Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Trey
Pull the Plug – VOILA
Darkness crashes over me, thick and endless, followed by rage and agony and the feeling of strength pouring across the floor in a cooling pool.
Lights flash in fractured bursts. Faces blur together. Shouts. Tears.
I wish I could say I drift into some epic odyssey—monsters, battles, a hero’s journey and all that shit—but no.
My life just cuts to black, stage lights out, no encore.
Then pain explodes.
Agony ignites from my head to my toes, my chest throbbing as pressure builds until it feels like I’m being crushed from the inside out. I can’t tell if I’m suffocating or breathing—just that every breath is a fucking war.
A deep, grinding ache radiates through my ribs, crawling along every nerve, twisting with each shallow inhale. Dragging air into my lungs feels like sucking broken glass.
My ribs throb like something inside me is trying to rip free.
I taste copper—blood, mine, warm and stubborn in the back of my throat—and bile rises fast.
The sharp sting of antiseptic and plastic fills my mouth, dragging up some half-buried memory of being a kid pretending to be Godzilla eating army men, though I’m pretty damn sure none of those ever got shoved into my lungs.
I can’t tell if I’m suffocating or breathing.
Either way, it fucking hurts.
Both.
Yeah.
The answer is both.
Jesus Christ.
I feel like I’m deep-throating Johnny Number Five.
Machines hum close by—rhythmic beeping, oxygen hissing, cold tubes pressing against my skin. When I crack my eyes open, white light claws straight into my skull and I flinch, hard.
Great.
Flash-banged while getting mouth-fucked by a robot.
What is my life?
Fuck this shit... peace out. I’m disassociating.
Great, but you are me—so you’re just gonna have to take it.
Can’t even cup the balls.
Hands are all fucking tied up.
Poor showing.
The hospital ceiling swims into focus, too bright, too clean, too calm, and something about it makes my chest ache worse.
I fucking hate hospitals.
My body feels foreign. Broken.
Wires tug at me, monitors stuck to my chest, IV lines taped to my arm, oxygen tubing under my nose. Every tiny movement becomes a tug-of-war with pain.
My mouth is dry. My throat raw.
Even thinking hurts.
Fucked raw.
#roboblowjob
Memories drift through the fog, jagged and violent—shouting, gunfire, the cold bite of a basement floor, Seraphina’s hands on my face trembling as blood mixed with tears.
“I love you, Trey. Please, don’t leave me.”
A figure in white moves at the edge of my vision, clipboard tucked against their chest.
“He isn’t supposed to be awake.”
“Doctor… is he… smiling?”
Fingers pry my eyelid open, a harsh beam of light burning away what little I can see. Low voices murmur over me, blending, as the world tilts and slides, my thoughts drifting off on a wave of painkiller-soaked euphoria.
The sound of her voice is still in my head, echoing like a wound that refuses to close. My chest tightens. My heart twists.
“Hey.”
The voice cuts through, quiet and steady.
I turn my head, slow and careful. Chace stands in a doorway, then crosses the room with soft steps that don’t match the pain in my chest. His eyes are bloodshot, jaw tight, the kind of exhaustion that comes from too much loss, too much guilt, not too little sleep.
“I-I had a dream…”
“Oh?”
“Y-you were there. Mac too. Logan. And the bald one…he was Glynda’s magic bubble…”
A breath of laughter slips from Chace. Soft, rough around the edges. “Don’t think Sam would’ve minded being ridden by Arianna. Real glad you can still chat shit. We’ll get you some ruby slippers.”
He settles on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle me, eyes flicking over the monitors before coming back to my face. “Doctors said you gave them a fright, waking up with the ventilator still in. Thought they were about to have to strap you down.”
“Y-you look like shit.” My voice scrapes out of me, raw and broken, every syllable sending fresh fire through my ribs like glass grinding together.
“I look better than you, you fuckface,” he says, but the grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“W-where is Seraphina?” The word barely makes it past my cracked lips. My mouth feels like sandpaper and ash.
Chace stills.
For a second, the room feels too quiet, like even the machines are holding their breath.
His jaw tightens. His gaze drops to the floor, then lifts again, heavier now.
“I’m not going to sugarcoat it, brother,” he says quietly. “Seraphina’s missing.”
The words hit harder than the knife ever did.
After everything.
After the blood. The fucking miracle of still being alive.
That culty-cunt took her.
The air leaves me in a rush, jagged, stolen. “What?”
He drags a hand through his hair, glances toward the window like maybe the world outside can fix this. “She disappeared the night everything went down…the dogs, too. No trace.”
My heart stutters, stabbing pain ricocheting sharper than any wound. “How long?”
“Ten days.”
Ten days. Ten days my wife’s been out there—alone, hurt, terrified, maybe worse.
“Nothing?” My voice cracks. “No call, no trace, nothing?”
He shakes his head. Exhaustion carved into his face. “Every route out of the compound checked. Hospitals, transport hubs, every name under Gideon. Nothing.”
The monitors beep faster, each tone a drum of panic in my chest. I clutch the sheets, nails biting deep, panic clawing upward. Ten mother fucking days.
The beeping drills into my skull, each sound a hammer blow, and if it doesn’t stop, I’m going to destroy every fucking machine in this room.
I shake my head and a sharp pain stabs through my broken ribs. “H-how the fuck—”
“Compound was chaos when we got you out. Gideon vanished. So did she.”
The words barely register. Like I’m drowning in water, words muffled, far away.
I can’t breathe—not from the injury, not from the pain—but from the weight of knowing she’s alone.
My hand falls limp against the blanket, IV taped to my skin. My wedding band glints in the light, gold cold and cruel against the warmth of my tears.
“I failed her,” I whisper. Words barely sound, barely exist.
“You did everything you could in the situation—trussed up like a pinata.”
A growl rips out of me before I can stop it, and pain detonates through my ribs, white-hot and blinding. It steals my breath, but it also grounds me. Reminds me I’m still here.
Still breathing.
What the fuck do I even have to live for without her?
If he’s taken her. Married her. Touched her…
I shove the thought away before it guts me.
I don’t care what he’s done. I’ll take her back.
Memory slams into me like a fist—her hands on my face, shaking, slick with my blood. Her tears falling fast, mixing with it.
I love you, Trey. Please, don’t leave me.
My throat tightens.
God, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.
“There’s one more thing,” Chace says quietly. “Intel says your dad was seen leaving the area that night.”
Everything in me stills.
“My—what?”
Why the fuck was my dad there?
If he was coming for me, I haven’t gone anywhere. Ten fucking days. That’s what he said.
I force my head to turn, every inch of it screaming. The room swims into view—flowers lining the counter, cards stacked on the side table, some fancy basket from the management team or sponsors or whoever the hell.
“Anything in those?” I rasp. “Any clues?”
“Already checked,” Chace says. “Nothing useful. Some fan crap got turned away. But it’s not over. I’ve got my uncle out looking. He thinks she’s most likely with him.”
Cold spreads through my chest.
“You’re saying…” My voice cracks. “My dad has her?”
Chace rubs his face, jaw tight. “We don’t know for sure. Blurry images, shit footage—been popping up everywhere. Could’ve been following you. Trying to help. Doesn’t make sense for him to take her.”
I don’t believe a word of it.
My heartbeat roars in my ears.
“Do you believe he has her?”
He lets out a breath. Not quite a laugh.
“What am I, a magic eight ball? All signs point to yes.”
Confusion crashes into anger, into fear. My dad—the man who broke me over and over, who taught me pain before strength—might have her. My wife. My world. My fucking everything.
If he’s got her…
Nausea twists my stomach, bile rising. “He can’t—he wouldn’t…” But I don’t believe myself. Every memory of him is cruelty incarnate. The thought of her in his hands shreds me.
Everything roars—guilt, fury, helplessness, despair. I failed her. I wasn’t her shield. I didn’t stop it. She’s out there, with him—the one man I swore would never touch my life—while I lie here, stitched together, useless.
Get. Up.
My body shakes, a storm of agony and guilt. Pain radiates through my ribs, side, chest, lungs, a constant, sharp ache that steals every breath. Ten days. Ten days not knowing what she’s enduring.
I close my eyes, pressing a trembling hand to my side, trying to anchor myself to something solid. “Chace,” I grunt.
I try to move. Just a little, enough to peek at the door, to stand, to find her.
Pain explodes, ribs scream, my chest seizes. Fresh blood leaks through the bandage, sticky and hot, soaking the sheets. Bile rises. Breath stolen.
“Fuck!” Chace drops to a knee. “Don’t move!”
I push anyway, shaking, gripping the sheets, world tilting. “I have to—she—”
“Your body’s wrecked!” Chace snaps. “You had a collapsed lung, internal bleeding, multiple contusions—if you move, you could tear everything open. They only just took your chest tube out. You need to heal. You hear me?”
I shake my head, desperation twisting me. “I can’t just wait! She could be—”
“You’re bleeding through your side, you moron!” Chace hits the call button. Nurses rush in seconds later, moving with precision while my chest convulses with grief and pain.
I focus on them, barely, as memory and present collide. Seraphina running, alone, terrified.
I didn’t protect her. I failed.
Tears come, unstoppable, streaking my face.
Chace speaks again, voice low. “Trey… you survive. That’s what you do now. Keep breathing. Stay alive. She needs you alive.”
I shake my head, clawing at sheets. “I… I failed her…”
“Grow the fuck up, man. You were chained down, getting the shit kicked out of you. Stabbed. Burned. You flatlined three, maybe four times on the way to the hospital. It was a shit situation, but knowing you, you made the most of it. You didn’t fail her, brother…
you got sucker-punched by a fucking cult. ”
I failed her, and now she’s gone.
“Trey.” Chace’s voice softens, just a fraction, but it still cuts through the haze. “I love you, man, but if I have to get Mac in here to verbally kick the shit out of you, I will.”
The fury doesn’t burn me down—it hardens.
Every scream in my chest becomes a weapon, every throb of pain a reminder.
I’m done being broken. “Stop being a fucking idiot and torturing yourself over what happened,” he snaps.
“Focus on what happens next. You won’t get out of here if they haul you back into surgery. Focus. Damn it.”
He’s right.
Of course he’s right.
Chace. Smart, way too fucking smart. Too calm when I’m burning up inside.
I take a ragged breath, letting my pulse slow just enough to think.
He already has people hunting my piece of shit dad. Every second counts. Police are going to want to grill me the second they know I’m awake.
Shit.
I flex my fingers, testing the pain, the stiffness, the raw, burned edges of my body. Every muscle screams at me. But I can think, and thinking is power. Thinking means I can plan, and planning means I can act.
I need Seraphina alive. Breathing. Holding on for me.
I need to reach her before Gideon’s rats ever catch her scent.
And I fucking will.
I will tear through flesh and bone and blood to get to her.
The rage tightens in my chest. The pain burns through my veins like gasoline, and I welcome it.
It doesn’t weaken me.
It forges me.
I didn’t fail her.
Not then .Not now. Not ever again.
This time, I become the storm.
This time, I fucking fight.
Nurses adjust IVs, monitors, and carefully change the bloodied bandage. Pain gnaws at every nerve. The door opens, and a tall man in scrubs steps in, clipboard in hand. The faint antiseptic scent hits me again, sharp and clinical. He glances at the monitors.
“Mr. Baker, you gave us quite the scare last I saw you, alert while being intubated. ” he says gently, though his voice carries authority. “You’ve been awake on and off for ten days. It’s a lot to take in, I know.”
I lift my head enough to glare at him. “How long before I can be discharged, Doc?”
He shakes his head slightly. “Not yet. You’ve got a collapsed lung that required a chest tube.
Multiple stab wounds—your left side took the brunt.
Internal bleeding. Contusions across your torso and legs.
Your ribs are fractured in two places, which makes deep breathing and movement painful.
You’ll be healing, but this isn’t a quick fix. ”
I close my eyes, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The pain in my chest sharpens as I shift slightly.
“But,” he continues, stepping closer, “you can start moving around your room. Small steps, carefully. The bathroom is attached, so you won’t have to go far. We’ll have a nurse with you at first, help you sit upright, get you washing, standing, even a few cautious steps. Your body needs time.”
I swallow, raw and hollow. “I…I can’t just stay here.”
“You won’t have to,” he says firmly. “Not forever. But today, we start with your room. A few steps, a few minutes upright, then back to bed. We repeat, building strength slowly. You’ll feel sore, maybe light-headed, maybe scared—but we’ll guide you.”
“I’ll be cartwheeling in no time. It’s not like I haven’t lived with broken ribs before.”
“Can we get him unhooked so he can start moving around?” Chace asks.
I nod, a tremor running through my arms as I shift. Pain rips through my chest, but it sharpens me. Every breath sears, every heartbeat drums fury through my veins.
Weakness is a cage. I refuse it.
My wife is out there. Somewhere. In the dark. Surrounded by monsters who think they can touch what’s mine.
My dad doesn’t get her. Gideon doesn’t get her. No one will.
Seraphina belongs to me. My wife, my blood, my heart beating outside my chest. Every nerve screams it. Every thought burns it.
I’ll follow their instructions, take their measured steps—but only until I can move on my own terms. Once I do, no chains, no orders, no man alive will keep me from her.
I will find her. I will take her. I will make certain every hand that reaches for her regrets it.
She is mine. Mine alone.