Adult-FanFiction.org : Yu-Gi-OH

Deliverance	By : thelostogg Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 8811 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. I don't profit from these ramblings.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter 2



                Seto didn’t feel dead. That was a problem. He knew that, as soon as he felt the tingling sensation in the fingers of his right hand, and the itching beneath the bandages on his back, that it was a matter of minutes before the pain surged back through his nervous system. He pushed the button on the IV remote, to release another boost of Percocet, hoping to stave off the worst of it. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t try to get up. The only part of him that moved was the finger that pushed the button. Soon enough the drugs would push his consciousness back down into blissful oblivion again.

                He heard Mokuba’s angry voice shouting from somewhere nearby. His little brother was doing everything a Kaiba could to terrorize the hospital staff. Seto wanted to smile with pride. And he would have, if the cocktail of pain killers didn’t make it so damn difficult to persuade his muscles to do anything. He wasn’t quite sure what his brother had gotten angry about this time, but it sounded like he had reduced one of the nurses to tears.

                “Kaiba-sama, I’m sorry I don’t know why you weren’t informed…” a high pitched voice whimpered. “I don’t have access to his medial records… I was just told to change the bandages over the stitches…”

                “I signed three fucking consent forms as he was rushed into surgery a week ago, and it’s taken this long for a worthless little peon like you to inform me that those surgeries never happened!”

                “I still need to…”

                “Get out! Go tell whoever is in charge of this dump that if the next person who walks through that door doesn’t have a medical degree and some fucking answers, I will tear this hospital to the ground!”

                “That is enough,” another woman insisted. “We can hear you all the way down at the nurse’s station, you know. Kaiba-sama, I am sorry that you feel like we haven’t adequately informed you of your brother’s condition. At the time, insuring that he didn’t die of shock and putting his fingers back together again was the priority. Would you honestly rather take him to a facility where the surgeons spend their time making you feel better in the waiting room instead of treating his injuries?”

                “I would rather not wake up every day wondering if today is going to be the day I burry my brother! Someone should have told me!”

                “Yes,” the firm voice agreed, “Someone should have. That does not give you the right to abuse my staff. I suppose no one told you the results of his toxicology screen, either?”

                “Toxicology screen?”

                “Morphine, methamphetamine, and three different pharmaceutical-grade antibiotics were found in his blood work.”

                “So they drugged him?”

                “Treated him,” the firm voice corrected. “We had to give the toxicology records to the police, because of the methamphetamine. Bu I suspect the amphetamine is the only reason he survived at all. Morphine has a short half-life. There was still a lot of it in his blood, so the initial dose must have been massive—more than enough to knock out a man three times his size. The amphetamines were the only thing that kept him conscious and kept him from drowning.”

                “Why would they bother if they were just going to kill him? And why the hell would they shoot him with blanks!”

                “Not blanks. Not exactly. The detectives who came in when he was in recovery said they recognized the bruises—they said they looked like the marks made by the rubber bullets riot police use for crowd control, apparently they hit with enough force to throw someone back several feet when they’re fired at close range. They can even be fatal if aimed at the head or neck. After he was pulled from the water, he looked like he’d been shot. Even the EMTs who responded on the scene were convinced. As for why, I have no idea. I am not a police officer. But, if I had to guess, I’d say that whoever shot him also administered both drugs, and it seems like they were trying to convince someone else that he was dead. Whoever shot your brother, Kaiba-sama, probably saved his life.”

                “So he’s actually going to be fine?”

                “We’ll see,” the woman continued. “Just because he doesn’t have four bullet holes through his chest doesn’t mean he’s fine. From the bruising, broken bones, and the muscle withering, I’d say it’s going to take at least six months of physical therapy to get your brother back on his feet. He may never regain full use of his right hand, and the rest… The cuts on his back had already started to heal, you see… There’s nothing to do now but to let his body heal them in its own time. It’s too late for stitches. Skin grafts over the burns, as I told you before, will cause more harm than good at this point. He’s going to need IV antibiotics for another two weeks, at least, and even then the risk of the infection recurring is high. And no plastic surgeon in the world will ever be able to do much about the scars. Even if one of his captors took pity on him and decided to give him a chance, he is still lucky to be alive.”

                “But he’s not going to die?”

                “Of course he is,” the doctor insisted, her voice absolutely calm.

                Seto could almost feel his brother’s rage beginning to boil.

                “But, strictly speaking, everyone is going to die. Barring complications from the infection, and freak accidents or a zombie plague, he could very well live another sixty years. Complications from the infection are only likely if some asshole screams at my staff every time they try to do their jobs. Freak accidents do happen, of course.”

                “Zombie plagues…”

                “You never know,” the woman repeated, her voice dripping with calm certainty.

                “Yes, well, if you managed to do your job correctly and inform me of his condition, I wouldn’t be quite so concerned about your staff’s incompetence. I will be moving my brother to a private facility with competent staff immediately.”

                “Be my guest,” the woman said in the most oblivious tone Seto had ever heard anyone use when facing his brother’s wrath. Before the drugs dropped him back over the edge of oblivion, Seto did manage a tiny smile.

* * * * * *

                “This isn’t healthy, you know,” Mokuba insisted. The younger Kaiba tightened the knot in his tie, adjusted the review mirror, and pretended that he wasn’t trying to keep tabs on the men surrounding them in the dark parking garage. “You really should listen to the police.”

                “Listen to the police?” Seto narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You think there’s anything healthy about spending the rest of my life hiding like some kind of frightened weakling? Or worse, being surrounded by bodyguards the rest of my life?”

                Mokuba’s furious silence spoke volumes. After the first two times his little brother had been kidnapped as a boy, Seto had forced a team of body guards into his life. Seto made fun of him for months when, at the age of fourteen, Mokuba had thrown a fit about having the right to go pee without a huge stranger standing behind him.

                “I didn’t ask you to come along,” Seto reminded him defensively.

                “No, you never do. What do you hope to accomplish meeting with someone like this?”

                Seto clenched and unclenched the fingers of his right hand. Twinges of pain still stabbed through his fingers when he moved them. The skin on his back was tight and thickened with ropes of scars—an everyday reminder of the sting of a whip, chain, and the agony of a red hot flat tip screw driver being dragged across his skin. Of all of the scars and pain that he’d been left with, the one thing that truly haunted him now, almost eight months after Jounouchi dumped him into the ocean, was the smile on Jounouchi’s face. Part of Seto wanted to find Jounouchi and just punch him over and over again, until he was exhausted and punching no longer had any effect. Part of him wanted to find the moron and demand to know why Jou had bothered to try and keep Seto alive. But mostly, Seto wanted to show Jounouchi just how much pain he had endured. Seto wanted revenge.

                “I hope to avoid getting my hands dirty,” Seto whispered.

                “That’s not an answer.”

                “It is, actually,” Seto countered. He took a deep breath and opened the car door. “Just carry the money and keep quiet.”

                Mokuba grabbed a brief case from between his feet and opened the passenger door.

                Two gigantic men in suits stood, as nonchalantly as men can when they’re trying to look nonchalant, among the luxury cars. More men stood in a perimeter around them. Their eyes held a fierce glint that Seto was used to seeing in multi-million dollar negotiations, but the scars decorating each man’s face reminded Seto that there was far more at stake this time around.

                Seto approached these men in the safest way he knew—with the absolute confidence and aloofness of a superior dealing with a trying underling. Seto had learned long ago that, no matter how old he was, how he dressed, or what he did with his life, so long as he went into a situation knowing that he was unquestionably in charge, he would be treated as though he was unquestionably in charge. “You finally have results?” Seto demanded, avoiding making direct eye contact, despite the confidence in his voice.

                “Indeed, Kaiba-san,” said the oldest man, who might have passed for a well to do retiree if not for the jagged scar crossing the centre of his entire right cheek. “You gave explicit instructions, and so I called upon the very best to carry them out, to the smallest detail.”

                “Really?”

                The man gestured toward a small black Bently parked about ten feet away. The back door opened and still figure wrapped in a blanket was unceremoniously pushed onto the pavement. The man who stepped out behind the body made Seto’s carefully crafted expression falter. “Jounouchi…” he gasped.

                “Of course. I did not sanction Hirutani’s conduct in this matter, but Hirutani and Jounouchi are both mine. I would never have agreed to facilitate your request for less than your offered price. Anything less would have been an insult to their worth and my own honor.”

                “I see. However, as you have only fulfilled half of our agreed terms, I am sure you’ll agree that our negotiated price is no longer valid.”

                “You misunderstand, Kaiba-san. Hirutani, subjected to every pain and agony you suffered, was your first request. Jou!” The gangster shouted.

                Jounouchi, looking straight ahead with empty, almost dead amber eyes, kicked the blanket off of the body. The stench from the heap of flesh, blood, and exposed bone was so strong that Seto could smell it from a dozen feet away. The body, covered in torn flesh and lacerations, looked as though it had already begun to rot. To Seto’s hidden horror, the body tried to move. A mangled right hand, with bits of small bones poking through torn skin, scrapped over pavement as the man, or what was left of him, tried to push himself up.

                Jounouchi, already wearing blue rubber gloves, hoisted what remained of Hirutani up onto his knees, stepped around him, and pulled out a small silenced pistol.

                “Jou…” Hirutani whispered. The soft noise somehow echoed through the parking garage and through Seto’s head.

                “Nothing personal,” Jou muttered, his voice amazingly chipper. Without a moment’s hesitation, or even a hint of emotion in his eyes, Jou pulled back the slide, aimed the gun at Hirutani’s naked chest and pulled the trigger four times.

                The world lurched to a crawl, like Seto was watching Jounouchi and Hirutani in slow motion. Seto felt like his eyes were somehow expanding, every detail before him was being etched into his memory by the acid rush of adrenaline. He tightened his jaw to keep his features like stone, but every muscle in his body quivered and tensed. Blood blossomed across Hirutani’s chest as specks of flesh, blood, and thick connective tissue burst out of his back with each of the bullets that drilled through him.

                Jou carefully replaced the pistol in his jacket and stood at a quiet attention. At Jou’s feet, Hirutani’s last breath came with a spasm and a gurgle of blood cascading from his mouth.

                The old gangster motioned to two of the men surrounding them. They quickly wrapped Hirutani in the blanket again and carried him away. Just like that. Seto watched the swaddled bundle be shoved into a black plastic bag and then shoved into the trunk of a car. Just like that. The two men who carried the body removed their own gloves, carefully turning one inside out over the other, to contain all of the blood inside the gloves themselves, and tossed them into the trunk as well. The trunk closed with a gentle click. Just like that. Seto opened and closed the fingers of his right hand. The face of the man who had caused those twinges of pain flashed through his mind again, this time covered in black, old blood. He was gone.

                Jounouchi, of all people, had callously tortured and killed the very man he’d joked and laughed with, the man he’d gone out to drink with after dumping Seto into the frigid ocean. All of the pain, the anger, the self-righteous justification he’d felt when Seto first decided that true revenge demanded that Hirutani feel everything he felt, all of it had suddenly been taken away. Just like that.

                Seto should have felt relieved. He should have been happy. He should have been gloating and screaming inside. Instead, he felt his chest shudder as he stared at Jounouchi’s blank, lifeless eyes. He had promised most of his fortune to anyone who could give him revenge, but he had never expected this. He hadn’t expected Jounouchi to be the one to do it. He felt as though the idiot Mutt had stolen his revenge from him, rather than granting it. Seto felt fury well up inside of him as he stared at that passive, perfect face.

                “Now,” the old gangster smiled, “You requested that Jounouchi be delivered to you alive, so that you could deal with him personally. Jou!”

                One of the men who carried Hirutani’s corpse to the car approached Jou’s side, and Seto found himself wanting to scream, to stop the huge brute from getting anywhere near Jounouchi, but Seto couldn’t force himself to move.

                Jou, however, didn’t look frightened. His eyes stayed empty, as if he had just shut himself off inside. Jou carefully removed his pistol and handed it to the man. He methodically went through his clothing, producing assorted weapons from every piece of fabric he touched. He gingerly handed each one to the man, who fumbled under the load and dropped two small daggers as he struggled to hold everything.

                “Are you certain you require him alive?” the old gangster asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

                “You want to kill him?” Mokuba asked, clearly horrified.

                The old man smiled brightly. “Jounouchi,” he said slowly, “has been like a son to me these many years. He is one among a very few who still honor me with true obedience. If his death is necessary, he will not hesitate to take his own life.”

                “No!” Seto shouted, his voice far too loud. He swallowed hard and forced himself to calm down. “No. Jounouchi shot me and left me for dead,” Seto lied. “I will deal with Jounouchi. Tie his hands.”

                “There is no need,” the old gangster said, his voice dripping with obvious pride.

                “I said tie his hands.”

                “As you wish.” The old gangster nodded. The second henchman padded his pockets, trying to indicate that he had nothing to tie Jou up with. Jou very slowly reached over to the pile of weapons he had relinquished, pulled out a long white zip tie, and passed it to the henchman. Then Jou calmly placed his hands behind his back and let his hands be secured. “His life is yours. However, I suggest you kill him quickly. He is a dangerous man.”

                “I suspect you’re right,” said Seto honestly. “Pay the gentleman, Mokuba.”

                Mokuba handed the briefcase and key the man who came towards them. The man set the brief case on the floor and opened it carefully, inspected the stacks of unmarked bills, the closed it again and grunted as his superior.   Seto passed the keys to his car to Mokuba, then grabbed Jou by the elbow and walked him towards the car. He shoved Jou into the back seat, face down, and pulled a small syringe from his breast pocket. After removing the cap, Seto cupped Jou’s ass in one hand and injected the sedative with the other. Jou didn’t flinch at the unexpected pain. He didn’t make a sound. In a matter of seconds, though, the tension drained out of his muscles as his head fell limp against the upholstery.

                Seto let his hand linger longer than he should have on Jou’s body. The firm curve of muscle beneath the wool dress pants wasn’t what he was expecting. From the brief glimpse he’d gotten of the blonde on the pier, Seto knew he was in good shape, but now Seto realized that the blonde’s suits were tailored to make his body less obvious. He wasn’t in good shape, he was in incredible shape. Even unconscious, his muscles felt like rock beneath his skin.

                He wouldn’t feel anything like a girl in bed, a treacherous part of Seto’s brain whispered.

                Seto had to resist the urge to explore the other man.

                Mokuba got into the driver’s seat and started the car quickly. Seto settled himself in the passenger’s seat and nodded forward. “Drive slowly,” he told Mokuba. “Drive to the office and park along the street out front.”

                “But that’s only four blocks away! Do you really think they’re going to let you leave here alive?”

                “Of course I do,” Seto smirked. “They gave me their word that they would never interfere in my life again. They may be criminals, but they have a certain honor, of sorts.” He pulled out his cell phone and keyed in a series of seven numbers. He set his hand on Mokuba’s neck, then pressed send.

                “Seto what are you—“ The blast three blocks away choked off the rest of Mokuba’s question.

                Tiny pieces of concrete rained down on the sidewalk around them. The air was immediately filled with sirens and car alarms.

                “You backed up the data on your phone last night, right?”

                “What the fuck! Tell me that wasn’t you, Seto!” Mokuba popped his head up and tried to look out the back window. The only thing behind them was a cloud of debris. “Of course I did, though I’d still like to know why you thought it was such a big deal.”

                “Just checking.” Seto entered another series of numbers and hit send. Mokuba covered his head and ducked low, then looked up at Seto, who was leaning back and relaxing in his seat. Above them, the power lines fizzed for a moment.

                “What the hell was that?”

                “You didn’t feel it?” Seto asked.

                “Feel what? What did you do, Seto? Why is the car dead?”

                Seto turned his phone over in his hands several times. The screen was completely blank. “They pride themselves on having honor, of a sorts. As you and I both know quite well, in some circumstances I have no honor whatsoever. Help me get the Mutt inside, we’ll say he got hit by a piece of concrete or something.”
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Deliverance