Dark Roses

Disclaimer - Do you honestly think I own them? I only own my Sim versions of them . . . mores the pity.

Author's Notes - Due to an extreme bout of happiness (I got Ryou and Yami to kiss in my Sims game, woohoo!) I'm posting the next chapters of this story AND the final chapter of GO. For all those of you who hoped Malik's father got exactly what he deserved . . . well, you can thank ladywolfterri for the MARVELOUS ideas that she gave me. (huggles her soul sister) You ROCK hun!

Chapter 17 – Catspaw


Marik tapped one foot impatiently against the counter, sitting on the stool outside the local coffee shop, waiting. Ashida should be coming out of the hotel soon, off on his search for his ‘missing’ son.

He’d made sure the man had seen him at school that day, so he knew that his ‘son’ was in Domino. That had been fairly easy . . . it had been keeping to his role of Malik that had been hard. Ashida had to know what kind of mental damage he had done to his son, and he would expect that Malik would have no friends. Ignoring the calls to him until after Ashida had gone had been difficult, especially from some of the more ‘persistant’ people in the school, but somehow he’d managed it.

And now, he merely had time. Time to wait . . . time to worry.

He hadn’t talked to Malik at all about this, but somehow he suspected his love knew he had this planned. And that he wasn’t going to sit as quietly about it as Marik was hoping if he did know. Malik had been too quiet when they woke up this morning, and when he had asked what was on his love’s mind, the young blonde had evaded the question entirely. That didn’t bode well.

“Marik, he’s coming out of the hotel,” Seto’s voice whispered in his ear. He stood slowly, planning his next step . . . and the harsh blare of a horn sounded in the street. He turned around abruptly . . . and his heart stopped as he saw a flash of platinum blonde hair as Malik dashed out of the way of the car, and resumed his stroll toward the hotel.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING!?” he heard Bakura’s voice in his ear, as Marik watched Ashida and three bodyguards break off from the other’s and begin to stalk the young Egyptian. “Marik . . .”

“Continue with the plan,” Marik growled, his hands clenching into fists at his helplessness. “There’s nothing we can do without risking losing that bastard. We’ll have to let Malik play the bait . . . and then I’m going to wring his neck when we get him back home again.” Turning away from the gut-wrenching sight of Malik being stalked by his father, he made his way to the van where Seto and the others waited . . . and prayed for things to go right for once in his life.

*-------*-------*-------*-------*


Malik strolled down the hallway to ‘his’ room, rubbing his hands against his jeans to try to get the cold sweat off of them. He was nervous as hell . . . and he was pretty sure that Marik was probably livid at this point. He couldn’t help it . . . this was his father, and he wasn’t about to risk the love of his life and his friends getting hurt for him.

He knew the plan . . . knew it called for him to face his father, to act scared yet defiant, to get his father to admit what he’d been put through. He could do this. He had to do this. If he was going to have any future, any chance to have a life at all, preferably with Marik and the others, he had to put his past behind him. He had to face it . . . and that meant facing his father.

Opening the door, he slipped inside after a careful glance down both directions before shutting it behind him. At least now he knew why some of his clothes had gone missing . . . many of them lay scattered about the room, and the bed was rumpled, giving it a lived in appearance that belied the fact that no one had been staying in here for the past week.

He quickly glanced around the room, locating the clocks, the small stereo, and the smoke detector that had been planted in the room. He was sure there were probably other camera’s as well, but those were the one’s he had overheard Marik and Seto discussing, so those were the ones he looked for. Everything seemed to be in place. He cast a small, sad smile at one, waving slightly in a silent apology for having messed up their plan like this . . . and then lay upon the bed, and waited for the inevitable.
He hoped he looked more relaxed than he felt . . . and then realized he probably shouldn’t look relaxed at all. He was on the run, after all . . . that hadn’t changed. Merely the fact that he had friends nearby, and that he wasn’t as alone as his father would think he was.

Gods, worrying about this was going to drive him nuts! He stood to pace . . . and then jumped when there was a knock on the door. He stared at it, puzzled, before managing to find his voice.

“Who is it?” he called, clenching his hands into fists. It had to be his father . . .

“Housekeeping, sir,” a female voice responded. “I have fresh towels for you.” He sighed, shaking his head with a rueful laugh as he unclenched his fists. Now he was just being silly. His father wouldn’t have moved so quickly . . . he’d want to check things out, make sure it was all clear for him. Chuckling at his paranoia, he opened the door . . . and staggered back as one of his father’s bodyguards kicked it open. He stumbled into the bed, falling onto it haphazardly, lavender eyes widening in fear as his father stepped through the door, and his bodyguard closed it tightly behind him.

“So . . . this is where you ran off to, Malik,” his father said, the deep bass voice sending shivers through him. How many times had he heard that voice in his nightmares? “How far you have fallen? Did I not keep you comfortably enough? Was I not good to you?”

“You made me a whore!” he snarled, scrambling off the bed to the other side, putting the furniture in between him and this man who had made his life hell. “You sold me, you sold my body to strangers! You let them use me for their own perverse pleasures!” Ashida shrugged.

“What else was I to do with you? I couldn’t very well introduce you to the public . . . it would have ruined my career. I gave you a way to be useful when you were useless.”

“Useful?” Malik stared at the man who was his father in horror. “You turned me into a prostitute and it was to make me useful!” His voice was rising, and he could feel the beginnings of hysteria tugging at the edges of his mind. Was his father even human?!

“You made me good money, Malik,” Ashida said, stepping toward the bed. Malik backed up, his back thudding into the wall as he tried to maintain distance between himself and his father. “And did it really bother you so much? I’ve watched the tapes . . . you enjoyed those men taking you. You begged for it.”

“I begged for it to stop!” he screamed, beginning to shiver uncontrollably. “I begged for it to end, for someone to save me! You were my father! You were supposed to protect me from such things!” He closed his eyes, trying to force away the memories . . . and that was when Ashida moved.

Malik gasped, finding himself pinned to the wall by his father’s body, his breath wheezing through the constriction of his father’s hand around his throat.

“All these years, and I never sampled my own wares,” Ashida growled, pressing himself into Malik. The young Egyptian shuddered in disgust, refusing to meet the glittering dark eyes of the man who’d made his life hell. “Maybe it’s time I fixed that problem. But you would like that, wouldn’t you, little Malik? You would enjoy my dick fucking you raw, just like you enjoyed every one of the people who paid me for your services.” Malik moaned in denial, shaking his head as much as he could as his father groped him brutally through his jeans.

He barely heard the door as it slammed open, and his father was ripped away from him, leaving him to fall on his knees, gasping for air as a low, animalistic growl filled the room. Someone was holding him, rubbing his back soothingly as he shuddered, fighting for breath.

He finally managed to make out that it was Yami holding him tightly, and he pressed into the tri-haired teenagers embrace, needing the comfort.

“Hush, Malik, it’s okay, we’re here,” Yami murmured soothingly. “It’s over . . . it’s over, we’ve got the evidence. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Malik nodded, and shuddered as Yami stood, accepting the teen’s helping hand to lift him to his feet.

The minute he had both feet planted on the floor, he was engulfed in warm, bronzed arms.

“You stubborn, foolish, brave idiot,” Marik said, hugging him tightly. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t let you face him . . . when I didn’t have the courage to do it myself,” Malik replied softly, wrapping his arms around Marik’s waist and cuddling into the cotton-clad chest. “I had to face him . . . so that I could get on with my life.”

“You know . . . I could simply kill you, you moron,” the taller blonde said, and sighed. “But I love you too damn much. Don’t you EVER do anything so stupid again!”

“I won’t,” Malik whispered, closing his eyes. “I won’t have to. It’s over.”

“What do we do with him?” Seto asked, gesturing to Ashida, who lay strewn upon the floor with Bakura sitting atop him smugly, a knife glittering in his hand. His hands and legs were tied, and dark eyes glared from over a gag, muffled demands issuing from the bound form.

“I have plans for him,” Marik said, and left it at that. “But first, Malik needs to go home.” He looked down at the blonde as he stiffened in the embrace. “I’m not going to kill him, Malik,” he said softly. “That would be too kind for what he’s done. Just trust me that he’s going to get exactly what he deserves.” Malik nodded before slipping from his embrace.

“I trust you,” he replied and leaned up to kiss Marik gently. “Don’t be gone long, or I’ll start worrying,” he murmured, and allowed Yami to usher him out of the room.

Violet eyes watched him go, love shining within the dark orbs, before they hardened as they turned to the bound man on the floor.

“Time for you to face punishment, Ashida Ishtar,” he growled. “I said I wasn’t going to kill you . . . but when I’m done with you, you just might wish I had.”

*-------*-------*-------*-------*


Deep within the cellar of Seto Kaiba’s mansion, screams of anguish echoed off of unforgiving stone walls.

Bakura dipped a finger into the large pot, hissing as the digit came in contact with the heated contents.

“Remind me to NEVER get on your bad side, Marik,” he murmured, but the bloodthirsty smile on his face told of his enjoyment of what was going on.

Violet eyes turned away from their perusal of the figure that hung spread eagle and chained off the floor, to glance at the pale teenager.

“We wouldn’t want him to disappoint his new owner, now would we?” he replied, dipping the paint brush into the heated wax before turning back to his captive. “After all, everyone knows that a good whore has no body hair anywhere on their body.”

Ashida Ishtar hung limp in his bonds, red strips of flesh showing where his ‘preparation’ had already been completed. Of course, the wax was hotter than necessary, and more force had been applied to remove the wax and the accompanying hair than was needed, but that was an overlooked issue.

Marik stared at the man, violet eyes narrowed as he examined the limp figure. One area left . . . one that would cause the most pain, the most agonized screams to rip from that vile throat. He wished he could record this, wished Malik could be here to see it . . . but Malik had done all he needed to. There was no more need to subject him to his father . . . his nightmares had been faced. This . . . was merely an outlet for Marik and Bakura’s own need to have revenge against the man.

It was too bad that Yami couldn’t join them . . . but Yami, although viscious in his own right, didn’t have the stomach for such prolonged torture. A quick kill and mind games were more Yami’s style . . . only Bakura and Marik enjoyed physical agony. And Ashida Ishtar was in a LOT of physical agony. Agony that was about to get a whole lot worse.

The choked scream that bounced off the walls was music to the two teenager’s ears as Marik painted the sensitive area around the soft flesh at the apex of their captives legs, watching the flesh turn an angry red as the over-heated wax dripped onto the tortured flesh. Ashida jerked against his bonds, struggling to get away, tears of agony pouring down his face . . . and he shivered as Bakura leaned in and licked those tears away lingeringly.

“This is nothing compared to what you did to Malik, you bastard,” he purred in one ear, feeling the shudders that wracked the man, the choked whimpers of pain and fear. “Would you beg? Would you beg for us as Malik begged you? Ah, but we forget . . . Malik was begging for it to continue according to you. Would you beg for us to continue as he did?” He chuckled as Ashida shook his head violently.

It was too bad he was unable to speak . . . but then, having your tongue cut out and fed to you would do that to any person. Gutteral moans and grunts, and the sweet music of screams . . . that was all he could manage now. But then, that wouldn’t detract from his value any, now would it?

He smiled as Marik began to peel the now cooled wax, enjoying the screams of agony.

If only they could indulge themselves like this more often. Life would be good then.


*-------*--------*--------*--------*


Bakura pulled into the parking lot of a supposedly abandoned warehouse, and got out of the car. Striding over to the door, he knocked once, then three more times in rapid succession, then stood back to wait. He didn’t have to wait very long.

“Thief!” Keith said, stepping outside. “We haven’t seen you around in a while. Word was that you cleaned up your act.” Bakura waved all that aside with one graceful hand.

“Yeah, yeah, enough of the pleasantries Bandit. I’ve got a present for you.” He gestured toward the car. “We don’t care what you do with him, or who you sell him to, but make sure they know he is a ‘pleasure’ slave, eh?” Keith looked stunned.

“I thought you didn’t agree with that kind of thing?” he asked, and Bakura shrugged.

“I don’t . . . but this guy sold his own son to strangers for most of the kid’s life. It’s time he got a taste of what he put his son through.” Keith nodded in sudden understanding, and called back through the door for two of his men.

“Divine justice, eh? Didn’t think you had it in you.” Bakura snorted.

“The kid’s a close friend,” he murmured, leading the way to the car. “You might want to keep him under wraps for a while. He’s well known, people might look for him until the media gets our information.”

“’Thief . . .” Keith began, and Bakura held up his hand.

“You owe me several favors, Bandit. I would consider this payment for all of them.” Now that was an offer Keith couldn’t refuse. They got the tied up man into the building, and he looked back at Bakura, who was climbing back in the car.

“Where do I send your share of the profit?” he called. Bakura shuddered.

“I don’t want any of it. That man is filthy, and anything that comes from his sale will be tainted in my eyes. Keep it and have fun,” he said, and drove off.

“Well, that was different,” Keith murmured, before disappearing back inside. He had new merchandise to look over.

AN - So, did Ashida get what he deserved or what? MUAHAHAHAHA! *glomphs Terri* I luv my soul sister . . . she's so much fun : )