nothing to laugh about—she just happens to be better. The jammer in her bag is enough to cut communications and the camera feeds, and from there, slinking furtively through the property is tedious but smooth sailing, something she's done so many times now she could do it with her eyes closed.
Once she's managed to shimmy open a window and roll inside, the rest is simple. Whilst the outside of the building is well-guarded, the inside is ghostly quiet; she's certain there's a few members of security somewhere roaming the ground floor, but the upper ones are bare of life, and she makes quick work of finding the stairs. The layout of the manse is not public knowledge, but her client had given Hypatia an extremely detailed description of where to go, and every bit of information proves true, making it easy to make her way to the third floor.
She picks the lock on the set of ornate double doors and lets herself inside, breathing a slow sigh of relief to have reached her destination. A flick of her orange eyes over to the four-poster bed confirms that it's empty of an occupant; another box checked off. And the safe...Hypatia slinks into the adjoining sitting room, looking around quickly and finding the set of armchairs lounging in front of a dark fireplace. In the corner beside the fireplace, an inconspicuous looking vent has a false front, which she pries off with utmost care, revealing the small safe hidden inside.
The only information she doesn't have is the combination.
The only sound in the room is the soft, steady rush of her breathing, and the nearly inaudible clicking of the safe's dial as she works her way through the lock. This one is no simple lock to crack, and a bead of perspiration rolls over her forehead as the seconds tick by, one after another, rolling into one minute and then two. She has time, but still, Hypatia doesn't want to be here a single second longer than she has to. She's down to the last number to decode when the air in the room shifts, charging with a silent energy as a prickle of unease rolls over her spine. She stills, but doesn't dare look over her shoulder yet, her fingers already reaching for the hilt of the dagger at her thigh.
The gala was a necessary evil. Nalik Verlice had never cared to be in the spotlight, it was just an unfortunate consequence of his place in the world - at the top. Whenever he did attend, everyone knew what they were getting. The permanent scowl didn't lighten under party lights and he didn't suddenly become personal with a little booze. Nalik was just as cold and standoffish as he always was. By the time the night came to an end, he was the first out the door, sliding into the back seat of his waiting car. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he squeezed his eyes shut, blowing out an exasperated breath as his driver weaved them in and out of traffic. Pulling at his tie, he loosed it before undoing the top button of his dress shirt, releasing some of the rigidity that was ever present.
Returning home brought a sense of peace to the tycoon. Home was his sanctuary, a place away from prying eyes and those seeking to get as much as they could from him. Climbing the steps to his bedroom, he worked the buttons of his tux and shirt, pulling the soft, ivory material from his waistband until it hung open in the front and loose around his hips. Any hopes of taking a hot shower were dashed the moment he stepped into his bedroom. Even in the dark, he knew he wasn't alone. The faintest of perfumes hung stagnant in the air and if he listened hard enough, he could hear the harsh rasp of a nervous breath. Green eyes immediately hardened, his temper unfurling its vicious wings. He reached first for a handgun that was tucked conveniently behind a piece of furniture. Clearing his room silently, Nalik stepped into the small sitting room and immediately zeroed in on the dark figure hunched over his safe.
His very obscure safe.
So few new of its location that he immediately knew someone close to him had betrayed him. A tic in his jaw was accompanied by the soft flick of him switching the safety off. Leveling the glock at the intruder, he fingered the trigger - there'd be less questions if he shot them in the chest versus the back. "Your family will pay for your mistakes here tonight." The low rasp of his voice seemed loud in the tense silence. His threat is loud and clear. Unafraid, Nalik steps closer, because in this proverbial den, he is the lion. Most of the time, his reputation precedes him, which was largely why few were so bold as to cross him. Though a small part of him is impressed, breaking into his fortress was no simple feat - something he would keep to himself.
Emerald eyes watched for the slightest twitch of movement, preparing for a fight. The intruder wasn't a large man by any means, even hunched over in an attempt to crack his safe. Dark clothes hugged a lithe physique and he questioned whether this person was a man at all. "Get up." There was no denying the command in his voice, the gravelly tone that expected compliance, because who dared to defy him?
By the time she hears the unmistakable click of a safety being flicked off, her dagger is already stowed in her sleeve, cool against her flushed skin. "Your family will pay for your mistakes..." It's a laughable threat, considering all she's already been through, but Hypatia isn't stupid enough to laugh; she does, however, roll her eyes whilst she still has the cover of her hood to obscure her expression. Hypatia Baines is a ghost—she doesn't exist. He's welcome enough to go digging, and her records will paint a colorful story that's little more than a wild goose chase, meant to buy herself time specifically for situations like this one. There isn't a single real thing about her connected to her name.
"Get up," he demands, his voice closer this time. Her breathing is slow and steady, intentionally controlled despite the anxiety roiling in her gut, and Hypatia cautiously unfurls her fingers and raises her hands to shoulder height on either side of her complicity. The rest of her follows, rising smoothly from her crouched position and turning to face Nalik fucking Verlice, a gun pointed steadily in her direction. Her eyes flick to the barrel that promises her death if she makes one wrong move, and then her gaze shifts to his face, boldly meeting his glare without balking. Her expression is tense and unreadable as she takes him in, her eyes shifting down in an assessing manner, though her perusal hitches ever so slightly at the sight of his exposed chest and abdomen where his shirt hangs open, revealing a somewhat terrifying amount of toned muscle. Her surprise only reveals itself in the single second that her eyes stop traveling, and then Hypatia catches herself and finishes her perusal, all the way down to his shiny black dress shoes that probably cost more than everything in her entire wardrobe. Sweeping her stare back up his tall frame, she finds his harsh green eyes again with unfaltering accuracy and arches one narrow eyebrow.
She doesn't move, not even to shift her weight nervously when standing in front of the barrel of a gun; whilst she seems obedient now, the stubborn set of her jaw and the fact that she hasn't tried to say a single word suggest her compliance has a short fuse. Hypatia isn't cornered prey, but another sort of predator, and when trapped between a rock and a hard place, she's guaranteed to lash out. But she's learned over the years how to harness that aggression, how to hold onto it to benefit her in sticky situations. This might be her stickiest yet, but she doesn't have a bullet in her chest, so there's still a light at the end of the tunnel. She's just hoping he'll make the one vital mistake of getting too close to her.
This intruder is not the first to attempt to steal from him. And Nalik isn’t naive enough to believe it’ll be the last. They are, however, the first to be ballsy enough to enter his home in quite some time. He had made a brutal example of the last thief that entered his home uninvited and whispers had spread through the city. Clearly it was time for another message, another example. Strong jaws clenched against the deep sigh that wanted to express his annoyance. Nalik didn’t crave violence, he didn’t actively seek it, at least not your typical violence. He didn’t enjoy a good fist fight, he was long past his years of brawling to blow off steam or exert his power. Nowadays, Nalik leveled his enemies in boardrooms and if that didn’t work, he had a secondary room for them. One that resided in the belly of the basement of this mansion. One that allowed him to be as meticulous as he liked. Visiting that very room tonight had not been on his agenda. He’d been looking forward to climbing into bed after a night of unwanted socializing. Not spending hours in his basement. He had shit to do tomorrow.
The intruder stood, slowly, with their hands up in surrender. What he didn’t expected was to be looking at a woman. If he was capable of giving credit where it’s due, he might have thought that was the reason to managed to sneak her way in here. Nalik meets her unwavering stare with the same stubbornness. She breaks eye contact first, her eyes traveling down his exposed front, pausing for only a fraction of a moment like he wasn’t entirely what she expected. Well on his way to fifty, Nalik doesn’t look as old as he is. Call it good breeding or a lifetime spent diligently taking care of himself, the results were the same. Nalik is fit, his body well toned, each ridge of muscle promising more than just looks. Continuing her perusal all the way down to his shoes, she meets his stare again, this time with an arched brow.
With his gun still pointed at her chest, she doesn’t cower. She remains entirely silent and if he were to judge the set of her jaw, he doesn’t believe that she’ll be compliant for long. It’s his turn. Emerald eyes leave her shadowy face, scanning her from head to toe. Even in the dark, she was attractive. Weren’t they always? Her clothes were dark, likely cheap - obviously she needed the money if she was here. The material hugged her enough so as not to snag when she made her escape but not nicely enough to be made just for her. ”Who sent you?” He didn’t expect the truth. Just like he was waiting for her to make her move. All in good time though, she’d give him the answers he wanted, whether she wanted to give them up or not. Nalik made no effort to get closer, he’d rather her strike first, to reveal whatever weapon he is certain she’s carrying. Most would find this whole scenario alarming but Naliks heart beat just as steadily as it always did against his ribs. His chest rose and fell with even breaths, like this was just another day for him.
If looks could kill, Hypatia might have combusted from the venom in his stare alone. But even with the positively murderous look on the man's face, she doesn't balk or cower or tremble; if she's set to die tonight, it will be with fury in her heart, not fear. She watches his scrutinizing stare pass over her, acutely aware that his finger is still a hair's breadth away from the trigger of the gun aimed between her breasts—one toe out of line could have her bleeding out on the floor faster than she can blink. Hypatia hasn't accepted such a dark fate for herself yet; she's calculating, her mind racing through the possible scenarios that will get her out of this alive.
When those dagger sharp eyes find hers again, she meets his stare evenly, anticipating a slew of questions before he's even asked the first one. He's smart enough to know she isn't operating on her own, which comes as no surprise, and Hypatia shrugs slightly—the only movement she's made. "Someone who doesn't like you very much, probably," she deadpans, her tone dry. She isn't stupid; giving up her employer will only succeed in putting targets on her back in addition to the one currently aimed at her front. Willingly giving him information won't earn Hypatia any mercy—in the circles they run in, such a crime only results in being made an example of until you're begging for the knife.
Neither of them move, locked in a stalemate of stubborn wills. She imagine it usually works—waiting out his target until they do something stupid, but Hypatia has far more patience than her male counterparts. Nalik has every advantage in their current scenario; she's just bait dangling on a line, utterly defenseless until the moment he invades her space. She doesn't doubt he can see it—the gleaming look of self preservation in her eyes that suggests there are few lines she won't cross to save her own skin. This is a stalemate, not her submission.
Her answer is a smart ass one. While her tone is dry, she still jabs at him. Her unwillingness to share the name of her employer would soon dissolve though. She wasn’t leaving here tonight without answering his questions. Not that she’d be leaving at all. Surely she knows that? Still, she doesn’t falter, that defiance doesn’t leave her stare. Self preservation is bright and alive in her fiery stare, it tells him that she’ll do anything to get out of here alive. She’s not going downstairs without a fight.
Despite his earlier irritation, there’s a twisted excitement in this prospect. Again, his stare dips down her body, but this time he is looking for something. The slight bulge of a holster. The length of a barrel. The ridge of a blade. If she is willing to stand her ground, then she has to be armed. It would have been foolish on her end to come here unarmed, no matter how good she thinks her hand to hand combat is. She is still a woman.
”Knife or gun?”
Theres faint amusement in the question. Does she think herself faster than him? Pulling a gun now would result in her untimely death, and a mess on his bedroom floor that he didn’t want to deal with right now. A blade would ensure close quarters, something she shouldn’t desire with a larger opponent. Unless she is so overconfident in her abilities.
Stepping closer, its his every intention to force her to show her hand. He intends to play on her self perseverance by forcing her to act. Nalik’s emerald stare is sharp and cunning, a merciless gleam lurking in the shadows. He is every bit of his reputation. No one survives being the focal point of Nalik Verlices bad side. Tomorrow, she’d be nothing more than a Jane Doe in the wind. A shame he thought, briefly. It’s her mistake really, agreeing to this contract, agreeing to come and steal from him.
His cool stare slips down her plainly-dressed body again, this time less perfunctory than before; her lips press together, but Hypatia says nothing, offering no shift of her muscles to suggest her discomfort beneath his scrutinizing glare. Her right thigh holster is empty but only partially visible, her faux leather jacket hanging over the top half of the sheath and obscuring the presence or absence of a blade's handle. It's the only notable place on her person to house a weapon, but there are others—hidden more discreetly in her boots, and a small blade in a holder beneath her shirt that rests against the small of her back.
"Knife or gun?"
Hypatia simply quirks a brow, meeting his gaze head on and refusing to say anything. As he steps closer, her fingers instinctively flare, as if to stop his approach—though he doesn't get near enough to touch her anyway. The slight flare of her nostrils implies her unease, and she finally sighs as though conceding, her shoulders relaxing slightly. Without breaking his stare, Hypatia lowers herself, her hands still raised as her weight drops slowly onto the balls of her feet, thighs resting on the backs of her calves. Her right hand remains deliberately extended from her side as she reaches her left into the soft leather of her boot, pulling out a glinting silver knife.
She rises just as cautiously, flipping the the handle from her palm and catching the blade as she does so. Like a peace offering, Hypatia extends her arm towards him, holding the dagger out to him hilt-first.
Nalik doesn't honestly expect an answer to any of his questions. He's taking the time to study her. Watching the way she remains still, too still - she's uncomfortable. As she should be. She is caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. The noose around her neck tightens with each passing second. Her brow quirks, hinting at her attitude, her inability to yield to anyone but herself. He bet she'd break so pretty.
When he moves closer, her nostrils flare subtly. She doesn't like his proximity. Well she'd be better get used to it. He plans on being a lot closer. When she finally does move, his eyes narrow marginally. Each movement she makes as she lowers into a crouch, her hand slowly moving to her boot. She reveals a blade. An offering as she hands it to him, hilt first. For a moment, he simply stares. His distrust is immediate, but he doesn't give her even a hint of his suspicion. Thats not her only weapon. He's certain of it. A slow step brings him closer, his peripherals focusing on her free hand. This gift she is offering, it isn't free. Experience, years of it, tells him she's looking for an opportunity. A chance to gain the upper hand and make her great escape.
Too bad he has no intention of letting her do any such thing. His gun lowers as he crouches down in front of her, mimicking her pose. With his gun pointed at the floor between his parted thighs, he continues to watch. Finding what he is looking for, he reaches for her weapon.
Everything he does, he does with a vicious speed and merciless precision. Rather than grab just the hilt, his palms wraps entirely around her own, pinning the blade between their palms. Immediately he bends her wrist up towards him, giving a slight jerk forward, just enough to knock her off balance. He means for the action to force the point of her own knife into the softness of her forearm. Simultaneously, his other hand, still gripping his gun, flies up, intending to chin check the fuck out of her. All the while, his expression does not change. Nalik is just as chillingly detached as ever.
A shiver ripples down her spine.
The second he begins to shift, so does she. Hypatia opens her fingers rapidly, allowing the blade to tumble from her grasp and clatter to the floor, and an instant later, the heat of his palm is on her skin, closing an ironclad grip around her hand. At this point, the safest place for her is up close and personal with her enemy, so when he jerks her forward slightly, she uses it to her advantage, shoving the heels of her boots into the carpet and propelling herself into him; Hypatia's head swings forth with velocity, attempting to slam her forehead into the bridge of his nose.
The altered angle of her face and body means that the back of Nalik's knuckles collide with her mouth instead, hard enough to have her gasping and immediately tasting blood, but misplaced to manage knocking her out. Hypatia has no intention of going down that easily. In their flurry of movement to gain the upper hand, her free arm swings down, dropping the dagger hidden in her sleeve into her palm, which she aims to stab mercilessly into the brachial plexus of his left shoulder. It would have been wiser, probably, to aim for his neck and just be done with it, but actually killing anyone leaves her with a sick feeling in her stomach that she tries to avoid. Paralyzing his arm, even temporarily if she hits her target, would be more than enough to break free of him and get the fuck out of here. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but desperate times...
She’s faster than he gave her credit for. Smarter too. She drops the knife before he can grab it or her. It’s a decoy. It’s not her only weapon if she’s so willing to abandon it. He pieces it together with a lethal efficiency, learning more and more about her with each passing moment. The blade clatters to the floor. They both ignore it, leaving it abandoned on his bedroom floor. This isn’t her first job and it definitely isn’t the first time she’s been caught. She came here prepared for the worst. He almost cracked a smirk, the corner of his mouth very nearly lifted. Whoever had hired her, spared no expense, they wanted her success. It made him curious about her. Who was she? Why hadn’t he heard of her? Her skill set could be valuable.
For a brief moment, he considered keeping her. A pet. One with the propensity to bite. But one that could play. Willingly or not.
When he jerked her forward, she embraced it, shoving off and into him. She came in with a fury, her desperation for survival making her brazen. He sees her coil back before slamming her head forward, boldly attempting to headbutt him Tucking his chin, she lands her forehead against the upper portion of his forehead. It still hurts like a motherfucker. Bone on bone crack together and promises him a headache later. A moment later though, satisfaction. His knuckles connect with her mouth, no doubt rattling her teeth. In the stillness of the room, her gasp is deafening. A pretty sound.
With her left hand still wrapped in his left hand, he doesn’t release her. Like a tether, his grip on her keeps her close. He can manipulate her better. Her right hand though, reveals the blade she had been hiding as she attempts to plunge it into his left shoulder. Without hesitation, he pulled on her left arm. Hard. Nalik has every intention of jerking her off balance and if he’s lucky, off her feet. He does this as she aims to sink her blade into his shoulder, the moment offers enough space that she doesn’t plunge her knife into him but rather it slices across his skin. A surface wound. But bleeds nonetheless and it stains his dress shirt, the material already ruined. His teeth grind as his temper explodes.
This intruder is not the first woman to find herself on the receiving end of his fist. And she’s not likely to be the last. Gun still in his hand, he recoils his right hand before he attempts to land a heavy punch across her delicate jaw. He doesn’t hit her harder because she’s a woman but he also doesn’t hold back because she’s a woman. She’s an intruder in his home and she’ll pay the consequences, regardless of her gender. Fighting back was useless, one shot from his gun would have security flooding his room. She was trapped. Still, the sickest parts of him loved her desperation, craved the fight she put up. Too bad she was a thief.
It does, however, manage to distract her for just a second; that's all the time Nalik needs. She doesn't even have a breath to readjust her grip on her knife before his fist is flying for her in her peripherals, hitting the mark with deadly accuracy. There's no moment of conscious thought that tells her she's about to die. Nalik strikes, and everything
goes
dark.
Hypatia's eyes roll back into her head, and her body slumps bonelessly the rest of the way forward, tipping with the weight of gravity into his waiting grip. Her blade falls somewhere behind Nalik from her now-limp fingers, leaving her completely at his mercy—and whilst her unconsciousness may only last a minute or two, it will be enough. Her captor isn't the type to waste such precious seconds while he has them.
His fist finds its target, landing squarely across her jaw with enough force that he can hear her teeth click together. It’s like music to his ears. A moment later, she crumbles at his feet. Her knife clatters to the floor behind him. Unconscious, Nalik is mechanical in the way he pats her down, stripping her of any remaining weapons before he’s pulling his belt off. The smooth leather is wrapped around her wrists, behind her back, and he pulls it tight - not caring if the leather bites into her skin. Standing, he scoops up her knives before he disappears into his bedroom for a brief moment. Nalik returns with a tie in hand, which he wraps around her ankles before tying her ankles to her wrists. Once she’s hogtied and secured, he blows out a breath and shrugs out of his torn and bloodied shirt.
Flipping on a light, he doesn’t waste time looking at the cut she gave him. There’d be time for that later. Grabbing the knot that joins her wrists and ankles, he unceremoniously drags her from his bedroom. Emerald eyes don’t stray to see if she regains consciousness, just as he doesn’t even consider the pressure she’d feel in her shoulders or the way her muscles would stretch and strain against her own body weight. It’s hardly the worst thing she’d endure.
Tired and agitated, Nalik is silent as he half carries, half drags his newest toy down flights of stairs to the belly of his fortress. Only once does he pull his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen as he sends off a quick text.
They arrive at a steel door and when he swings it open, cold air rushes out. Inside, he flips a switch and bright white lights come to life, illuminating a sterile room. The walls are white and the floor is concrete with a drain in the center. There’s no windows, though they are far enough below ground that there’s no point. It smells clean inside. One wall is lined with a counter, complete with cupboards above and below, the rest are bare. A pair of metal chairs sit off to one side and only one with complete with cuffs for wrists and ankles. Dangling from the ceiling in the center of the room is a series of chains on a pulley system.
With little delicacy, he drops her in the center of the room near the chains before he heads to cabinets, open a drawer for something she wouldn’t be able to see before he tucked it into his pockets. Hand cuffs. Nothing too exciting. Nalik didn’t bother with a show tonight of unveiling what resides within his cabinets, that would be saved for later. For now, he just wanted her secured, contained so that she couldn’t cause anymore problems for him. Turning back to her, he toyed with her blade, spinning it between his fingers before he approached her, his stride unhurried.
Having fallen still again, she takes a quick assessment of her body. She's already figured out that her wrists and ankles are bound, and the sharp ache in her hip and a few ribs suggests she'd banged against something on the way here—stairs, maybe. She feels the absence of her missing weapons acutely, but much to her relief, her clothing is otherwise undisturbed. Her tongue tastes faintly metallic, his earlier punch to her mouth having rattled her teeth enough to dig into her own flesh, and blood trickles freely from her split lower lip. Nothing seems broken, at the very least.
Then Hypatia takes in the room as quickly as she'd taken in her own state. The floor is cold as fuck—cement, naturally. For easy cleanup. She swallows down a rush of anxiety and darts her eyes around, spotting the chains not far from her, then clinically white walls, a set of sterile metal chairs. Rolling her eyes up, she sees more chains hanging from the ceiling above her, and her heart picks up in rhythm. It's not the first time she's seen a room like this; her training has been thorough, including how not to break when tortured.
And this? This is a fucking torture room if she's ever seen one.
The place could be power-washed clean and not leave behind a single trace of her existence.
Despite her growing sense of anxiety, Hypatia doesn't make a sound when her captor prowls towards her, her own blade in his hand. Is he really going to torture her with her own weapon? That's just fucking petty. Her nostrils are flared around rapid breaths as she glowers up at him, but she doesn't scream or cry or beg. There's no mercy in Nalik Verlice to appeal to.
She’s awake. Her pupils are blown wide, awake natural response to the situation she has found herself in. He watches as her eyes dart around the room, taking inventory of everything she can see. From the way she tests her restraints, to realization settling on her bruised features. She knows. Her nostrils flare and her sides heave with rapid breaths, though she makes no other sound. Even as her glare finally lands on him, she still doesn’t falter.
Squatting down beside her, Nalik is just as silent. He positions himself at her side so that he can easily untie her feet from her hands, though he keeps them bound together - he anticipates another fight. It’s both thrilling and annoying. All he wanted to do tonight was going to bed. Deft fingers make quick work of her binds. The unmistakable sound of a cuff tightening around her wrist is deafening in the room and it echoes around them.
Smartly, he cuffs one wrist and leaves his belt looped around the other, giving him control of both her hands. He isn’t take any chances with her, even if she is unarmed.
There is no request, no demand for her to sit up, he simply hauls her up so that she sits back on her feet before he jerks both hands in front of her. Nalik is acutely aware of her - of every twitch, every breath. He doesn’t trust her with a single fiber of his being. Which is a shame, because when his eyes find her face in the bright light of his playroom, she’s stunning. Her hair is a bold shade of red, as fiery as her will to live. Her eyes are no different - an unnatural shade of orange, an anomaly in her genes. Full lips are stained crimson, bloodied and split; a partner to the bruise that swells along her jaw and forehead.
Gripping both her hands in one of his, he moves to lock the other cuff around her wrist.
So she watches everything he does with a stubborn set to her jaw, her hair messy and wild around her face where it's come loose from her braid. That's not to say Hypatia is compliant; she pulls against him at every turn, forcing him to hold onto her tight the entire time. He's smart to keep her feet bound to one another, else she'd definitely be aiming a few kicks at his balls.
Cool metal bites into her wrist a second before he's dragging her up onto her feet with him. The sudden movement makes the pain in her head reach a rapid peak, and she sways unsteadily, fighting against a wave of nausea. Yeah, she's definitely concussed. She blinks to ward back her swimming vision, her eyes regaining that hard look while Nalik is yanking her hands in front of her, one stiff and uncooperative arm at a time.
Hypatia's gaze darts towards the steel door whilst he's securing her fate around her wrists, her weight pulling back against Nalik so that he's having to hold her up as much as focus on restraining her. She's well aware that she's in for a wildly unpleasant night, but she sure as hell isn't gonna make it easy for him; all she has to do is stall him long enough to not kill her tonight, and then...then she can figure out a plan. If she wastes enough time, they'll notice she's missing...right?
To say she is uncooperative is an understatement. While she doesn’t actively fight him, she certainly doesn’t help. The sudden movement upright made her dizzy, he saw it in the way her eyes went unfocused for a moment, when her glare briefly disappeared. Forced to hold her weight to keep her upright, his grip is tight around her wrists when combined with the fact that she’s also locked every joint in her body to resist. To be expected - who in their right mind would be compliant when their life is on the line? It still annoys him. And he still doesn’t clue her into his annoyance. So he squeezes each cuff tighter around her wrist, until the cold metal bites into her skin. Only when her hands are securely cuffed in front of her, does he pull the belt from her wrist, the supple leather dragging across her skin.
Then he snapping a clip on the end of a chain to the middle of the cuffs. The start of her unpleasant night would start now. He stood and jerked the opposite end of the chain, hauling her to her feet by her wrists. It doesn’t even so much as cross his mind to untie her ankles, to make it easier for her to stand. No. He lets sway, her body weight forcing the edge of the cuffs into her skin, until he picks her up high enough that she can find her feet. Only he hauls her higher still, until she’s on her tip toes.
A few clips and locks would secure the chain in place, well outside of her reach.
Her knife reappears in his hand as he stepps towards her, grabbing the collar of her top. In one swift movement, he slices down the front, cutting her shirt open. He repeats the process with each sleeve until the material falls to the floor at her feet. Next, the blade slides into her waistband, pressing against her skin so it cut barely didn’t cut her. One side and then the other. He’s methodical. Mechanical. Emerald eyes are assessing, scrutinizing, as if he’s looking for something. Her bra and panties are treated similar. Nalik inspects every inch of her for any sort of wire or tracking device that could lead someone to her. Only when he’s satisfied does he step away, wordless as ever. Scooping up her clothes, he walks to one of the seemingly empty walls, but a quick touch reveals a small incinerator - burning up every trace of her clothes. Not sign of her would be left behind.
Turning back to her, he doesn’t ogle her as he approaches. ”Water?” He asks. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they’d be here awhile. If she had any plans to survive, how naive they were, then she’d need every bit of strength she could manage. Staying hydrated would be key.
Her eyes snap back towards the movement of Nalik's fingers, silver glinting between his hands as he nears her, moving with cold and confident precision now that he's satisfied she's been safely subdued. Hypatia's nostrils flare wider, her breathing growing impossibly faster, as he begins to cut her clothing away from her skin; she shies away as much as she's capable of, her stomach and hips dipping to the side in an aversion that's more instinctual than intentionally uncooperative. The noise in the back of her throat is stubbornly swallowed when he even relieves her of her plain bra and underwear, but for a moment, her eyes close, searching for her center against the wave of rising panic. That panic shrieks that he's going to violate her before he murders her, and she can't let those thoughts take over. She refuses to let herself go to that dark place.
The scent of her clothes burning is an acrid smell that serves to distract her, causing her nose to curl at the pungent smoke that wafts through the room as it's slowly pulled out by vents in the ceiling. It's somewhat of a relief that Nalik's gaze is settled firmly on her face when he turns back to her, offering her water with the same casual tone that one may offer a drink to a houseguest. Hypatia snorts softly, her head tipping back and her eyes rolling snarkily towards the ceiling before her cool glower shifts back to him. Once again, she doesn't say a fucking word. She's not about to willingly accept a single drop of anything from him without watching him ingest it first.
Sure, she needs to stay hydrated, and sure, he already has her life in his hands—but there are so many other things it could be tainted with. So many tasteless powders that could heighten her emotions, loosen her tongue, increase her sensation of pain... Or maybe it isn't poisoned in some way and he's just going to waterboard her with it instead of letting her drink it. Hypatia isn't about to waste her nonexistent faith on the one possibility out of hundreds that his offer is genuine.
Again his mouth twitches with the urge to smirk at her. She refuses his offer. Her scoff is a soft sound that seems loud in the near empty room. Her eyes roll to the ceiling as if it’s the most absurd thing that’s happened to her this evening. Wordlessly, he walks to yet another cabinet and opens it to reveal a small stash of water bottles. Walking back to her, he opens it, letting the plastic crinkle as its seal is broken. No tricks. Not yet at least. Their game wouldn’t begin just yet. To prove his point, he lifts the bottle to his lips and takes two long pulls from it, the water washing over his tongue and down his throat. Offering her one last chance, he tips the water bottle towards her, a dark brow arching.
It’s a small mercy, one of the few he’s willing to give her. But in truth, while her timing was piss poor, he was barely hanging onto the sick thrill of getting to play with her. She holds her composure so well, she’d be breathtaking when she finally broke. Even when he had stripped her of her clothing, she hadn’t made a sound. The rapid sounds of her panicked breathing still echoed gently in the back of his mind. He was impatient to hear it again.
Interruption came in the form of the door opening. Initially, Nalik ignored the man who entered, the door clicking shut quietly behind him. No words were exchanged, Nalik didn’t even acknowledge his presence. It wasn’t the first time his head of security had been down here and it definitely wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone strung up before. One look in her direction is all the man affords before his stare grows distance as he focuses on the nothing in front of him. Like a statue, he stands against the wall beside the door.
Not known for his patience, he offers her mere seconds to decide - to take his offering or refuse again. In the end, he didn’t care what she chose, it made little difference to him. “Do you know who she is?” He speaks without preamble, his eyes focused on the thief while he addresses his head of security. ”No sir.” Nalik hums low in his throat. “Neither do I.” He drawls. “Yet I found her snooping through my bedroom.” With each word, his tone grows colder, meaner. The other man visibly pales. Lips part to speak, but Nalik cut him off. “Didn’t I hire you to prevent such a thing?” Not once does his voice rise, remaining home chillingly even. ”It won’t happen again.” “No, it won’t.” He assures the man before lifting the thief’s knife and throwing it at the man. The thin piece of metal rolls through the air before it embeds itself in the man’s throat. Blood sprays and he sputters, gripping the knife before foolishly pulling it free. Blood flows too fast, his carotid sliced open and soon he crumbles in the floor, blood spreading in a pool under him.
The door opening resounds with a metallic grating that echoes sharply in the silence, snapping Hypatia's gaze away from Nalik and towards the man who enters. They lock eyes for half a second, and then he's ignoring her with the trademark professionalism of security personnel. She dismisses him just as easily, finally giving her captor a curt nod of agreement. It doesn't really matter why there's another person in here now—whether it's one man or two going to slice her to pieces, the end result is the same. She accepts Nalik's fucked up peace offering, drinking whatever he'll allow whilst he begins to question the man behind him.
Despite his cool and detached tone, the line of questioning rapidly tells her that she was wrong: this man isn't here to torture her alongside Nalik, he's here to be punished. Hypatia watches his skin grow pale and clammy over Nalik's shoulder, her expression as impassive as ever. He reminds her of her master, ruthless enough to live up to his reputation, and despite her bleak as fuck predicament, she's grateful in this moment for all the training she's been through. It's also why she can see this man's death more clearly than he can, like he might apologize his way out of his failure; it's her fault, and that weight settles heavily in her stomach, but there's no evidence of guilt on her features.
Not when her knife flashes again between Nalik's fingers.
Not when he whips around and flings it.
Not when the blade hits its target with pinpoint accuracy.
Not when the man drops like a stone to the floor.
When her subduer turns back to her, Hypatia quirks a brow, her eyes dropping with intentional boredom towards the bleeding, sputtering man on the floor who has only seconds left. Her gaze slides back up to meet his icy emerald stare, and her head tilts ever so slightly, her fear shoved down somewhere beneath her bravado. "Looks like you just had a position open up. You hiring?" she deadpans in a droll tone. "I'm real good with security."
You hiring? Her cavalier question has his emerald stare returning to her, the faintest of smirks lifting one corner of his mouth. A joke, at a time like this? Surely she doesn’t honestly expected him to hire her. Even if her ability to sneak past his own highly trained security is impressive. She was caught with her hands in the proverbial cookie jar - there’d be no trust ever again. Nalik isn’t a man who offers seconds chances. {{“Let’s see what your made of first.”}} The statement is ominous, softened only by the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes.
Whatever her true feelings are regarding the dead man, she doesn’t show them. Even under the weight of the knowledge that her presence here was the cause of his demise. Her emotions are wrapped up tight, suggesting she’s endured formal training. The average person wouldn’t be so nonchalant after being strung up, stripped naked and watching a man be murdered. She’d break eventually. He is confident.
Scooping up his belt, he takes it with him, along with the water. Without another word, he walks away from her, heading to the steel door. Only once does he look at the dead guard. {{“Now you’ve got some company.”}} He doesn’t bother removing the knife from the man’s neck. Instead, he leaves it there, to taunt silently the rest of the night. Opening the door, he disappears without another word nor a glance back. The clicking of a lock sliding into place is audible. The lights don’t shut off, quite the opposite, they seem to brighten further. Alone in the hall, he rolls his shoulders, his lip curling slightly as his wounded shoulders objects to the movement. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he opens an app custom made for him. He cranks the air down in the room to a brisk 50 degrees before toggling to a new feature. One he hasn’t yet gotten to play with.
The room is sealed air tight, allowing him to control the oxygen levels inside now. So he turns that down as well. It’s not dangerously low, but enough that she’d feel the burn in her lungs until he returned. She would spend the rest of the night struggling to catch her breath, unable to properly rest. All while he slept soundly upstairs. After a few housekeeping chores - disposing of his shirt, tucking away her weapons for safe keeping, patching up his shoulder. It’s nearly dawn by the time Nalik crawls into bed and falls asleep.
Exit ?