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Kidnapped & Broken

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Wolfy Adder

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"Unff..."

He grunted, working his jaw, a blow to it radiating yet another, deeper ache through his jaw. It blossomed with heat, spreading, though he tried his best to look unaffected, to not sink back into the chair, though Wolfy didn't think that there were very many of the white markings on his face left visible under the slew of blood pouring down.

"Hm."

His assailant, Tez, a grey-furred cheetah with a powerful, distasteful demeanour, as if anything that he did was simply beneath her, eyed him up and down. Her long, grey tail flicked back and forth in feline annoyance, but even him annoying her, not giving her the information that she wanted from him, was going to be enough for Wolfy to get through.

It was only going to make her hit him harder.

"You could end it all now, wolf," she spat mockingly, though she would not have hidden that she took pleasure from breaking him in that way. "You're bound, you've got nowhere to go. No one knows where you are. No one is coming for you."

He growled through his teeth, loathing the taste of blood in his mouth, though he tried not to let that show on his face. Even though he did not yet have an angle to escape his bound torture, he didn't want to give the cat any more ammunition to use against him.

"Fuck you!"

She smirked.

"Oh, that can be arranged...but not in a way that you would like, dog."

He would have said that he was a wolf, not a dog, but that hardly mattered. The steel chair was unyielding under him, a bare light bulb swinging back. Back and forth, back and forth. It must have been rocked even from the impact and vibrations of the cheetah's hind paws on the ground, attacking him with such vehemence, even though he'd never met her before in his life.

She'd given him her name. That didn't bode well for him. That meant that she didn't expect him to be able to reveal to anyone who she was. But Wolfy didn't want to think like that.

No... He had to be strong, he had to hold out. He didn't want to give in to her, not when there was so much there, so much at stake.

But the cheetah had dealt with wolves just like him too many times over, slamming her fist into his jaw with a "thunk" that reverberated through his skull.

He growled, clenching his jaw, not speaking. No...

"Oh, dear, you think you are a tough one," she mocked. "Why don't you try to fight some more? That went so well for you last time."

He didn't dignify her with an answer, not even as her hind paw slammed up into his gut, sending him reeling, wanting to cough and hack, to spit up what had been in his stomach earlier that day. Truthfully, Wolfy didn't even know if there was anything left in there for him to throw up, though he didn't want to think about the process of that, how he had come to know it.

Tez was relentless, taking his arm where it was bound back behind the metal chair and bending it ruthlessly. The wolf fought down a scream, the pressure immense. What was she doing? Was she trying to break his arm?

It would have been easier if she had done it quickly: one snap and done. Sure, there would have been pain then, but it would have been a fresh kind of pain, a clean kind of pain. And someone that was torturing another for information, well...they didn't very often go for that kind of thing. Her paws closed on his arm, wrenching it and putting pressure in opposite directions, twisting it until the bone could not help but come into play, all in a way that bone was never supposed to.

"Aaarrrrggghhhh!"

SNAP!

He couldn't help crying out in a bellowing roar as the bone snapped, a sickening twist pulling at his stomach, his arm flopping uselessly to the side. He was not in control of it, not his body in any way, though his mind was somewhere else entirely, awash in a sea of pain. The wolf gritted his teeth against the pain, fear and anger colliding in his eyes.

Of course, the cheetah only smirked. What did she care about him being in pain? It was by her paw, all her doing. And she intended to do so much more.

"Talk and you won't have to go through this."

SLAM!

Her fist came up under his jaw, uppercutting him so that his head whipped back, the chair rocking. Though, no sooner had she done that, his head ringing and still caught up in the blistering, all-encompassing pain of his snapped forearm, did the feline kick his chair back onto all four feet, a smirk on her lips that shot fear into his heart. As much as Wolfy wanted to keep it to himself, he still let out a sick little shiver at the look in her eye.

"Oh, Wolfy... Wolfy, Wolfy, Wolfy..."

She walked around him in a tight circle, all without touching him. She didn't need to, not to send chills creeping through his body, the hackles on the back of his neck raising. Wolfy growled threateningly, but it was not much of an intimidating picture with trickles of blood running into his eyes.

It was bad. It was very bad. Simple words, but the wolf didn't know how else to describe it. Maybe it had been all the blows to the head that he'd received. But he couldn't give in.

He couldn't.

And then the knives came out, three of them, razor-sharp - though that should have been a given.

"I do like playing with my toys," she breathed, though it was a deranged kind of pleasure that the cheetah, clearly, took from using him, kidnapped and in the process of being broken. "But...you have to loosen that tongue of yours sooner or later, little wolf. I don't like what's mine mute."

He didn't want to think about what she meant by that, though the slice of the knife, too quick for his eyes to follow, into the upper arm of his arm that was not broken brought a sharp cry to his lips. He swallowed it a moment later, but, well, he hadn't been ready for it, the cheetah knowing that she'd gotten to him against his will.

"Oh, so that's what you don't like then, hm?" Tez laughed, but there was nothing softening in it, no real joy. "Blood... Blades... Oh, you shouldn't have let that one slip!"

For all the punches and kicks and slams, brass knuckles and all, couldn't have gotten him to talk like the slick slide of an icy-cold blade could. His breath hitched and he knew she cottoned onto the fear in his eyes.

That was his undoing.

The blade sliced into his arm, the fur soaked with blood, and she didn't need to cut deep to get cry after cry from him, wrenching his head back and away. Perhaps it was sadism that got her to take such pleasure in it, but there was no erotic edge, nothing that could have counted for that. Or maybe the cheetah was numb to things like that, in her line of work, which had been just why Wolfy had been investigating the seedy dealings of her gang to begin with. Of course, all that had not ended up at all good for him.

He sweated, fur matting and sticking together under his arms, one sensation bristling in on the one preceding it, all crowding for dominance. Yet the blade did not stop, gripping his arm brutally hard to keep him in place, though all the wolf could really do was to rock the chair to such an extent that it tipped over, perhaps backwards. If he ever got to that point in all his thrashing, all the feline did was kick him right back into place as if nothing at all had happened the metal legs of the chair clattering down.

Yet nothing overruled the carving of a cryptic logo, something associated with her organisation, the underbelly of the city. He ground his teeth together, though the howl of a wild animal built and built inside him, not something that even a trained wolf like him could hold back, not for very much longer. He bit his tongue until the metallic rush of fresh blood flooded his mouth, the tang of it grounding him, though adrenaline pumping, at least, took some of the pain away.

Some, but not all.

Down and down his arm, she carved through the fur as if tattooing him, though the fur matted and slicked back down over the cuts that she made. Even as his chest heaved and he felt wetter than he was dry, from both sweat and blood, he did not talk, breathless cries escaping him as he cursed the line of fate which had put him before her.

Would he get out? Even that was not a notion, or the lack of one, that Wolfy wanted to consider.

"Get down!"

Her frustration showed through, though only briefly. He must have been getting to her, not breaking mentally as she broke him physically, and the wolf smirked smugly to himself, even as his muzzle ached with pain. The cheetah shoved the chair and, abruptly, he was flying backwards, still bound to it. The metal frame bounced off the wall and clattered to the ground, putting him in an even more vulnerable position as he looked up at her, a snarl rippling along his muzzle.

"Go on then," he snapped back. "Do your worst... I'm not giving you anything!"

He had those secrets, yes, held close, and he had to lean into the hope too that those were keeping him alive. As long as he had those secrets, they wouldn't do away with him, yes: that was what he had to cling to.

But that was not a thought that helped all that much as her boot came down on his face, the cheetah letting out a spine-chilling snarl. He didn't get to see that snarl, however, not as she booted his face, knocking out a tooth as he cursed and spat blood, no longer even caring to hold back, to try to be quiet.

Let her hear everything. That was what she wanted, wasn't it? She wouldn't get the truth, what his organisation was doing and who knew about them, out of him, no, but a moan, yes, a howl, yes. It was all expected and he sank into himself, drawing deeper and deeper, all on an inner resilience that had to come to the forefront of his mind, one way or the other.

A kick, a stomp, a hurl that sent him and the chair, with the wolf still tied to it, skittering across the room like a toy. Slowly, he faded, though only mentally. He would not say anything, no, he would not say anything. That was the mantra that the wolf repeated to himself even as the pain built and not even adrenaline could save him from it as his stomach twisted and rolled, nausea rising with deadly intent.

He coughed up blood as a boot came down on his ribcage, a sickening crack echoing through the bare room with peeling wallpaper. He wheezed, only glad that it had not punctured a lung, though it was not as if she was taking much care with him. He didn't know why he had expected so much.

"You'll talk in the end, Wolfy," she hissed, tail lashing. "And I'll take pleasure in it all when those whimpers leave your lips, begging, telling me that you'll give me anything I want, just to spare you. But not all that are broken will be thrown away..."

He groaned, blood in his mouth, on his side with the chair tied to him, head spinning. Maybe so, maybe so...but he had his orders, he had his morals and he had his ethics. Those were what he would stick by, against all odds.

Wolfy had to. Despite his shudder.

"Urf..."

Broken by her boot, he knew the cheetah was not yet done with him.

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And Tex had more breaking to do.