Side Story Four
His hefty exhales felt far too painful as he felt the soreness in his throat to be a simple cold. He suspected that he had been scratched on the inside of his esophagus by something they had force-fed him while he was unconscious, something done to make it hard for him to concentrate on anything when every breath felt like he was under attack.
Or maybe he was just getting paranoid after spending… how long had it been since he’d known sunlight?
Shawn lifted his head, looking straight outward. Surely they’d come back for him sooner or later. Surely they’d realize the futility of their manipulation attempts. He’d never crack; that was the job.
Then he felt something wrong. Frowning, Shawn leaned forward and looked down at his left leg. It was farther from his chair than he was used to, at least since being strapped to the chair.
In fact, looking down, he discovered that his left leg wasn’t tied to the chair. The rope that had once constricted him lay in two pieces on the floor.
The hell? It seemed unlikely that he had shaken it off in his sleep. It also seemed unlikely that his captors would cut the binding around only one of his legs.
He hoped.
Wiggling his toes inside of his shoe, he extended his leg all of the way out and turned his heel up toward the ceiling before pulling the foot in to his chest. Then he remembered that the clothes he was wearing were not his own; the pocket knife he often kept in the space between the sole and the flat was not in this shoe.
Unfortunate, but maybe he wouldn’t need any tools to escape. Twisting his foot a little more, he moved his toe down his right knee, trying to slip it in between his leg and the rope. The flat part under his toes found its way through, creating enough of an opening for him to lift the right leg minimally.
Reaching out from his wrist-wrapped armrest, he grabbed his pant leg at the knee seam. Grunting, he pulled back on his leg and pushed his shin forward, trying to-
The chair leg broke, his right leg going flying out and his chair toppling forward. Yelping, his leg hit ground on his calf and nearly snapped. Thankfully, his other foot was already on the ground for support, preventing him from breaking his own ankle.
Maybe I did need those tools, he thought bitterly. God, his throat really hurt.
Shaking his head while sitting back on both his seat and the ground, Shawn scanned around the floor for the chair leg he had just broken. His chair was made of metal, so the broken piece would probably not have broken again once it hit the ground from wherever it had hit.
Finally, he found the missing chair leg a dozen feet away in front of him. Luckily, it looked like one of the ends of the metallic stick had broken into a sharp, jagged edge. Perfect.
Swallowing an uncomfortable gulp, Shawn leaned to his left and set himself on both knees. His legs had not been used for standing very much recently, that much was clear. Ignoring the brief few minutes when Deathstroke had come for him, he hadn’t been on his feet since his capture.
Scooting forward with the chair weighing down his back, he crawled without the use of his hands. It took him close to a minute to make the trip of a dozen feet, but he eventually made it over close enough that he could reach out and take it.
If only he could move his hands. Sighing, he allowed himself to fall forward to the right side of the broken chair leg.
Straining his fingers to reach as far as he could, he tapped the top of the leg and turned closer. Finally, he managed to get his thumb around the base by the unbroken end.
Grinning, he pulled the chair leg in toward his chest and pointed the sharp side toward the ropes around his left wrist. He slid it into the twine, splitting the fibers through the top and loosening the bindings.
The chair leg sliced his forearm, drawing blood through the rope.
“Fuck!” he hissed, biting back the hurt and squeezing his eyes shut. Unfortunately, that returned the focus to his throat discomfort. Groaning, he put his chin down to his chest and weathered the sinusoidal pains radiating from his neck.
Eventually, the singeing pain in his throat gave way to the singeing pain on his forearm. At the very least, it appeared his pain was worth the freedom for his left arm, which was currently taking the metal rod from his other hand and freely roaming it under the rope at his pinky finger. It slid through easily at the front, then allowed him to lift up the sharp end to slice the rope at the back. He was in pain, that was for sure.
But he was also free from his chair.
Opening his eyes, he looked down at his hands, amazed to see them- both sides of his hands- out in front of him without them being tied to something.
Sorry, folks, Shawn thought toward his captors. The game is over.
Grunting, he pulled himself out of the chair’s vicinity and dragged himself back to his feet. Wobbling, he held his hands out to his sides and waited until his posture settled.
I need to be more careful than last time, he decided. Silence is going to be my friend. If he could escape without drawing alarm, maybe they wouldn’t be able to follow him until after he made contact with the boss.
He knelt down slowly, reclaiming the broken chair leg and holding it in his right hand. Time to go.
Shawn walked over to the nearby door, testing its handle to see if it was locked. Luckily, he found it open, even though he was a prisoner. It seemed like this was too good to be true.
Did someone come here to rescue me? There was no way that he could have been left unguarded like this so sloppily. Nor did it seem reasonable to assume that the rope around his leg had come undone by accident.
Opening the door slowly, he peeked out to the side, holding the sharpened stick at the ready. No one sprung through the door to strike him, no one shouted an alarm, and no one stood out on that side.
Totally clear.
Wary, Shawn stepped out of the room and closed it behind him without making a sound. Despite his multiple capabilities in combat and disguise, he had only practical knowledge of how to go about sneaking. He’d just have to give it his best shot.
Get to it, he mentally complained. Nodding his head from side-to-side to pick a direction, he trusted his instincts and turned to his left and walked to the nearest door. This one seemed ajar, filtering some light through. The light seemed… off.
Putting his ear to the door, he listened for any activity on the other side. After several moments, he heard no reliable indication that anyone was there. Hoping he was correct, he opened the door further to check inside.
Dead end. Dammit.
And the lights had a diamond pattern to them.
Cursing softly, Shawn jumped back from the doorway, sucking in a painful breath as he hid. Then, reflecting his predicament, he realized that the Diamond Lights would have put him in a trance the moment he had looked at it.
Confused, he opened the door all of the way and peeked back inside. The diamond pattern on the walls didn’t have that glow that he had grown so accustomed to in his time with Lex’s people. Why was there a mock-up of all things in a place like this?
He stepped into the room, discovering that he had been mistaken in his judgment of the room being a dead-end. There was another door in the room on the right, though it looked like a storage closet. He didn’t see any telling “EXIT” signs anywhere that could lead him out.
Still, he had to try it. He walked over to the other door in the room, pulling it open with a careful motion.
It wasn’t a storage closet after all. It was a sitting room, stocked with several couches, chairs, and carpets. More faux Diamond Lights splattered the walls, drawing his attention momentarily before he discovered the woman in one of the chairs.
Mercy.
His next breath his most painful one yet.
Shawn absorbed in her appearance, noting her partially open blouse set by only one actively-used button keeping the front tightly closed with a supreme effort. Her shorter-than-usual blonde hair highlighted her darker-than-usual lips, painted a deep violet to match the velvet and purple top.
She wasn’t wearing any pants or socks, proudly showcasing her long, tanned legs of marvelously balanced proportions. Her thighs were spread, exposing a thin pair of undergarments that blended black with the warmer colors above it. Her bare feet played with one another, flapping around and slapping their opposite shins.
“Hello, Shawn,” she said sweetly. Far too sweetly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Shawn’s lip trembled, starting to lose his calm. Why did everyone have to have such a pleasant voice around here?
Looking her over, he could feel himself desire her in a way he had never thought he had needed before. He felt as if he knew his new role in his life as being subservient to her, but he could not do that like he was now. Why? Why here?
Smirking with those violet lips, she bent her legs underneath her and stood up from her seat. She dusted off her knees, leaning forward to show some more skin behind her button. “Would you like to kiss my feet?” Mercy inquired loudly.
His breath caught. How did she know?
She moved closer to him, rocking her hips only slightly as she walked. The unenhanced diamonds around the walls reminded Shawn suddenly of his desire to be taken down by her. Completely and utterly taken down.
“If you want, I can even find you a nice warm bed you can look at while I let you look at my legs,” she offered. “Just remember that I need to keep charge or else-”
She cut off in a gasp as he raised the broken leg up and placed the sharp end at her chest. That beautiful, lovely voice of hers to match the rest of her ended and her eyes widened in fear as her breathing quickened.
Her incensed breathing pushed out her chest and back in with heaving jiggles, nearly making her button pop off several times.
Shawn’s arm trembled, the edge of the stick wavering significantly. Hell, his whole body was shaking. Mercy eyed his indecisive hand and then glanced up into his eyes. She gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You won’t have anything to fear from me unless you screw it up.”
Breathing out roughly, the sharp end of the chair leg lowered down her exposed chest to find her single active button, cutting the fabric and opening the blouse. There was no bra underneath to hide her smoothly tanned breasts. Dropping the metal chair leg, he dropped to his knees in front of her, taking in the full picture of her sculpture-worthy body.
Mercy clicked her tongue. “Bad boy. You just ruined my favorite blouse.”
Shawn reached toward her thighs desperately, hoping for the juiciest taste. Mercy, however, nimbly stepped backward just before he could grasp her. She feigned offense with a pitch-perfect inhale.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she admonished. Even her toneless noises sounded like bird singing. “No touching, not yet.”
“Please,” he whispered. Despite no longer being tied to a chair, he felt just as powerless without as he had in that room.
“I need you to come clean first,” she said. “You have to talk about what your dirty little plot was.” She rubbed her thigh with one hand.
He couldn’t do that. As bad as he wanted her, he couldn't crack. His life depended on it.
Her hand trailed up to the black panties. She tugged on one of the straps, letting it go once it was a fraction of an inch away from exposing what was beneath. The strap resounded with a loud smack as it clapped back against your flesh.
And some things were worth more than his life.
“Okay!” he shouted. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just please let me touch!”
Mercy laughed. “Don’t tell me, silly boy. You have to tell Mr. Luthor.”
“I’ll do anything!” Shawn promised. “Please!”
“Then let’s go see him now, then.” She looked over behind him and nodded.
Shawn didn’t take his eyes off of her- nor did he stop mumbling and begging- until they placed a hood over his head and dragged him out of the room with his hands and legs bound.