InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Hell Hath No Fury ( Chapter 52 )

~~Chapter 52~~

~Hell Hath No Fury~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Kurt didn't even blink when the high-pitched shriek announced the return to consciousness of the pathetic being huddled and bound in the cage. The punctuated sobs that followed only served to disgust him as he stared at the trigger of the power hose nozzle, and, pondering if he ought to turn it up a little, he squeezed.

 

Another unearthly shriek from the cage occupant, and Kurt slowly shook his head. “Wow . . . you're a little sad, aren't you?” he muttered.

 

The fat man seemed to be having trouble moving around in the makeshift prison. With as much trouble as Kurt had faced in trying to stuff the old bastard in there, he wasn't inclined to feel too sorry for him, at least, not at the moment. “D-Doc?” the man blubbered, his eyes wide and afraid as he slowly focused on Kurt's face. “Doc, what are you d-doing?”

 

“Shut the hell up or I'll gag you,” Kurt replied in a rather dry tone as he ambled over to the cage and hunkered down beside it. “Now I want you to listen, Dr. Harlan. Think you can do that?”

 

Harlan nodded without a word; nodded so vigorously that the extra flesh hanging off his jowls jiggled.

 

“Good, good . . . Now, I want you to make two phone calls, okay? Just two, and if you say anything at all about what's going on down here . . .” Trailing off as he took careful aim with the power hose once more—aimed it directly at the good doctor's family jewels, Kurt raised an eyebrow. “You like standing when you piss?”

 

Harlan's eyes rounded, and he nodded once more.

 

“Glad we could come to an understanding,” Kurt replied almost pleasantly despite the cold, hard glint in his eyes. “Now, the first call you need to make is to your wife. I expect she'll be a little surprised when she wakes up, only to figure out that you've disappeared, right? So you tell her that you've had to leave town on unexpected business for the next couple weeks or so.”

 

Harlan swallowed hard—funny that Kurt could actually make that out considering how much extra baggage the old bastard was carrying around . . . “And the other . . .?”

 

“Oh, that one's easy. I want you to call the head of security upstairs and tell him to give himself and the rest of his team the next couple weeks off.”

 

“Two . . . two weeks . . .?”

 

Kurt nodded slowly. “No funny business, Harlan. There's only one reason you're alive right now, and if you push me, I might forget that I give a damn.”

 

That said, he moved around the cage, using a pocket knife to slice through the duct tape he'd used to secure the man, then pulled the doctor's cell phone from his pocket and handed it over.

 

It only took Harlan five minutes to make both calls, and when he was finished, he handed the phone back without incident.

 

“W . . . what are you going to do to me?” Harlan finally asked as he watched Kurt toss the phone into a basket inside the supply closet.

 

Kurt slowly glanced over his shoulder at him and shrugged. “Oh, nothing,” he replied lightly, conversationally. “At least, nothing you didn't do to the little demon . . .”

 

That didn't seem to comfort Harlan much. Kurt didn't comment as he slowly gathered up the length of hose and hung it over the hook once more. “Get comfortable, Harlan,” he goaded. “It'll be awhile before you get out of there—if you ever do.”

 

Striding out of the room, he shook his head at the panicked little whimpers slipping out of the man in the cage. Maybe he should have left him asleep—a direct result of the shot Kurt had given him before he'd managed to drag the old bastard out of his office and down the hall to the elevator early this morning. He was the last of them, too.

 

In all actuality, Kurt hadn't had encountered much of any real trouble. When he'd sneaked back into the facility the night after he'd broken out the little demon, it hadn't taken much to convince the four security guards that they really didn't want to say anything to anyone about him. In fact, all it had taken was a single discharge of energy straight into the main computer terminal that rendered it useless to convince them that they'd rather not find out how that would feel on living flesh.

 

And, of course, the few smoke bombs and flaming torches he'd set in the hallway to accentuate his warnings, along with a remote detonator set up to go off when he pushed the right buttons didn't hurt, either, he supposed. Smoke and mirrors, but whatever worked, right? Those four had actually decided that they'd take the week off, not that Kurt blamed them, and he was more than happy to allow it—especially after he'd located those trackers that Harlan had gloated about. Thanks to that, every one of the guards was now the proud owners of those devices, and Kurt had already logged each one, too. All four swore that they'd never say a thing about the limited stuff that they did know, which was fine, as far as Kurt was concerned. He didn't really have a beef with them, anyway . . .

 

After that, though, he'd first gone to Dr. Warren's apartment. The little snake lived in a decently secured building—at least, on the inside. Warren figured that he was safe since he lived on the twentieth floor, which was all well and good, but it hadn't taken that much skill to breech the building, either. It had proven tricky, though, to get the man out the window that Kurt had used as a door, especially after the shot that had knocked the man out. Still, Kurt was nothing if not resourceful, and he'd managed that with relative ease.

 

Peterson, the bastard, had been the easiest one to acquire. He'd been out at a bar near his apartment, and Kurt had simply waited outside until he'd started staggering home.

 

Harlan, though . . . After the struggle he'd had with Warren, Kurt had figured that he'd do better to let Harlan come to him, and he'd headed back to the facility with the two trussed-up doctors in the trunk of the car he'd rented. Since the four guards had preferred not to know what was going on, he hadn't had any trouble at all in installing those two into cages well before he headed upstairs to wait in Harlan's office . . . Then he'd stripped all three of them and stuck them in the cages, sealed all doors out of the basement with Post-It notes, and sat back to wait till they woke up.

 

Striding down the corridor that led to the other three holding areas, Kurt shook his head but kept moving. To be honest, he was tired. He hadn't had any actual sleep since the night that he'd broken the little demon out—over thirty-six hours ago and counting. Besides that, he highly doubted that he'd actually be able to sleep, anyway.

 

It was crazy, wasn't it? He'd known damn well that he'd miss her after he sent her home, but . . .

 

But the absolute ache that he could feel swelling somewhere deep down was so much worse than anything he'd ever actually contemplated . . .

 

`Knock it off, Drevin,' he told himself sternly as he paused just outside Holding Area Two. `You can miss her later. Right now . . . right now, we owe her.'

 

Warren still hadn't woken up yet, which was just as well. He'd be just as easy to move unconscious as he would be, otherwise . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Where do you think she was?”

 

Kichiro shook his head without taking his eyes off the huddled form of his sleeping daughter, cuddled close between her parents as she slept. “I don't know,” he replied with a sigh. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the slam of the front door—not surprising since Cain had called to let everyone in Chicago know that Samantha was on her way home—and while Kichiro had questions of his own, he figured that they could wait for now. It was all right, wasn't it? Letting himself feel the sheer and total relief . . . He could ask his questions later.

 

But it had worried him. By the time they'd pulled into the driveway just after eight this morning, everyone had come running to greet them, and Samantha, who had just started to relax a little, had been terrified by the sudden inundation, and even though Kichiro knew that they meant well, it had been just a little too much for her. Breaking down in tears as she'd hidden her face against his chest, as she'd trembled and shook, he'd carried her upstairs and had given her some medicine to help her sleep.

 

Unfortunately, the most vexing question was the one that Samantha had brought up, herself, as she babbled herself to sleep between her teary-eyed parents. “Where is he . . .? My mate . . .”

 

It had taken Kichiro a few minutes to figure that out when they'd finally found her, hunkered down behind that damnable trash dumpster. The reason they'd had trouble locating her scent was because, well, she didn't smell entirely like herself anymore. It was quite obvious that she'd somehow managed to take a mate, and that bothered him more than anything else.

 

He sighed. At least he could assume from her words that she'd willingly taken this mate, whoever he was, and that was a bit of a consolation. If he thought for a moment that someone had taken advantage of or raped his daughter, there'd be hell to pay, but her candid question was enough to convince him that he didn't need to worry about that, even if he did have questions as to where this faceless mate was . . .

 

“This mate of hers . . . he's human, isn't he?” Bellaniece asked at length.

 

Kichiro heaved a sigh and nodded. “Yeah, but where is he?”

 

She shook her head. “I want to give her a check up,” she ventured.

 

Kichiro smiled at her. “I'd feel better if you do that, too.”

 

She smiled in a weary but brilliant sort of way, but as quickly as the smile had surfaced, it faltered as she touched Samantha's cheek with infinitely gentle fingers. “Her arms, Kichiro . . .” she murmured.

 

He understood what she meant. They'd checked her arms as she'd drifted off to sleep, and while the injuries were healing, it hadn't taken them long to figure out that they had to be purposefully inflicted. They were too deliberate, too precise—too clean. “No use jumping to conclusions, Belle-chan,” he told her with more of a smile than he was actually feeling. “She's home, and she's safe, and we'll keep her that way.”

 

A soft knock sounded on the door, and Bellaniece carefully scooted off the bed to answer it. They'd asked that everyone give Samantha a chance to settle down before they rushed her again, but they could also understand that everyone just wanted to see her for themselves, to reassure themselves that she really was home, safe and, hopefully, sound.

 

Isabelle and Alexandra strode into the room with trays laden with food, and Kichiro blinked, feeling his stomach reminding him that it had been a long damn time since he'd actually felt very hungry. Alexandra started to shake, the tray rattling precariously as a round of silent sobs squeezed out of her. Bellaniece hurriedly grabbed the tray as Kichiro held out an arm to his daughter. “She's so skinny,” Alexandra whispered as she fingered a lock of Samantha's hair.

 

“But she'll be fine,” Kichiro assured her, kissing her forehead and giving her a quick squeeze.

 

Isabelle set her tray on the nightstand and slipped into the place that Bellaniece had abandoned to answer the door. “Poor thing . . . she looks exhausted,” she crooned.

 

“But where was she?” Alexandra murmured.

 

Isabelle shook her head. “I don't care where she was,” she retorted though not unkindly. “It's enough that she's home now. More than enough.”

 

Bellaniece nodded, sinking onto the bed beside Isabelle. “Hmm, I agree.”

 

Alexandra finally smiled though it quivered on her lips just a little. “I can't believe it . . .”

 

Kichiro snorted and waved at the tray on the nightstand. “You girls keep chattering, why don't you? Give me one of those biscuits.”

 

Isabelle giggled and handed her father one, but only after she added a touch of butter and a sausage patty. Bellaniece reached over for a steaming hot pancake and sat back, content to let her daughters fuss over their sleeping sister.

 

“The guys just got back and wondered if you'd come down and give them an update,” Alexandra said as she kissed her father's cheek.

 

“I'll be back,” Kichiro said as he carefully stood up. “Take it easy on her, okay?”

 

They waved him away with a chorus of good natured jeers, and Kichiro couldn't help the smile that surfaced on his face as he kissed Samantha's forehead and headed out of the room.

 

It was a good day, he decided as he ran down the stairs, heading for the study. Nothing could really overshadow the fact that his daughter was home, and while he didn't delude himself into believing that everything was in the past, he knew well enough that things would be all right. She was home, and that was the important part. Everything else, including this unseen mate . . . Well, he'd deal with that, too, as long as she was home, and as long as she was all right . . .

 

“How's Sam?” Cain asked as Kichiro strode into the room.

 

“Sleeping,” he replied, accepting the steaming cup of coffee that Gin handed him. She leaned up to kiss his cheek before hurrying out of the room with the empty carafe and the promise that she'd bring the men more as soon as it was finished. “She's sleeping. The girls are upstairs with her now, though.”

 

The absolute sense of relief in the room was almost a physical thing, and as Kichiro looked around from one face to the next one, he couldn't help but smile.

 

“Cain said she's a little disoriented,” Toga commented with a shake of his head despite the relieved grin on his face. “Normal?”

 

“I don't know about normal,” Kichiro ventured with a shake of his head, “but I'll take what I can get. Just give her some time. She was pretty scared when we found her.”

 

Bas nodded, his gaze bright with tears that didn't fall. “I'm glad she's home,” he remarked.

 

“No idea where she was?” Griffin asked in his customary quiet manner.

 

“No, but . . . but for now—today—I think that I'll just focus on the idea that she's here.”

 

“Zelig says that she has a mate,” Sesshoumaru commented, his voice clear on the intercom.

 

“Yeah, but I she hasn't said much about him. She did ask where he was just before she fell asleep, though,” Kichiro said. “I'm sure she'll say more when she's got her bearings a little better.”

 

“Good,” Sesshoumaru went on smoothly. “I trust you'll find whoever thought that they had a right to touch her and take action accordingly.”

 

Cain nodded, his smile faltering. “Fully intend to,” he replied.

 

“Where's the old man?” Kichiro asked suddenly.

 

Ryomaru snorted and rolled his eyes, his grin widening into the goofier expression that Kichiro knew a little too well. “Right now? I imagine he's sitting on the balcony outside your window. Said he won't let his guard down just because Sami came home.”

 

Kichiro shook his head but his grin widened. Somehow, that sounded about right, too, didn't it?

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“W-what are you doing? Where am I?”

 

Kurt ignored the panicked pleading of the so-called researcher as he slowly, methodically walked around the gurney in the center of the room. Purposefully stepping down hard, letting the thud of his footsteps ring in the man's ears, he took his time, shaking his head in abject disgust. Strapped to the gurney completely naked with a blindfold over his eyes, Peterson's acute distress was a viable thing. Two steps from tears, or so it would seem . . . That figured, didn't it? `Damn coward . . .'

 

“Come on, Peterson . . . you're not really going to cry already, are you?” Kurt asked.

 

“D-Doc . . .?”

 

“So you're not a complete idiot,” Kurt replied evenly. “Good.”

 

“What's going on?” Peterson asked, inflicting more bravado into his tone than he really ought to have, all things considered. It smacked Kurt of belligerence, and considering that he had a bone to pick with Peterson in particular . . . well . . .

 

“If I asked you to stop researching demons, would you do it?” Kurt asked, ignoring Peterson's question.

 

He shook his head, obviously confused. “What?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

Peterson swallowed hard. “Y-yeah, sure, buddy . . . whatever you say . . .”

 

Kurt shook his head and leaned over to catch the blindfold and yank it loose. Peterson blinked a few times, his eyes slowly adjusting to the harsh light of the room. “I think you're lying,” Kurt said.

 

The researcher swallowed hard, looked like he was trying to make sense of whatever he thought Kurt wanted. “What'd you do with the little demon?” he asked, latching on the first thing that he could think of. “Y-you steal her back so you could have her all to yourself?”

 

Kurt didn't respond as he reached over and picked up the syringe he'd prepared with a bit of saline solution . . . and something special for the good doctor. By necessity, the needle was a slightly larger gauge one, and Kurt figured that it probably would hurt like a son of a bitch, at least where he intended to stick it. Too bad he just didn't care . . . Too bad for Peterson, at least.

 

“What's that?” Peterson demanded, his voice rising with the level of his panic. Straining against the restraints that held him in place, he tried to watch as Kurt slowly walked a few paces away from the prep table.

 

“This?” Kurt deadpanned, holding up the syringe and flicking it, making sure that there were no air bubbles. “You really want to know what this is?”

 

“Yes,” Peterson said.

 

“Saline,” Kurt replied with an offhanded shrug.

 

“Saline?”

 

“Yep . . .”

 

“Why would you stick me with that?”

 

Kurt spared a moment to cast Peterson a really nasty smile. “Maybe I'm gay,” he replied, grasping Peterson's penis and jabbing the needle under the base of the head, just under the slightly loose skin. Peterson howled as Kurt depressed the plunger, and when he finally pulled the syringe away, he yanked off the bright teal colored latex gloves and tossed all of it aside.

 

Peterson whimpered, breathing hard, his lower lip jutting out and sucking in with every breath he drew. Shaking his head in complete disgust, Kurt reached over to unfasten the two restraints that held Peterson's right arm in place.

 

“Jack off,” Kurt said.

 

Peterson stopped whimpering long enough to cast Kurt a half-scared, half-disbelieving look. “Wh-what?” he choked out.

 

Kurt leaned back against the counter behind him and shrugged again. “You heard me, you sick bastard. Jack off. Now.”

 

“N-no way,” Peterson blurted, his cheeks exploding in humiliated color. He started to yank at the clasp that fastened over his chest. Kurt flipped a small remote device that controlled the electrodes he'd affixed to the metal buckles. Peterson yelped as the electricity shot through him.

 

Kurt held up the device so that the idiot doctor could see it. “I wouldn't advise that,” he said evenly. “Not if you want to live through this, anyway. Now are you going to cooperate, or do you want to see how much pain you can tolerate?”

 

Peterson's lips quivered, his eyes glossing over as a sheen of tears surfaced despite the absolute rage on his features, but he did as he had been told, reaching down, wrapping his hand around his penis and slowly, jerkily, rubbing.

 

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Kurt shook his head. Peterson grunted and shook his head. “I . . . I can't,” he half-whined.

 

“What? You need a visual aid?” Kurt demanded in a bored tone. “By all means then . . .”

 

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a picture of the little demon—one of the ones that he'd caught Warren eyeing in the security office weeks ago. The little demon, strapped spread-eagle on a table like this one, naked and vulnerable and afraid . . . “How this? Help?” Peterson tried to look away, his cheeks reddening a shade deeper. Kurt flicked the remote control. “Don't look away.”

 

The doctor uttered a little whimper and stared at the picture. Kurt wasn't sure if he was more disgusted that the bastard didn't try harder to look away or that he actually was getting hard, just from the picture. Stuffing the picture back into his pocket again, Kurt had to tamp down the surge of rage that shot through him. “Enough,” Kurt gritted out, tossing the remote onto the counter behind him and grabbing Peterson's arm to secure it once more.

 

“What are you t-trying to do,” Peterson asked, trepidation thick in his voice.

 

“Me? I didn't do much: just injected a tracker into you. You're the one who moved it. God only knows exactly where it is now, but it's somewhere in your penis.” Pausing long enough to savor the way Peterson's face paled to a sickly yellow color, Kurt almost smiled—almost. “What? You didn't really think I wanted to watch you jack off, did you?”

 

“A . . . a tracker?”

 

“Sure. That's the general name, anyway, but see, these trackers are state of the art—so state of the art that there's no way to remove them—at least, not yet. Maybe in another fifty years or so. Thing is, they're about the size of the head of a pin, and once they're under your skin, they can migrate . . . if they have a fluid that acts as a roadway, of sorts. That's what the saline was for, and you, you perverted monkey . . . Well, you see the irony, right? So basically, I'm going to know where you are and what you're doing at all times unless, of course . . .”

 

Peterson swallowed hard and shook his head, nostrils quivering as an expression of complete and total horror surfaced on his features. Eyes so wide that Kurt could see a ring of white around the irises, he looked completely stupid—and even a little pathetic. “Unless . . . what?” he choked out.

 

Kurt shrugged, as though it were of no consequence to him, and maybe it wasn't, not really. “Unless you're willing to chop your dick off,” he replied. “I suppose you'd have to be pretty damn desperate to do that, though . . . wouldn't you . . .?”

 

Peterson's pallor shifted into more of a greenish-gray shade. “Wh . . . why are you doing this?” he whispered.

 

Kurt grabbed a pair of headphones off the counter. “Because I want you to remember, Dr. Peterson. Every single time you go to fuck one of your whores, I want you to remember how much of a bastard you really are. Because I want you to spend the rest of your miserable life looking over your shoulder to see whether or not I've decided to track you down, because I can, you see? Because I want you to look into the mirror every single day and remember that you cried like a baby before I was through with you.”

 

Peterson gulped and shook his head, uttering protests that fell upon deaf ears. Kurt slipped the earphones over his ears and pressed the button on the side to connect it to the base unit two rooms away. Peterson gasped and grunted as the sound inundated him: high pitched enough to damage his hearing if he was exposed to it for a long period of time; not nearly enough to give him the pleasure of passing out. Satisfied with that, Kurt strode out of the room. He had two more patients to check on, after all, and their sound therapy had already been going on for quite awhile . . .

 

 

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A/N:

We're going to be out of town for the most part tomorrow, so here's tomorrow's chapter.

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Final Thought from Kurt:

So be it …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Vendetta): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~