TW: This one’s a little rough; panic, kidnapping, assault, mention of past assault & a little bit of trauma flashbacks of domestic abuse

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Rosie stumbled back from Droya as he pushed the woman away, and she clutched her ribs. The woman had knocked Rosie’s breath right out of her. Zete landed on her shoulder, grabbing ahold of her scarf.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly in her ear.

“I’m okay,” Rosie said.

She could hear the woman speaking desperately, but hadn’t focused on what she was saying. It caught up to her brain after a second that the woman needed help finding her child. Rosie was about to tell Droya that they needed to help her, when a large pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pinning her arms, at the same time as a hand slapped over her mouth and its opposite snatched Zete from her shoulder.

The hand on her mouth had her nose pinched as well, and she couldn’t even draw a breath to attempt a muffled scream. She was lifted off the ground roughly and hauled back down the sidewalk. Rosie wriggled and squirmed to get away, but the person holding her was huge and their grip didn’t budge. She bit the fingers over her mouth, but they may as well have been made of iron; she made no impact.

NO NO NO NO NO PLEASE

She couldn’t move, she couldn’t get away. Her blood raged through her body as she went into panic, and the suffocation was unbearable. Her lungs burned, tears of fear spilling out of her eyes. The unyielding grip restricting her movements brought back memories that she kept buried deep, and she could smell Mike’s apartment in her mind.

Her vision started to get hazy, but suddenly the hand was gone, and she sucked in a breath of sweet fresh air in a loud gasp. She dropped to the ground and struggled to regain her equilibrium and her breath, pushing up on her hands and knees, coughing.

She saw big green feet on the ground next to her and she scampered away from them. She looked around frantically, forcing herself to her feet. Her shoes were gone, and she could feel the rough pavement snagging her hose. She was trembling. Her eyes jumped from thing to thing, trying to piece together where she was and what sort of trouble she was in. Her own ragged, panting breaths were the only sound she could hear.

A woman, not the owner of the green feet and not the same woman that ran into her, stood nearby, watching her. The green-footed demon was to her right. He had two sets of arms and a thick tail, but no wings. He was easily three heads taller than Rosie, and had the build of a gym addict. The orange demon woman was miniscule next to him. She had dumped out Rosie’s purse on the ground and had apparently found nothing of interest.

Rosie spun around, trying to locate Zete or Droya, but she was alone with the two strangers. They were in a back alley, full of black dumpsters and locked back doors to businesses. They couldn’t have been that far from where they had taken her, Rosie didn’t remember being in a vehicle.

“Give it to us and you will live,” the woman said in heavily accented English.

Rosie understood the words, but not what they were asking for. She had one arm on her bruised ribs and the other at her throat.

“Take whatever you want,” she managed to say shakily. “Please, where are my friends?”

The demons shared a glance, her with a skeptical look and him with an amused one.

“We know you have it,” the woman said, focusing on Rosie again.

The giant grunted, and Rosie flinched.

“Please,” Rosie said again, heavy tears rolling down her cheek. “I’m sorry… I won’t…”

She could still feel the ropes digging into her skin, the taste of the gag in her mouth, see the thin line of light under the closet door.

“Please let me go,” she managed to choke out, sobbing and clutching the fabric of her blouse in tight fists. She felt herself burning and twisting inside.

The small orange demon woman growled in annoyance.

“Just hand it over!” she snapped at Rosie. She drew a small knife from her pocket and walked toward Rosie.

“I won’t tell anyone, please let me out!” Rosie cried, falling to her knees.

Suddenly the knife flew from the woman’s hand, and she stopped, clutching at her hand as if it had been slapped. She hissed and followed the arc of the knife.

“I should have let him kill you,” the woman growled at Zete in Hellish.

“Rosie, run away!” Zete called out.

Rosie was on her knees and in another world. She couldn’t hear him.

The huge green demon stumbled forward and grunted as Droya landed a solid kick to the back of his leg, followed immediately by a deep slash of his claws across his back. Droya had maneuverability and speed on his side against the larger demon, and he bounced back away from the giant before his foe could turn and take a swing at him. As his punch carried his bulk to one side, Droya dodged to his open side and kicked at the man’s knee, hard. He roared in pain and chased the smaller attacker, snatching at thin air as Droya avoided him easily.

Zete harried the woman with her own knife as she tried to get closer to Rosie. She made it a few steps before realizing her muscled backup was failing her, and she called out to the green man in Hellish to retreat. He growled in response and made one last go at Droya, managing to catch his side with a meaty fist. Droya lost his footing for a moment, and the two took that opportunity to make a run for it.

“Follow them,” Droya snapped to Zete. He ran to Rosie as Zete zipped after the escaping muggers.

Rosie was on her knees, curled forward, her arms folded tight against her chest. Her eyes were unfocused, glassy, tears dripping from her face.

“Breathe, Rosie,” Droya barked at her, dropping down beside her in a crouch. She didn’t respond.

“Rosie, look at me,” he said, his voice gentler but still urgent. He pulled her fists away from her chest, wrapping his hands around hers. She blinked rapidly, regaining a little focus, and tilted her head up at him. Pure terror painted her face.

“I won’t do it again,” she whispered.

“Rosie, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Droya said. “Can you stand?”

She blinked again, and her hands relaxed slightly.

“Droya?” she said hoarsely. Her eyes found his, and he nodded.

“Can you stand?” he repeated.

She flinched and the look of terror seemed to drain away. She looked around.

“Where… what happened?”

“Come on,” Droya said, standing and pulling her up with him.

Zete flew back to them and landed with a stumble on the ground, panting.

“They got in a car, I couldn’t keep up,” he said. “No plates but it was a gray 4-door with black stripes.”

Droya ground his teeth in frustration, but his attention quickly returned to the dazed woman in his hands. She was looking around like she had just arrived in the alley.

“Rosie, I am sorry, I should never have let them distract me like that,” he said. “I do not smell blood, are you injured?”

Rosie drew her hands out of Droya’s grasp and patted her torso.

“Just bruised,” she said.

“Let’s get back to the hotel,” Droya said. He wanted her off the streets immediately, and out of the alley before he had to ask her to relive what happened. She had been shaken hard by the attack.

Droya, this is your fault, he told himself, enraged. You were caught off guard. You relaxed. Look what happens when you relax.

Rosie was still shaking a little, and Droya’s heart burned in his chest to see her this way.

“I need my purse,” Rosie said, dazed. She wobbled to the small pile of her belongings that the demon woman had dumped on the ground, and she scooped them back into the small blue bag.

Droya helped her stand back up and watched as she wiped tears from her face.

Do better or find her someone better, he said to himself with no shortage of acid.

Droya got them back to the hotel, got ice for Rosie’s side and his own, and made a phone call while Rosie and Zete rested on the sofa. Zete was exhausted and his wings were bruised, but he claimed there was no damage that sleep couldn’t cure. Rosie was very quiet. Bruises were starting to show on her arms, and her blouse and skirt were torn.

A blue and purple demon with long straight horns showed up at the hotel room within ten minutes. He had a yellow star on a badge and a notepad. Droya sat with Rosie and told the officer what he had seen, and Zete gave his account. It was Rosie’s turn, and she held a bag of ice to her side loosely, squinting hard and staring a hole into the carpet.

“After the woman ran into me, and Droya started talking with her, the green guy picked me up and I couldn’t…”

She reached over and grabbed Droya’s hand, to his surprise.

“I don’t remember exactly,” she continued, “but after he put me down there was another woman, she looked similar to the one that ran into me, but not exactly. They were asking me to give them something, but they wouldn’t say what.”

“Do you remember exactly what they said?” the officer asked.

Rosie shook her head.

“I’m not remembering very good,” she said. “I think ‘give it to me,’ that sort of thing. Like they wanted something specific.”

The officer scribbled down some notes. “Do you have any idea what they might have been after?” he asked.

Rosie squeezed Droya’s hand, and he watched her carefully.

“No,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “No, I have no idea.”

“Is that enough for now?” Droya asked the officer. “She needs to rest.”

The officer nodded curtly and promised to keep them updated. Droya walked him to the door and when he was gone, locked the deadbolt.

Zete fluttered fitfully to Droya, a strained look on his face.

“If you can handle her, I need to sleep for a few hours to get my wings back to normal,” he said.

“I have her,” Droya said with a nod, and Zete retired to his burrow in the wall.

The demon stood for a moment, looking at the back of Rosie’s head as she sat slumped on the sofa. He was growing more and more furious with himself.

“Rosie, you need to go to bed,” he said softly, walking around the sofa.

She didn’t move. “Okay,” she said. His eye twitched but now was not the time to remind her against those types of answers. He reached down and took her hand, pulling up and encouraging her to stand.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes wide and suddenly focused on him. His heart jumped into his throat at the look.

“I need to make some phone calls,” she said, remembering.

“No,” Droya said firmly, pulling her to her feet. “Later. Not now.”

“But-”

“Not now,” he said, and put a hand on Rosie’s cheek. He looked right into her alluring eyes. “Rest now.”

“I… right,” she said. He led her to her room and she sat on the bed.

“I want to see how bad you were hurt,” he said. “Take off your shirt.”

“No.”

Droya blinked and stared at her. That had been a rather ferocious response.

“I need to know if you need a doctor,” he said.

“I don’t,” she said.

Her voice was low, almost angry.

Droya crouched by her bed and put a hand on her knee.

“Can you just pull it up a little? I need to see,” he said. “Please Rosie.”

Rosie pinched her lips together tight and pulled up her blouse a couple inches on her left side. Droya delicately put his hand on hers and pushed it up another inch. A bruise was still forming on her ribs, and it looked broad but not too deep.

“I’ve had worse,” Rosie dismissed quietly with a wry smile.

Droya felt a hot pulse roll through him.

“You have?” he asked, his voice low and dark.

Rosie pushed his hand away and pulled her shirt back down.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, frowning.

Droya stood and turned away from her so she wouldn’t see his face. He wanted to destroy something, smash and crush and burn something. He was overcome by fury. He hadn’t felt this sort of anger in a very long time.

She was hurt because of his failure, and the thought that she had been hurt before… it put him in the same class of people that had failed her already.

“Your clothes are ruined,” he said coldly, walking to the door. “Change and rest.”

“Wait, I’m sor-”

Droya turned back, his face twisted.

“You did not do anything wrong!” he yelled, fists balled, tail slapping the ground.

Rosie’s shoulders tightened in shock, her eyes flashing wide and mouth hanging open.

Droya sighed and smacked a hand over his eyes, dragging his hand down his face.

“Just rest,” he said softly. “We will talk later.”

Rosie swallowed.

“Will you be… nearby?” she said quietly.

“I will not leave the other side of this door,” he said. “Cough hard and I will come to you.”

Rosie just nodded.

Droya walked out and shut the door to her room. He rubbed his side where the huge demon had landed the punch, and winced.

Stupid.

He dragged a dining chair to Rosie’s door and sat.

Yes, yell at the girl, idiot, that will fix your mistake.

The tip of his tail thrashed back and forth on the floor like a dying eel.

She would be safer with a better guard. Someone more experienced, someone older and more skilled. Someone who wouldn’t fail her. She deserved someone who wouldn’t fail her. If she even wanted to stay in Hell at all anymore.