The Bunker.

The entire walk down, Mark waited for someone to jump him or to turn a corner and find her bleeding out. He thought that everything was easier than expected, all he had to do was to be alone in a room with the man he hated more than life itself. Easy. 

But then, of course, DS said those words. 

The Bunker. 

He wondered if it looked the same. 

Mark walked by the most ostentatious paintings he’d ever seen as he walked lower and lower under the house, it was like willingly allowing yourself to sink in quicksand. With every floor he passed, it was harder to breathe. 

When he finally reached the lowest floor of the building, Mark spotted two of DS’s men standing by a metal door. When they saw him, they just smirked but made no move to approach him. Mark stood in front of the door, shifting his weight on each foot. It looked like a vault, fitting because only valuable things are kept beyond those doors. 

“You both can leave.” He finally said without looking back.

The men behind him cleared their throats, probably to hide their smiles. It must be vindicating to see one of the underground’s most dangerous men, who had killed and mutilated their own men, hesitate. 

“DS told us to stay.”

Piece of .

Mark pulled his gun out and rolled his shoulders back before pulling on the heavy door, dragging it back before standing by the doorway. It was a sensory overload. The plain white walls, like the inside of someone’s mind, perfect enough to drive you insane. The floor was just as white but there was a drain on the floor, no doubt for the people who were waterboarded. 

He could feel his own lungs filling with water.

There were chairs stacked up by the wall next to a table with boxes, an array of weapons and first aid kits. The air was specifically burning cold, to maximize discomfort. There was a small siren in the corner near the wall next to a surveillance camera. Despite the size, he knew the hell that siren could cause. 

It wasn’t a Bunker.

It was a torture chamber. 

Then he saw her. 

He never knew what it was like to have your vision tilt on its axis and your heart come out of your mouth like vomit, until that very moment. Like being hung from the ceiling by your feet.

Nothing would've prepared him for the visceral reaction to seeing her.

Heiran was bound to the chair and her eyes covered by a piece of black fabric that was cutting into her skin. Her shirt was torn open, hung sweat-drenched off her shoulders. Her lip was busted open, a bruise was purpling on her cheekbone and there was a trickle of dried blood on her neck. Her hair was messy, the result of being pulled, no doubt. She was slouched but straightened up when she heard him enter. 

She was gone for a few hours but managed to look like she had been held for weeks. 

“Duchess.” 

The reaction was instantaneous. 

She took a loud breath in before a loud whimper escaped her exhale. She sank into the chair, her head hanging limply as her shoulders shook with tears. He was glad that her eyes were covered because staring at these walls could turn you into someone you didn’t recognize.

And she couldn’t see how unevenly he walked towards her, his vision swimming as he entered the room. He was taking small steps and heavy breaths. He was nauseous, his chest swirling at the strong antiseptic smell, like bleach used to make blood smell clinical.

"Thank god." She rasped.

When he got closer, the damage on her face was clearer. 

DS was a joke. He told him men not to touch her? him. 

He dropped to knees, largely because he felt like he was in a trance and couldn’t stay standing for much longer. This room made him sick and his eyes sting but he was still relieved. Relieved that she was warm when he touched her and responsive when he spoke to her.  

“It’s me.” He mumbled, gently brushing his fingers against her knee in confirmation. She shuddered and leaned as forward as being tied up could let her until her forehead pressed against his. 

He stayed still but reached a shaky hand up to loosen her blindfold enough to tug it down to her neck. She kept her eyes squeezed shut until his fingers grazed her face. He was so careful with how he held her. She flinched on contact before sinking into his touch, exhausted. His other hand down the side her neck and squeezed her arm reassuringly. If anyone tried to come for her now, they'd have to kill him first. 

He gently pushed her back, “Let me get your hands.”

It was silent as he walked around behind her and undid the rough rope. Her hands dropped down limply to her sides and she tilted her face up to stare at the ceiling. “They’re letting me go? Just like that?”

“For now.” Mark said quietly. 

He knelt by her feet and began undoing the rope binding her ankles, “What did he want in return?”

Mark didn’t speak, he couldn’t explain it to her, it wouldn’t make sense. Hell, it didn’t make sense to him either.

He was used to fighting for the death for a win, it made him uncomfortable that she was just given back. But then again, this wasn’t really considered a win. He expected an elaborate escape plan concocted with Jinyoung and the rest of GOT7 to track her down and break her out. He expected blood to drip down walls. 

In the world he was used to, he expected a guillotine to come down on his wrist just as he stretched his hand out to save her. 

He squeezed his eyes at the thought of the deep red of blood splattering against the white walls when a weak hand ran through his hair. He opened his eyes and looked up at Heiran who had tears in her eyes and pain in her soul when she touched him. She continued to comb through his hair, over and over, as if it brought her a sense of peace to do so. She looked like heartbreak.

Finishing the last of the rope, his eyes rushed to properly drink in her state. It was all so bad but the blouse, he couldn’t stop staring at the blouse ripped open. 

“One name.” He growled, it almost sounded like an animal. His hands were gentler when they cupped her cheeks, thumbing over her skin without putting pressure on her bruises. It was so warm and tender that it brought tears to her eyes. Just his touch and the sight of his face filled her with relief. She knew nothing bad would happen now. Not with him here.

She blinked, “What?”

“Give me one name. Which one did this to you?”

She realized that his eyes were brewing something darker but somehow it wasn’t as scary as not being about to see anything at all.

“I don’t know their names.” She breathed out.

He nodded, “Were there two of them?”

Two were standing outside.

“Yes.”  

He nodded again and tried to stand but she shot her hand out to hold onto him.

“What are you going to do?” She whispered.

He smiled gently and his fingers through her hair. She had never seen him smile like that before.

“I’m going to take care of it.” He said calmly, he sat up, kissed her quickly on the forehead before standing.  

She was too scared to speak when he turned her chair to face away from the door. He took her hands and held them up to her ears, making her cover them. “I need you to start singing a lullaby and I need you to sing it loudly.”

Her eyes were wide, “Wh—“

“Twinkle twinkle little—“

“Star, how I wonder what you are…”

"Good girl." He mumbled with a nod when she continued singing and walked around her and to the door. She kept singing, her volume increasing but even as she sung about blazing suns, it wasn’t enough to stop her from hearing the two gunshots that echoed dully through the metal doors. 

Seconds passed before the door opened and Mark entered, jacket in his fist. “Can you stand?”

She tried but just as she was upright, her knees buckled and she fell against the chair again. It was overwhelming, being in this room, seeing where she was being kept. The pain slammed her hard and fast and having to pretend that the little drop of red on Mark’s shoes wasn’t blood was a challenge on its own. 

“It’s okay.” Mark said quietly. There was something about him that was edged with anxiety. He seemed like he was forcing his eyes to stay focused in one place and was tensing his body like he wanted to limit his presence in the room. To shrink. She knew right away that he didn't want to be in here any more than she did. 

He took the jacket in his hands and draped it over her so that it covered her torn shirt. “Do you want me to lift you or piggyback you?”

“I don’t care.” She whispered. 

He nodded and carefully lifted her in his arms, adjusting her so he had a comfortable grasp on her before moving to the door. 

“Close your eyes.” He instructed as he used his foot to open the door. She knew better than to question him now and shut them as he stepped out of the room. The minute he did, she could feel how the temperature changed proving to her just how cold the room she was in.

Her stomach curled when she heard a wet squelch under Mark’s foot before the sound of him wiping it against the carpet. After a few more steps, he told her to open her eyes. She leaned her head against the crook of his neck, tired, pained and on the verge of passing out. With each flight of stairs he climbed, she wondered how she had remained unconscious when they first brought her down here.  

Maybe she was dreaming or maybe the fear had her imagining things but she swore she felt his lips brushing her forehead before he spoke, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry you had to be here when I did what I had to back there. I’m sorry you got hurt.” His voice sounded as pained and tortured as hers. 

“Why didn’t he kill me?” She rasped. 

Mark finally reached the main floor and wove through the halls towards the door, “Don’t think about that now. All that matters is that he didn’t and you’re going home.”

And he didn’t want to tell her that DS didn’t kill her because he was probably planning something worse, something bigger, something that didn’t just end with her dead. 

“You know what I thought about when you were gone?” Mark asked as he lingered at the threshold of DS’s headquarters. Somehow no one crossed their paths, perhaps they were instructed not to.

She looked at the line of his jaw. 

“That the artwork he used to decorate this place looks like and you’d do a better job.” 

Her eyes darted over his shoulder at the ornate red paintings. Her lips twitched but just as quickly, it fell and she leaned against his shoulder. He bit down his sigh and just brought her to his car and buckled her in. 

When he got in next to her, she rolled the window down immediately, a common move for someone feeling claustrophobic. “I keep waiting for someone to stop us and drag me back there.”

“No one will.” He said firmly. "I won't let them."

Her gaze was unfocused, “How long was I gone?”

“5 hours.”

“Felt like years.”

“I know.” He whispered.

She turned and looked at his profile, “What did he want in exchange?”

He let out a long, drawn-out, breath, “Me.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t hit him with a list of questions or demanded explanations. Instead she just asked, “Did you give it to him?”

“Yes and no.”

“Well…thank you.” She mumbled. 

He didn’t respond because the sound of gratitude felt bitter on his tongue. It wasn’t deserved. Being held in the Bunker with your senses dulled heavily ed with you. The Heiran he knew would’ve cussed him out for letting her be taken in the first place. The fact that she was thanking him for something he caused in the first place was all a result of the fear that comes with being held hostage. 

It breaks you. 

It makes you a slave to the very thing that you hate. 

Suddenly your defiance gets replaced with devotion because you’d do whatever you could to not go back.

And hearing it from her? 

It was sickening.

-----

“How is she?” 

Mark leaned back in the chair in his Boss’s office and just closed his eyes, his entire body ached, “She’s quiet. I got one of our people to check her out, no major physical damage. Most of it will be healed by the end of the week.”

“Physical damage? So, there’s mental damage?” He asked in shock. 

Mark opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, remembering how he had to guide her into her own house and how she flinched when Jinyoung greeted her. Mental damage wasn't a question, there was always goin