Ataahua AN: Don't mind me. I'm just over here still coming to grips with the fact we've finally updated. Sorry about the wait. As you all know, life just looooves to get in the way! :S

DH AN: I am not a happy camper that it took so long, but FINALLY this chapter is done… I'm sorry for the delay. But blame it on Blondie not cooperating (and more minorly life stuff but). Thanks so much for your patience and I hope y'all enjoy!

"Bla bla bla" indicates dialogue being said via the rod, rather than out loud.

Small heads up: There are several instances of language more on the coarser side of the lexicon in this chapter.

We appreciate each and every review and we're super sorry it took so long… TDH jinxed us in the last chapter!

Here's Chapter Thirty: The Sting Of Betrayal Pt. II.

Chapter Thirty: The Sting Of Betrayal Pt. II

"Can we stop, Odion?" Amara urged as her eyes fixed on A'isha's ankle. "Just for, like, two seconds."

"No." A'isha pushed off the wall, fighting back a flinch as forks of pain shot through the swollen limb. She took another step. "We don't need to—"

"I call bullshit!" Amara's brows curled at the sorry sight before her. "Look at you, Ish!" She jabbed a finger toward her cousin for emphasis. "Your ankle's all red and… and puffy like… like a giant frankfurter!"

"It's worse than it—"

"Tell that to your face!" Amara squawked. "You look like you just saw Sir Jerk-A-Lot stark naked!" She paused, observing the way A'isha's face twisted with utter disgust. "Scratch that. Now you look like you just saw him stark na—"

"Mar, are you trying to make me feel better or worse?"

"Sorry…" Amara cleared her throat, clearly sheepish. "I haven't, uhh, had much practice at this whole protective cousin thing."

A'isha sighed, her eyes dashing between Amara, Odion and the Rare Hunter who'd stood guard outside their room. All four of them were on their not-so-merry way to Marik's quarters, Odion a few steps ahead while the Rare Hunter, now fidgeting his left foot, lingered just as many steps behind.

"Plus we've been scarred enough to last us five lives in a single day," A'isha groaned, grimacing at the floor. "You don't need to make it six."

Amara toyed with the end of her baby pink shirt. "Well, it's more like five hundred lives this past week."

A'isha's lip quirked a fraction. "Point taken."

"But anyway, my actual point is that you're clearly in pain and you need to take a break!"

A'isha's grimace grew. "And make Marik wait?" She shook her head promptly, answering her own enquiry. The guy's patience had flown out the nearest window way back in that restaurant washroom, when he'd found Julie. Possibly even earlier. Making him wait now was just shy of a death sentence.

"Well," Amara huffed, puffing her chest, "that's what he gets for hurting your ankle in the freaking first place!"

A'isha propped one shoulder against the hallway wall, shifting her weight to her uninjured ankle. She exhaled a sigh of relief as the pain dulled down to a faint throb. "We both know he wouldn't see it that way."

"So what? Can't Odion just spell it out for him?"

Amara spared a glance over one shoulder, meeting Odion's olive gaze. A'isha was sure she caught a sliver of panic – perhaps even fear – squirming in the depths of his eyes.

"Well, Odion?" Mar continued, quirking a brow. "You're brothers and all that. Doesn't that give you special brotherly privileges to, like, tell him when he's being a total douchebag?"

A'isha arched a brow. "Ya really think that's worked on Mr High and Mighty so far?"

Amara shrugged. "Have you even tried it, Odion?"

The frown on his face intensified by the second. "It's… complicated."

"Complicated? How's it complicated?" Amara gestured to her cousin with two petite hands. "Like, I always tell Ish when she's being a giant… err… sibling."

"Nice save," A'isha popped in.

Amara perked up, grinning Ish's way. "I know, right?" The grin fell instantly. "Bu-But that's not the point!" She turned to Odion once more. "You can see she shouldn't be on her feet right now. Gosh! At the very least, we should be helping her walk—"

"I'm right here, y'know," A'isha blurted, this time successfully fighting off a wince despite her ankle. "And I'm fine."

"No, you're not!" Amara stomped her foot. "Just let us help—"

"I don't need—"

"Why not?" The query was just shy of a full-on shout. Clearly, Mar's patience was withering quickly. "Why the heck not, Ish?!"

A'isha wasn't sure what she hated more in that moment: the answer to that damn question or the humiliating way her lips twisted and trembled, unshed tears hazing her vision. The tears didn't fall. She refused to let them.

Not now.

Not in his presence.

Never again.

"Well?" Amara pressed, still waiting.

"Because!"

"Because why?"

"Just- Just because!"

"Ish, just tell me why!"

A'isha's fist slammed against the wall in place of her shoulder. "Because I won't let him see me like this!" Her voice shook. "Because I won't let him lap up his handiwork!" Her fist slid down the wall, back to her side.

Because enduring that from him would hurt me far more than this injured ankle ever could…

And she was ashamed to be aware that fact.

She was ashamed, full stop.

A huff hissed through Amara's lips. "Quit being so stubborn, Ish! Your ankle sticks out like a sore thumb anyway!" She hesitated. "Or, well… a sore ankle but—ugh, y'know what I mean! He'd be blind not to notice!"

A'isha groaned. "Gee, Mar. You always know just what to say." She took another step. Or rather, she tried to.

Instead, she stumbled and nearly face-planted the floor.

Before A'isha had a chance to protest, Amara and Odion dove to her side. Mar looped an arm around her shoulders, while Baldy – too tall next to the girls – settled a large hand atop her shoulder instead, on standby should her ankle give way again.

"Please, Ish?" Amara forced a small, albeit strained smile. "At least until we reach his bedroom door?"

With a slow sigh of defeat, A'isha slowly nodded. "Only until then." The slightest of smiles tugged at her lips as she hobbled down the hallway, aided by her company and the unnamed Rare Hunter still in tow.

The near-smile was snatched away a second later as the gravity of the situation again reasserted itself. It wasn't aided by the stomach-souring thoughts that bounced about her head.

She'd almost trusted him.

She'd even felt – dare she think – safe with him.

And for what? All that had gotten her was this pending clusterfuck that she didn't even know how to start handling. Her stomach knotted to a point that she'd have ripped it out if it wouldn't have caused further injury to do so.

The hobbling party had picked up speed, but it was still a painfully long walk to Marik's room. Whether the time seemed lengthy merely in A'isha's head was unclear. She felt the aiding hands leave her in an almost abrupt instant.

Both olive green eyes to her right and hazel eyes to her left offered an immediate non-verbal apology. Odion's entire face seemed to offer one further as he almost hesitated before knocking thrice, the action on the lighter side – perhaps conveying a nervousness impossible to show in any other way.

A'isha's stomach churned. She doubted Odion's nerves were for his own sake.

A moment's pause after the knocking gave A'isha just enough time to swallow a small amount of her extant trepidation. It wasn't enough to even make a dent.

"Enter."

As soon as the word filtered through the door, A'isha felt the stomach knot drop like lead. His tone was far too calm.

As she hobbled in, A'isha watched the lightning lash across the sky, visible through the window that stretched across much of the wall to her right. Unwelcomed memories of that horrible mugging came flooding back in the instant of over-illumination.

A'isha's minute shaking tripled, as did her struggles to stand somewhat normally despite her damn ankle, and it felt like the only way it wouldn't be noticed was if everyone in the room were blind.

Humiliation followed, and did not abate – his attention was strangely fixed on her, his gaze more pensive than piercing. A quick glance at Marik's face gave A'isha pause. It was slightly pale and with that pensiveness from his gaze mimicked in his facial expression, he almost looked ill.

Even with those factors, his attention was still unnerving beyond measure.

Like an antelope cornered by a ravenous lion, A'isha wanted nothing more than to run.

To run from her feelings.

From her futility.

She wanted to hobble as far as her stupid ankle would let her.

Her instinct screamed self-preservation.

Yet, she didn't take a step. Not to save her pride. Not out of defiance. Not because her ankle hurt to buggery and back again.

And not even because he could stop her with a single thought.

Her intellect offered something else, knew there was no good reason for flight, or at least not a scenario where an attempt wouldn't be met with something worse.

A'isha stayed for Amara. She refused to leave her alone. She wouldn't let her down. When truly needed, she'd never let Amara down before; her stupid rescue attempt was proof enough of that.

Self-preservation wasn't the sole priority then, and A'isha would be damned if she only looked out for herself now. In a word, self-preservation here would be nothing more than betrayal. She wouldn't repay a betrayal with a betrayal this time. Never again.

A'isha was pulled from her over-thinking session by the mildly firm grip of Odion's hands on her shoulders; perhaps to stop her from another near-fall, perhaps to stop her from hurling her good leg at Marik's unspeakables.

Probably both.

A brief, sideways glance at Amara and she realised their accompanying Rare Hunter had a hold – probably a firmer one – on Amara's narrow shoulders.

A'isha's attention shifted back to Marik in an instant. The expression of possible illness was now gone from his face – if it had even been there at all – and his gaze was now fixed a foot or two above her head. Likely where Odion's face was right now.

The ever-creepy eye on the Millennium Rod shone once. Odion's grip on her shoulders strengthened for a short-lived moment—but long enough to steal a wince from her.

"Ow!" Amara burst, shooting a glare over her shoulder at the man behind her. "Dude, quit diggin' into my shoulders like they're friggin' jello!"

A'isha swallowed. Had Marik just used his creepy rod-speak on Odion and the Rare Hunter?

A brief silence.

Marik's eyes, still fixed on Odion, narrowed dangerously. "Don't test me today," he hissed through clenched teeth. His mauve cloak rustled as he turned his back on them – a dismissal if she ever did see one.

Odion needed no further encouragement to usher A'isha back into the hallway, with Amara and the unnamed Rare Hunter close in tow.

She glimpsed Marik grip each edge of the mahogany desk across the room, perhaps a little too tightly, before the door clicked shut and shielded him from view.

A'isha could have sworn she heard something break beyond that door, but she had bigger problems to deal with at the moment.

"Uuuumm… So what's Marik playing at here?" Amara drawled, quirking a brow at Odion. "Is he, like, trying to punish us by making us walk ten thousand steps without our Fitbits on? 'Cause that's actually a really dick move, if you ask me."

Odion pursed his lips momentarily. "There's… been a slight change in plans. I'm afraid I can't say much more than that."

"Much more?" A'isha said.

"All I'm at liberty to say is that we've been instructed to take ourselves to the Throne Room." A'isha's stomach re-knotted itself promptly at the new information.

"Dude," Amara barked at the Rare Hunter behind her, who seemed to have over-squeezed her shoulder again. "I am NOT your stress ball! Lay off!" A'isha then watched Amara's face twist as if she'd just got caught in a really cold shower. It was gone in an instant.

"Amara," said Odion, "in consideration for your shoulder, you and your… escort should probably go on ahead."

"But—"

"Mar, I'll be fine- I'm likely with the only person on this stupid boat who's considerate of stuff like this; he's also the one who gets that your shoulder's not a dang stress ball." She forced a reassuring smile, though it was likely closer to a grimace. "We won't be too far behind."

Amara hesitated, clearly eager to protest until another shoulder squeeze was almost met with an elbow to Pudgy's gut. With that, Amara picked up speed and sent her escort in a bit of a mad dash after her.

That almost had A'isha actually smiling.

Almost.

Only when the other two had rounded a corner did Ish decide to speak. "You didn't only send them on because of Amara's shoulder." Her tone was an inch away from accusatory and she felt terrible for it.

"That's about eighty percent of it." Odion just looked guilty; not a great look for him.

"So…" She allowed him to guide her down the corridor. "What's the other twenty percent?"

"What happened at that dinner?"

"You're kidding! You don't already know?"

"All I got from Marik were bits, pieces, and an ungodly headache from his mental tantrum."

"Better than a backhand and a busted ankle." As if on cue, a particularly sharp blast of pain shot up from A'isha's right leg. "If Mirah hadn't stepped in", she attempted and failed to fight off a shudder, "'so much worse' doesn't even begin to cover what might've happened."

"You must have really impressed her; she usually errs on the side of not stepping in… permitting the consequences to naturally occur."

"That doesn't make me feel better… I get the feeling she could break me in half just by looking at me – if I peeved her off enough." A'isha winced as she narrowly avoided another misstep. "I despise that I care too much. More often than not, all I get is on the receiving end of some crappy drama."

"There is a great shortage on those who even care slightly, and an overabundance of those who see others as nothing more than mere stepping stones to their own greatness." They both went silent after that.

As they turned into another hallway, Odion straightened almost reflexively, and A'isha's stomach flipped at the sight of an intricately carved double door. As they approached, it was eased aside by unseen hands, revealing what must've been Marik's whole flippin' man harem. Three rows of Rare Hunters, lining every wall of the illuminated space, aside from the wall directly ahead, where his stupid ego-stroke of a throne was.

Her stomach squirmed as she spotted Amara knelt on one knee, at the bottom of the steps that led to said throne. It was now Bryn's hands that were on her shoulders, restricting her movements.

All eyes were on A'isha, and to say she was uncomfortable in that moment would've been a ridiculous understatement. Why had Marik summoned his whole organisation here?

A'isha had no time to mull on that question. She had bigger problems to fret over, like how the eager fidgets and murmurs of the men in the room suggested they were all raring for a show. She had a feeling they wouldn't be disappointed either. She had been blessed with a one-way ticket to Screwedville's epicentre twice over.

There were probably about three Rare Hunters she passed by that were ramrod straight with panic-creased faces, and generally exuded dread, as if they too knew what was coming. A'isha could swear one was almost vibrating.

As Odion led her across the room, closer to her cousin, it was furthered that there definitely wasn't any fibbing about the escape attempt.

Bryn's cloak was still unmistakably soaked, the cloth still a shade darker even after an hour away from the downpour. Amara's former handler was nowhere in perceivable sight. She thought she heard Bryn mutter something about a 'serial shoulder squisher'. That one getting relieved of duty and sent among the masses made the most sense of anything all evening.

A'isha's skin perfectly matched the pale marble beneath her feet.

Now, Odion gripped both of her shoulders, forcing her to kneel on her uninjured knee before the empty throne. She grimaced, knowing it wouldn't be empty for long. The mere thought of kneeling to that arrogant asshole absolutely sickened her. Said arrogant asshole knew it too.

Goodbye, Dignity. Her fists curled, trembling at her sides. It was nice knowing you for all of two seconds.

Odion's grip remained firm on her shoulders. She knew – well, hoped really – that he was only keeping up appearances in front of his colleagues to please his brother. That reason made her feel better than any alternative, after the way she'd opened up to him last night. It was bad enough that she already felt like the Queen of Morons because of how she felt about—

Amara's quivering voice ripped through her thoughts.

"Ish, I don't think I lik—"

"Aye!" Bryn cut through her words, his Irish accent particularly thick. "No speakies, ladies! Not till Master Marik says so!"

Amara didn't need to speak anyway. The shame on her face spoke volumes. A'isha forced a smile, hoping it said what she couldn't. She didn't blame her for this. Not one bit. And to be fair, Amara hadn't really pissed him off; he was already that way well before he blew his gasket again and had them marched into this mess.

The next few minutes ticked by oh so slowly. Whispers filled the room, thrilled and fast, ricocheting off every wall. A'isha barely heard them. Her head was too busy still painting pictures of what Marik might do to her. Or worse, what he might do to Amara.

He wasn't happy. His pride was battered and bruised after the Julie debacle, the escape, and whatever else that had him epically pissed. He'd want to regain that lost pride. He believed Amara to be her major weakness. He believed she'd bend to his will if he played upon that weakness.

A'isha sucked air in through her teeth and wrung her fists tighter, knuckles running white.

The jerk was right.

He was terribly right.

Her deliberations were splintered by a deafening silence.

The whispers had ceased.

A'isha swallowed.

That could only mean—

The concise tap of slow steps ripped through the room. By God, she hated those steps. Cold and calculating, just like their owner. And she was the unlucky bearer of the brunt of his wrath.

This wasn't the first time, but now… now things were different.

Something between them had changed. Her stomach churned at the acknowledgement of that fact.

He wasn't just her captor, her tormentor, a hard-hearted criminal.

And she wasn't merely his captive, his amusement, the girl who knew his name.

Not anymore. He knew some of her vulnerabilities; she knew some of his. They were no longer unknowns to each other.

Emotions had a way of overruling logic. The only other time Marik had been anywhere near this emotional, he'd been as drunk as a skunk—and oh boy, did she know how that had turned out. And that was just very early this morning.

As if on cue, A'isha's lips tingled. He'd been so warm. His lips. His hands. His chest. Even his words…

Her stomach soured.

It didn't seem right, that someone so cold and callous could be so warm.

Her temples throbbed, tears clawing at the edges of her eyes. She kept them at bay. Barely.

Emotions were a controlling force to be reckoned with. They had a will of their own. She'd know.

God, she definitely knew right now. She knew by the sting in her chest; the bile in her throat; the mounting weight on her shoulders, despite the fact that Odion's large hands had a minimal grip and most of his own weight was on his own stance.

Marik had hurt her. He'd hurt her far more than he should have ever been capable of.

His emotions shouldn't control yours. Odion's words echoed in her head. And yet, here she was, in a position where she could do nothing but react to the control freak.

And it was unnerving at best, that a guy who had almost always shown complete self-control in her presence in the past week could so easily cede to the whims of his own ire… multiple times in an evening. She'd lost count, but knew it was at least twice.

The sound of two more steps in five seconds had her flinching. Let's not forget, he'll want to act macho for his stupid man harem. There's no way he's pulling that carrot out of his—

"Two weeks ago, that fool, Michaes, prostrated himself before me in that very spot."

Forgetting all prior thoughts, she stared down a patch of marble floor, two feet ahead, and swallowed hard. He was likely referring to where she now kneeled. How splendid. She was already under his spotlight!

"I can still hear his pitiful stutters as he begged for mercy, plead for his pathetic life, only to scream as his soul was stripped from his body." She tensed as a pair of leather boots stepped into sight, a familiar mauve cloak skimming the toe caps. "His final moments were spent cowering like a fool… right where you now kneel."

A venomous glare contorted her face of its own accord, as his words reminded her of what he was capable of. It repulsed her. And she was bowing to him. She was at his mercy. She was even shaking. She wished that she could blame that last factor on the drenched dress that was unceremoniously dumped in a hamper in all its torn, tattered, and soaked glory. Alas no such luck.

Ugh. There was no way the arrogant prick wasn't smirking right now. No. Damn. Way.

"It's almost poetic, isn't it, that you should now kneel just as he did that night." His smirk surely grew at that. She could almost hear it in his voice. "After all, he was the buffoon that brought you to me."

Slowly and suavely, he crouched down to her level, the cloak continuing to cover his legs, curving to their shape. The warmth of his fingers traced her chin. Her trembling intensified along with her glare. She knew it was wishful thinking to hope he hadn't noticed.

"Only, you're not like Michaes, are you?" His next words were as chillingly soft as the steady stroke of his thumb down her jawline. "You won't stutter." His hold on her chin tightened so hard she winced. "You won't beg." She shuddered as his lips brushed her ear, the heat of his breath slithering down her neck. "And you certainly won't give in to me." He jerked her head upward, blazing blue eyes colliding with laughing lavender. "Not for your own life, that is." He jerked her head to the right. "But you will for hers."

As her eyes locked with Amara's, all hostility fell from her face. Instead, she mirrored the fear that festered in her cousin's wide-eyed gaze.

Warmth radiated from Marik's fingertips, anything but comforting as it heated her chin. She knew he was unpredictable. Defiance on any level was a dangerous gamble- one she wasn't willing to take.

"You're right, Marik..." The words gently passed her lips—quiet, not defeated. She re-met his gaze, sure she'd glimpsed a moment's shock swimming within it. "You're right." This time she spoke clearly, concisely, a sure acceptance in her eyes.

"A-A'isha?!"

A'isha grimaced, refusing to meet Amara's stare. She couldn't take the horror it held. Not now.

"A'isha, how… how can you not fight—"

"Because I can't, Amara!" she shrieked, staring down Marik's stupid feet. "I won't! You're not getting hurt for the sake of my pride!"

"And you're not getting hurt because I screwed up again!" Amara choked, struggling in vain against Bryn's vice-like grip. "I'm sick sick SICK of hurting you, Ish! You had NOTHING to do with this and I'm not about to let you take the fall!" Tears streaked her cheeks in an instant. "This… This cousin thing goes both ways and I—" Her voice cracked. "It's about time I start pulling my weight."

Before A'isha could so much as try to think up an intelligible answer, Marik's chilling laughter filled the room. She'd almost forgotten the infuriating sound. Hell, she'd even grown more familiar with what could be considered a warmer, semi-genuine version of it.

"And just how do you plan to pull your weight, foolish girl?" A'isha had never so badly wanted to slap his stupid smirk off his stupid face… or more correctly the urge to do so had just increased tenfold. Her eyes narrowed into slits as he continued. "That's never mattered to you before."

A'isha felt immediate mild panic set in, rather than relief that the pressure on her chin was now gone, at the combination of seeing that Marik's primary focus was now squarely on Amara, and the far too audible sound of his footsteps; careful, punctuated, and purposeful. An additional nudge to her panic set in upon realisation that she could do nothing but watch helplessly as he circled Amara in what was clearly an intimidation tactic.

It was working. His first small, but complete circle. "You took her bus money." His second. "You thought she wouldn't need it- she had a ride planned after all." His third and fourth. "But it never came, did it, Little Amara?" He stopped for a moment, managing to catch both his captives in an over the shoulder glance. He paced now slowly towards A'isha. "Rather, your cousin was left to walk home, alone, in the rain- which really is a shame on its own-, in an area that, while not crime-ridden, was a known location of some special-interest incidents."

Marik continued both in pace towards A'isha and in speech. "You let me in, Little Amara…it's not the first time and it's always been ones with attractive features whom you've permitted entry to your home without so much as a second thought." He stopped again before A'isha, and bent down to reclaim his grasp on her chin. "You gave her no choice but to come and rescue you and now, here you are. Honestly, I'm still somewhat surprised at that, certainly after that incident with that absolute tank of a girl you managed to drag your cousin into with less than pleasant results- I would think the idea of refusing to come to your aid did cross your dear cousin's mind." A'isha fought a wince but a shudder escaped as he squeezed her chin rather harshly. "And very much like that instance, A'isha now bears the brunt of an aftermath that you're responsible for!"

A'isha had failed to notice the harsh grasp on her chin and the gently firm hold on her shoulders had vanished until she realised the freedom was merely temporary. The feeling of thermic warmth around her arms returned.

The fact that the room held heat about as effectively as a damn icebox made the temperature change far more obvious than the pressure. She tensed, but didn't completely resist, as Marik pulled her to her feet. Before she could adjust to the weight shift, Marik roughly twisted her entire body to face the crowd, and she almost groaned in pain- the jerk had just about twisted her good ankle.

He reasserted his grip on her chin, angling her cheek Amara's way. Two seconds felt like an eternity as she stood under the harsh lighting, the faint impression of a backhand horribly visible to a humiliating number of eyes. One of the unfortunate goons in the front inhaled through his teeth upon catching sight of her severely swollen ankle.

"Observe once more, Little Amara, the reminder that any of your pathetic efforts are in vain."

Amara's tears streamed stronger. So did A'isha's ire. All Marik did was laugh.

Sweat beaded on her temple, and her fists curled at her sides. Things CAN'T get any worse!

Marik's next words proved that thought oh-so-wrong.

"Oh, they can."

At that, A'isha froze. Air sucked through her teeth, catching in her lungs. It quickly staled. She dared not breathe. All her focus honed in on the sudden, tingling sensation that swarmed all over her skull. He was in her head. He was in her damn head and somehow, she hadn't seen it coming.

A shiver flared from her core, erupting across her skin. Anything and everything was now available to him. Things he could and would use against her without so much as a second thought. Sixteen years of memories. Sixteen years of hardship. Sixteen years of abuse, of being a burden, of never feeling good enough. All of it was at his disposal.

He'd learn just how much December twenty third meant to her. That it was the sixteenth anniversary of her parents' passing. And not just that- he'd also learn it was the second anniversary of her relationship with Dani, a fact she'd been trying to shove from her mind all damn week. A day she should've spent with Dani, she'd instead spent posing as a madman's fiancée.

And—

Oh God.

Her screwed up feelings for him would be undoubtedly confirmed. Feelings that had sparked an attraction of the horrifyingly physical variety. He'd know of the creepy dreams she'd had. Dreams in which he'd threatened to rape her. Dreams in which he'd asked to kiss her. That in some crazy way, she'd even enjoyed the time she'd spent with him. With her kidnapper. With the creep who'd hurt her cousin- and her. With a person she had every right to hate. With a person she couldn't bring herself to hate completely.

Every little thought. Every little insecurity. Every little fear. He had access to every last one!

"My my, Dear A'isha," he almost purred in her ear, so quiet only she could hear it. "You really do have the tendency to overthink things."

Her stomach twisted in knots as he laughed, loud and bordering on hysterical. Had he—

"Though I must say, bringing such thoughts to the forefront of your mind certainly saves me considerable time and a little energy." Another low chuckle. "Not to mention this way is far more amusing."

Shit.

He'd been in her head that whole time. He'd heard it all. He'd know she's already near her wits' end. And he'd think she wanted him, when the very thought of cheating on Dani and yielding to his severely swollen ego had her wanting to hurl.

Heat rose all over her body, flushing her skin a vibrant shade of burgundy. Her humiliation was apparent even against her caramel skin.

Stupid.

She was so fucking ridiculously stupid.

And damn it, the asshole had probably heard that too. If only she could stop think—

A'isha tensed. Slowly, his left arm curled around her waist, gliding across her stomach. Just when she thought she couldn't shake any harder, the warmth of his laughter on her neck had her doing just that- and against his damn body, flaunting her fear. His right hand still clasped her chin as he yanked her ear toward his lips.

"Tell me, Ish." His left arm tightened around her waist, stealing a gasp. "Do you think Dani ever imagined you'd spend your two-year anniversary in the arms of another man?"

Like a caged animal, her lips drew back in a snarl. "Fuck you," she growled with biting precision.

His next words were no more than a whisper, meant for her ears alone. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Her ire quadrupled at his disgusting implication as she struggled wildly in his hold, to no avail.

"You could've kissed back, you know," he pressed, still in that hushed tone. It made her skin crawl and her ire spike.

A'isha flung her head back, aiming for his pretty boy face. He'd already cocked his head to the left, avoiding the attempted headbutt. Of course, the jerk had seen the hit coming from a million dang miles away.

"Really, Ish," he goaded, nestling his chin on her shoulder as a means to taunt her further. "You thought I'd fall for that twice in the same night?"

A'isha scowled at the smug face in her peripheral vision.

"I'm curious… Does Dani like it rough?" Now both of his arms were curled tightly around her waist. "If not, I'd be all too happy to fill the void—"

A growl spiralled up her throat as she squirmed and thrashed harder still, hoping to free her hands to land a successful hit. He only squeezed her waist tighter, claiming another gasp.

"We both know he could never handle you like I can."

"I'd never fuck you!"

Marik's brow rose, his eyes gleaming with mirth. "Ah… So that's what you prefer to call it." A grin filled his face. "My my my," he purred. "You really do like it rough."

A'isha had almost forgotten they had an audience when the disgusted retch of her cousin curbed her desire to absolutely strangle her captor- if only temporarily.

"Quit- Quit groping her, you fucking sicko!" Amara screamed, wriggling against Bryn's firm grasp. "Just… Just leave her the hell alone! I'm the one that tried to escape! I'm the one that screwed you over! Just do whatever the hell you needa do to feel more like a friggin' man and stop finding excuses to perv on—"

"Don't, Amara—"

A'isha's words screeched to a halt. Her thoughts were stifled by the sickening, tingling sensation that still crawled down her neck, unable to be ignored. She knew what that meant. He still had a hand in her head.

"Pretending you care, how sweet… Dear A'isha, how long can you just keep your resentment at your cousin's role in this course of events within your own mind." Bile pushed to her throat as his voice resounded in her head. He then spoke into her ear, once more dropping to the volume that ensured only she would hear it. "Being the only one to suffer from humiliation on your cousin's account chafes you far more than you'll ever admit to her." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Fortunately, it appears you have a different outlet for that resentment."

"You seem far too proud of that."

"Me, proud? What ever makes you think that?"

"Because of that damn smirk on your face!"

"Language, Ish."

Of course he would! She rolled her eyes so fast that if they weren't attached, they'd still be rolling on the stupid floor.

"Leave my cousin alone, Jerky Mc Jerk Skirt!"

"Amara, not helping!"

"You would be wise to heed your cousin's advice, Little Amara- particularly after the little stunt you pulled tonight." She was sure he was sneering, his body still pressed to her back as he held her firmly by the waist. "And startlingly, Dear A'isha, searching your mind has proven rather beneficial for you. That is, now that I know that by some miracle, Amara's escape was her idea alone."

Without warning, a pained cry pried Ish's lips apart as her hands and knees slammed against the marble floor. He'd shoved her forwards, discarding her like a crumpled piece of trash. The bandage on her knee crimped inward, causing her wound to reopen underneath it. Fresh blood slowly seeped from the partly covered wound, turning what remained of the bandage crimson.

She'd served her purpose. She'd proven she'd had nothing to do with Amara's supposed escape. He must've received that call and thought the whole thing had been her idea; that she'd only agreed to go through with his stupid dinner to increase Amara's odds of a successful escape. After all, he'd been distracted and not around to stop Amara with the Rod—and she was easily underestimated, even by the guy with his hand in her head.

A'isha spun on the floor to face the jerk, now seated on her rear with her arms and legs extended, her hands supporting her weight. He was already sneering down at her.

"Actually, by some miracle, your incompetent cousin's escape was successful... for all of fifteen minutes." He glanced at Amara and adopted a particularly mocking tone, as though addressing a child. "Isn't that right, Mar?"

"Don't call me that, you freak!"

"My my my, she certainly aspires to be like her dear cousin, doesn't she, Ish?"

"You wish Mr. Mc Jerk Skirt!"

He only laughed "What a pathetic attempt at an insult. Was that meant to hurt me, Little Amara?"

"I'll—"

"Amara, quit letting him bait you!"

Marik laughed. "Such irony, coming from you."

A'isha's jaw clenched. Common sense overruled her pride, refusing to have the last word. She'd already humiliated herself more than enough this evening.

He smirked, seeming to know of her thought processes. Either it was written all over her face or he still had a hand in her head.

Whatever the case was, A'isha didn't get to dwell on it for long.

The humour on Marik's pretty boy face had finally faded, his attention at last turning elsewhere- to his Rare Hunters. His lavender pools stared daggers at his employ. She was certain every last one had gone stiff as a board, absolutely dead straight.

Marik slowly stepped past her, his every footfall echoing faintly off the bare, stone walls. A'isha counted five seconds before the steps ceased. She peered over her shoulder to find he'd stopped before one section of his man harem. To say any Rare Hunter within a five-metre radius hadn't just seen their life flash before their eyes may not have been an understatement.

"Now then," Marik uttered far too calmly, "Perhaps one of you fools would care to remind me… what is a captive's primary goal?"

A'isha arched a brow as she quietly rotated her body to watch, curious as to where he could possibly be going with this. One moment he seemed to be blaming her for this shitfest, now he was—

"Anyone?"

Marik's back was to her, shielding his infuriating face from view. She didn't need to see it to know his eyes were narrowed to slits as he stared down the group of trembling, tight-lipped men before him.

Unsurprisingly, Marik's query had been met by silence.

The tension in the air hung so thick that one could probably slice through only half of it with a knife.

"Here's another question." He paced three steps to the right. "Which one of you fools was somehow outwitted by a bumbling, obnoxious, simple-minded child?"

A taller man in the third row went stiffer, his wide eyes twitching with what could only be terror. To her left, A'isha heard her cousin sob at Marik's absolutely rotten description.

"Collins," Marik sternly stated. Immediately, that same tall man erupted into an absolute trembling fit. "Perhaps you'd like to address my first query."

Clearly, Collins was the culprit.

And of course, Marik knew and was scaring the poor guy utterly shitless.

"Well?" Marik growled, his patience evaporating. "Your Master just asked you a question, you Ra-damned ignoramus." The next words slid through his teeth with cutting precision. "What is a captive's primary goal?"

"T-T-T-To—"

"Spit it out."

"To try and escape!" Collins blurted out, his voice cracking as sobs shook his whole frame.

"It's about time someone answered me." No one in that room was foolish enough to hear that as a light-hearted quip. A'isha flinched lightly as Marik took a step forward. "Collins," Again, his tone was deceptively light, enough so that A'isha fell into the slightest sense of relief- perhaps not entirely of her own choice.

His employee, however, rightly was even further nerved.

"Disobedience will not be tolerated among my ranks." The utterance was sharp and unforgiving, A small jolt of fear went up A'isha's spine as Marik took another step forward and the only row of bodies that shielded Collins from him parted like the Red Sea. "Nor will negligence." The last word was lethal to whatever resolve poor Collins had left- the man reduced to mere, incessant trembling. "And as all of you fools are aware, resignations are not an option in this line of work- there is only one way out." He stopped before Collins.

"Well Miss Cares Too Much, are you going to do something?" The seemingly permanent laughing lilt to his voice made her sicker to her stomach. What on earth could she do?

A punishment that amounts to death? For negligence? Seriously?! Heck she wouldn't have thought Amara willing to try a stunt like that—and she'd known her all her life. Plus, the only reason they hadn't tried an escape sooner was because they'd had no opportunities to—or rather, none where the odds worked in their favour. This one hadn't either but—

"Tick Tock, Ish."

A'isha gritted her teeth as rage and terror in tandem shot through her. She shivered from the cold lingering in the room, and in spite of tears that clouded her vision, stared daggers at the back of Marik's head. How could he do something like this so blindly?

"As I've said before; it's simple, don't get too attached."

Fear was winning, choking her in icy fingers. Her fear was nothing compared to that of poor Collins who still shook, undignified at Marik's feet, with his face pressed to the cool marble floor.

"You seem to be having trouble deciding… allow me to make it simple for you." He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her glare not even for a second, before adding, "Another objective of any sensible captive is 'not dying'. Do keep that in mind, Dear A'isha."

Not dying... He says that like it's as easy as breathing... but it's not that frickin' easy when you've been nabbed by a bipolar nutcase with a severely swollen ego and more pride than a Goddamn politician. Don't even get me started on twisted words and broken promises. And power going to his stupid blond head.

All A'isha perceived in that moment was her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. And then that Amara wasn't sobbing anymore. A'isha raised a brow upon seeing that her cousin was still trembling. There was barely enough time for A'isha to register that an Amara blow up was painfully imminent.

"You're rotten!" Amara's two words pierced the room like perfectly thrown darts. And while those two words disrupted well enough on their own, A'isha knew it wasn't the end of it and a small part of her – emphasis on small – was eager for the follow-up.

"What did you just say?" Marik said, his sights still on Collins.

"You heard me! You're rotten!" Amara's words were punctuated and delivered with wounding precision as Marik turned his visual attention to her. "You're nothing but a disgusting, power-hungry, perverted douchebag with a major god-complex. And you're gonna die alone 'cause you're so self-absorbed and have your stupid head shoved so far up your own ass that you don't even care you're being smothered by your own bullshit! I'd know- I've been at least two of those things!" Amara jabbed an accusing index finger his way. "But at least I can fix me. You're just rotten and that's all you'll ever be!"

For two seconds the room had gone absolutely silent. Even poor Collins had stopped trembling as the entire room seemed to have a mutual thought of Did she just say what I think I heard? Well, that was certainly what went through A'isha's mind at that moment.

"And you, Little Amara, are responsible for this." A'isha chose to guard her ears rather than her eyes within the second's warning. It didn't seem to do any good. A three-second long scream resounded throughout the throne room before a dull flash of light preceded a complete silence, save for the dull thud as Collins' entire body met the floor.

Marik's boot yielded an uncharacteristic squeak as he turned on his heel ninety degrees to the right and his order bounced off the wall he now faced. "Take that useless fool to the incinerator."

"Negligence isn't deserving of death!"

The outburst hurled through A'isha's lips faster than she could think, disgust lining every syllable, and only the heightened shots of pain in her ankle had her realising she'd somehow leapt to her feet.

Marik spared her a glance past his right shoulder. "Does that sentiment extend to the drunk driver that killed your parents?"

Her blood seethed as she caught sight of a crooked smirk on the jerk's lips. The only thing that might make someone deserve to die is if they intentionally take the life of another, she caught herself thinking, and her nose creased with distaste when that crooked smirk only grew. The Millennium Rod remained unseen, so she assumed it was in the pocket his right hand was in.

She saw the lightest flash through the dark fabric. He was still in her head. "It's a choice if someone drives under the influence. The risks, A'isha, are still accepted with that choice; conscious awareness of the sub-choice matters not. Ergo, intent is present."

Twenty-four hours earlier, A'isha would have rolled her eyes and likely scoffed at both the statement and the gratuitous Latin. Now however, she stood as straight, still, and silent as her still throbbing ankle would allow. She had a hunch he was by no means done with his power trip, and if anything, that was just getting started.

For the umpteenth time this evening, her stomach did backflips as she was proven right. Marik looked to his left, unfazed at the sight of the still-prone body on the floor. "Don't make me repeat myself a third time," he snarled in the direction of two fidgeting Rare Hunters. "Take that fool to the incinerator and consider yourselves fortunate that for the moment I've decided against having you throw yourselves in as well!"

The two men – now pale as sheets – on either side of the dispatched Collins grabbed him and scrambled out the entrance as if their lives depended on it, nearly dropping their dead weight three times in the process.

Marik's footfalls stole A'isha's focus from the doorway. Perfectly neutral, not childish stomps, not overly light paces, but perfectly placed harbingers of many a man's dread. He took two more of those steps. "I am master of myself, and all aboard this vessel." His words were soft, but with the combination of pinpointed precision and the acoustics of the room, it certainly didn't seem that way. "I control who lives." He looked at the still empty space in his ranks. "Who dies." Another set of two steps. "I am the master of my rare good graces, and whether they are given or withheld." His pseudo-charming grin at his statement made A'isha's face sour. His pace toward her, still with those steadily even, dread-inducing paces did not slow. "I am master of each and every choice made, each and every will is mine to sway, persuade and command as I see fit." He stopped a half-foot's distance from her, his next words a deliberate whisper that sliced through her resolve. "Including yours."

Without warning, an unseen force took hold, like a cold, clammy hand clamping down on her mind. All feelings deadened. Her senses grew numb. In her head, she screamed at her frozen appendages, commanding control and finding none. The more she resisted, the more that domineering presence seemed to laugh at her.

And yet, somehow, she felt everything. She felt her knee throb and sting, the piercing pain that shot through her ankle, the way her jaw clenched as revulsion took full reign of her countenance. Any freedom of movement was intentional on his part. He didn't want her to run or retaliate, but he wanted her to feel.

"Kneel!" The command sliced through her mind like a second backhand. She was still, dazed for only a fraction of a second before realising she'd unwillingly dropped to her knees – both knees – and that the pain screaming from her right leg was near unbearable.

Marik soon joined her, his knees meeting the marble floor in a far suaver fashion. "There's a good girl," he taunted, remaining within the confinements of her mind.

A'isha's sharp intake of air was in sync with Amara's as, with a steady hand on each side and an unsettlingly gentle touch, he ran his damn fingers through wavy strands of her hair. A'isha mentally squirmed as he took his time, and fury flared through her veins at the fact she was powerless to stop it. His touch lingered on the ends of the strands for what felt like an eternity.

And then she watched in absolute revulsion as she saw his gaze drift to just above the cusp of her cleavage. Even with a hyper modestly cut shirt, having to endure that was unnerving.

"Tell me, A'isha, why does your mind always wander to the worst conclusions?" His shoulders rolled as he laughed lightly through his teeth. She felt a lightly taut pull against the back of her neck for only a second before it vanished, and cool metal fell lightly along the top of her spine; she watched, unwillingly mesmerised as the now unclasped chain of the necklace he'd given her hours earlier slid along her front, and into his waiting palm. She swallowed hard—she hadn't even felt him unclasp it! Ho-?

"Surely by now you know I'm very good with my hands."

In an instant, Marik had the chain and amethyst pendant upon it dangling in front of her face from his left ring finger. His right hand was on her cheek, as his thumb ran far too steady and calm circles across her skin. "You're mine, A'isha."

"LIKE HELL SHE IS, YOU SICKO!" A'isha winced when his fingers dug into the sparse flesh of her cheek, as though almost harshly skidding to a stop.

"I'll be right back. Don't move." He showed an almost sincere smile, his right hand leaving her cheek to give a far too gentle squeeze on her hand.

As he rose to his full height, the pressure vanished, and her movements were her own once more; A'isha hadn't even entertained the idea that his sentence had been anything more than a joke. Something didn't quite make sense. And she didn't like that one bit.

But she had no time to figure out what exactly that deal was. Amara was in trouble- A'isha had to think fast before—

"Answer me this," Marik murmured, withdrawing the Rod from his hefty cloak pocket. "Why continue to protect her?"

A'isha swallowed hard at the sight of Marik's right hand wrapped around the Millennium Rod so tightly that said hand was going paler with each passing second. His stare was still unnerving as he awaited an answer.

"Amara is the one they'd be devastated to lose." A'isha knew it was a lie but as it again flitted across her mind and off her lips, she almost found herself believing it. "Not me." Wisely Amara didn't say a word in contradiction because even she recognised a half-truth, but the anguish creased lightly all over her face.

His grip slackened ever so slightly and colour started its almost painfully slow return to his fingers. "Surely fear and inadequacy aren't the sole reasons you protect Little Amara – often at the cost of yourself – so readily?"

"Because I love her; isn't that obvious?" Despite how she kept her voice even and level, A'isha still almost trembled.

"Your cousin would do well to recognise how much you've sacrificed for her; loyalty like that is in quite short supply."

A'isha's heart clenched as he paced again with those dread-filled footsteps and stopped an inch from Amara. The Rod's wingtip pressed into the younger girl's chin and A'isha froze as she heard a muffled whimper.

"Tell me, Dear A'isha." There was no softness in his words. "What wouldn't you do to protect your weak, feeble, pathetic cousin who has done nothing but make you pay for her transgressions?"

The answer popped into her mind with no deliberation. Nothing.

"Prove it." The challenge hung softly in the air as Marik far too carefully withdrew the Rod from Amara's vicinity and turned on a heel with a smirk spread across his face. "Kiss me." The task left his lips softly and his attention was solely on A'isha for ten seconds. As he silently counted four, she moved slightly, but froze up at the sight of their audience- and stilled once more.

His expression fell slightly. "What a shame." He turned again to face Amara, The Rod gleamed and in an instant Amara looked like she was struggling against an invisible weight pressing her down.

A'isha took two small pained steps.

And then two more.

All the stares didn't matter anymore. Amara was in trouble and there was only one solution.

DH: Firstly apologies for the cliff hanger! Was in need of sleep and brain wrote the last two sentences and… well yeah.

FIN AL LY done with that absolute bear of a chapter. Thank y'all for being patient, and thank goodness this chapter's mess is done! Again, sorry it took so long. The only thing I'm likely not sorry about is the full RH Mode overload that I may have gotten a bit carried away with…oops. Sorry for any busted ovaries- that's the risk that's run when I take charge of an RH Marik heavy scene… Really Hot is almost a disservice here.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll need to spend some time with my own stuff where Blondie is just a hair more rational- or not as big of a Jerkface Mc Jerkskirt, take your pick. (And no; no perceivable amount of digging into my AU Mess will make the discomforting ick of this chapter reasonable, but it'll help… I hope- it's either that or it bleeds into my stuff which while not entirely a bad thing… I have a limit and I'm darn near there…) Here's me hoping next chapter will be a little easier in the actually writing it department. Thanks for reading and Please Review!

Ataahua AN: So I'm just over here hoping that our inner-fangirls didn't make Marik a little too perverted or crazy in this chapter. Hopefully not! Please do review and let us know your thoughts! :)