Geneviève slept a lot, saying very little during the time she was awake. Ji didn't push her, respecting her need for privacy. The distance between them grew oppressive, suffocating as she tried to accept his offer and what it might mean for her. Her mind chewed relentlessly over his words every minute she was awake, destroying the peace she was so desperately trying to build.

Stress began to toy with her mind, echoes of her past twisting Ji's words and actions. He was pretending. It was all a trap, a snare laid out by Gabriel to catch her breaking the rules. Ji had lied about not knowing who she was. He lied about killing for her.

So instead of facing her doubts, Geneviève avoided them, letting them take root in her mind. Her heart was too fragile to question Ji, her temperament so uncertain it would take no more than a feather to shatter her. Unable to do anything else, she reverted back to familiar habits. Just trying to survive. Trying not to feel.

It was like attempting to outrun her own shadow, jumping at every noise, flinching at every shift of light. She expected Gabriel to be lurking around every corner, one of his men waiting to pounce on her from behind every door. Raw screams regularly woke her from tormented nightmares, but she refused to talk to Ji about them. Anyone she told would suffer just like she would when Gabriel took her back.

In a mood of numbing despair, she wandered into the loading area of the warehouse one afternoon and stumbled onto something as toxic as arsenic but as alluring as sin.

Dropping heavily to her knees, Geneviève stared unblinking at the full case of golden rum, sunlight sparkling on the glass bottles like a beacon. She couldn't know Ji had found it during one of his hunts in hopes of finding cigarettes. It pulled at her, welcoming and familiar, whispering assurances of relief and oblivion. Swallowing hard, Geneviève told herself she wasn't going to do it, that she'd suffered so much during withdrawals that she'd sworn never to go back. Even as the thought flitted through her mind, her fingers were wrapping around the neck of one of the bottles.

"No..." voice ragged, shaking with revulsion, she pulled back, quivering hard. "No... no I can't. I can't..."

Absently, her other hand trailed past her belly button, swirling over the thin padding of flesh beginning to cover the hard line of her pelvic bone. How much longer? Other symptoms had presented themselves in addition to sickness and fatigue. Mood swings, tenderness and swelling of her breasts, headaches, backaches...dangerous signals that warned her an unwelcome change was coming.

How many times had she faced this before? Two, three? The traumatic experiences had been blocked from her memory, leaving her only with the certainty she now confronted a fate worse than death.

Instinctively knowing the cause, Geneviève had begun to come undone in the darkness of her mind. If Gabriel found out, if he got his hands on her now, he'd- he'd... she couldn't finish the thought. Heartbeat increasing, she reached out, fumbling for the bottle. Bracing it against her thigh, she twisted off the cap, the scent hitting her nose an instant before the dry, sugary nectar flavor hit her tongue. She couldn't do this sober. She just couldn't...

'Have another drink, sweetheart,' silky smooth, his voice dripped from his lips like honey, making her shudder. 'You earned it tonight.'

'Bite me.' Her snarky answer had been dull, listless, as she'd hammered back the full glass Gabriel put in her hands. It was instantly refilled, his hand curling over hers as he tipped the glass toward her mouth.

'Another drink. You can do it.'

Dry, smooth, with a hint of fruity molasses, she'd gulped it down, almost choking on the cough that clenched her lungs. He'd chuckled, holding the glass firmly to her lips.

'Drink, sweetheart. Every drop.'

'I can't, it's too soon,'

'The physician examined you yesterday, little girl," he purred, the grip on her hand tightening. 'You need to do as I say, or I will punish you.'

'No, please...I haven't done anything wrong.'

'Then drink,'

Shoving it away, Geneviève's hazy mind had pinged in warning. If she understood what he meant correctly, the alcohol was a trap. A noose wrapped around her neck to drag her into his clutches.

'I'm done,'

'Not until I say so. Have another.'

'No...I don't want more.' Had it suddenly gotten hot in here? Her heart was starting to pound. 'Please,'

'Refusing my generosity? This is imported from Colombia.' He'd said it smiling, but familiar ice was behind his expression. 'Their finest.'

'I'm not thirsty, Gabriel, please.'

'Would you rather have the punishment? Claud hasn't enjoyed your company for a long while,'

'No!' Frantically shaking her head, Geneviève's finger curled around his arm. 'Please, not Claud! He's so cruel to me!'

'Then drink.' Her glazed eyes were full of helpless resignation as she took the cup from him. Under his watchful eye, she downed another two glasses without complaint.

'Good girl,' cooing gently, as if soothing a petulant toddler, Gabriel had stroked her hair, teasing the long, silken strands until ripples were surging through her body with each caress. Leering, he'd waited for the drug mixed with the guaro to kick in, a powerful aphrodisiac that took only minutes to begin working. Geneviève's body began reacting, skin flushing as her nerves heightened. When he kissed the crook of her neck, her head tipped to one side in invitation. Stroking her slim waist, Gabriel indicated a refined-looking man carrying a spare tire beneath a jacket that must have cost five thousand francs.

'That is someone very valuable to me, Geneviève.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'Be good to him.' The command was in her ear, the grip on her arm a warning before nudging her forward. 'Be my good girl.'

'Is that all?'

'I need no confessions from him this time. You are his reward for services rendered.'

The stranger turned as she reached him, his smile an oily sneer as her hand slid around his arm.

'I'm Geneviève.'

'You're stunning. I'm an associate of Mr Darche.'

'He sends his compliments.'

He shamelessly groped at her backside through the clingy fabric of her sequined black dress, and despite herself, she wiggled into the touch. She couldn't resist the powerful effects of the drug, or the burning need that came with it.

'Come with me,' she whispered, her core temperature climbing, each heartbeat echoing through her. 'Let's find somewhere private.'

Leading Gabriel's associate into one of the first-floor suites, Geneviève tugged free of her dress as flaming desire began to scorch through her veins, her need to satisfy it all-consuming. Behind closed doors, with a man who looked like a snake choking on a massive donut when naked, she'd slid to her knees in front of him, looking up into his greedy eyes as-

Bolting upright with a savage cry, Geneviève hurled the half-empty bottle at the ghost of him standing by the door, screaming in protest. The shattering glass was loud as tears streaked down her cheeks. Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she grabbed another bottle from the case, throwing it as hard as she could, the momentum toppling her off her feet. Hitting the hard concrete skinned her knees but she didn't notice, tears of rage spilling from her eyes as she screamed bitterly.

Gabriel had hurt her, broken her into meaningless fragments of a human being. He'd taken her innocence and crushed it, selling her to any man who needed to be bought with her body, using her as a means of blackmail for anyone he wanted to control. Years as a prostitute had stripped whatever beauty there was in her, whatever had been worth anything was gone. Drugs and alcohol dependency had done the rest, and she barely recognized herself anymore.

Tipping her head back, her mouth opened wide as she howled with years of pent-up rage and resentment.

The sound of a slamming door filtered through the cracks in her psyche, and she turned her head without lowering it, panting hard. Sideways in her field of vision, a disheveled figure stood in green camo joggers, a white tank top and bare feet still wrapped in boxing tape. Gun in hand, drawn by her screams, Ji looked prepared to commit bloody murder.

Her face still wet from tears, Geneviève's expression slowly went blank, concealing the upheaval happening inside her. Pushing unsteadily to her feet, she watched him approach. Like a mouse trapped by a snake, she radiated the desire to flee or fight. Uneven bangs hanging in her eyes gave her an unkempt, feral look.

"Fried eggs and bacon, Mouse," he tucked the gun out of sight, taking in her scuffed knees and palms. "What the devil are you doing?"

"Thinking,"

"Thinking is usually done without screaming." Keen eyes had already spotted the crate of rum, and the two empty spaces. "Thirsty?"

"What if I am?" Her tone carried an edge he instantly picked up on. "What's it to you?"

"Easy, Mouse. I'm not judging your coping methods."

"Sure," bending to yank a third bottle free, she savagely twisted off the cap. "Whatever you say."

"You want to take your claws out of my back?" He snarled, abruptly irritated. For a few brief seconds before reaching her, he'd thought she was being hurt. It had nearly driven him to the edge. "If you want to drown yourself into oblivion, that's your choice."

"So easy for you," taking a long pull at the bottle, Geneviève wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, glaring at him as she gasped for breath. "If anything upsets you, you kill it. If anything hurts you, you kill it. If anything scares you, you kill it! How wonderful to be able to kill whatever you want!"

"Don't start that martyr crap with me, Mouse," low, dangerous, his eyes began to spark. "You're not the only one that's ever had to eat someone else's mudpie. If you want to drink, do it, but don't you dare think you've got it worse than everyone else."

"Or what," slugging back several long swallows, Geneviève eyed him belligerently. "What are you going to do to me? What do you think you can come up with that hasn't already been done to me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Ginny, regardless of the garbage spewing from your mouth. I don't need to hurt you to prove a point. And I don't give a flying fudge bar if you think I'm wrong."

"Why not!" Gesturing wildly with the bottle, she didn't notice when a good bit sloshed over her hand and arm, spattering the floor and part of her pant leg. "Are you so much better than everyone else? Or do you not want to dirty your hands!"

"Shut up." Snapping the words, he took a threatening step toward her before realizing it but Ginny scrambled nimbly away. Her features were a mask of hate and mistrust.

"Stay away from me! I won't let you-!"

"I'm not going to hurt you!"

"Then why are you yelling at me!"

"Because you're acting like a toddler throwing a tantrum!" His bellow hung between them, the stillness broken only by ragged breathing. Geneviève's dark eyes were gleaming unnaturally bright as she tilted the bottle back to her lips, watching him as she took long gulps.

"I have every right to be mad," she muttered hoarsely, staggering toward a chair but tripping over her own feet. Hitting her hands and knees, the bottle exploded with a shattering pop, shards of glass mixed with rum flying everywhere. Her shriek was loud as shrapnel sliced through the unprotected skin of her face and arms. Bright red lines instantly began to ooze as she whimpered.

"For the love of- Ginny, don't move!" Rushing forward, Ji stopped abruptly, remembering his bare feet. Rum and slivers of glass wouldn't do him any favors. "Just hold still. I'm coming."

"Don't bother," rocking forward, she covered her face with her hands. "Just leave me alone."

"Yeah, right." Moving across the rum-spattered concrete, he felt like he was dodging landmines. Why'd she have to break the bottle? Why had he reacted like a hormonal teenager, sprinting to reach her without even thinking first? "Almost to you."

"I'm not worth it," digging her hands into her hair, her expression shifted to disgust. "Just leave me alone!"

"Not going to happen," making it safely to her side he was balanced on the balls of his feet. "I'll pick you up. Don't move."

"I don't want your help, Ji," she muttered defiantly, frowning. "I don't want anything anymore."

"Nothing?" Slipping his arms beneath her, Ji lifted her off the floor. She felt insanely wonderful. "What about the crackers?"

"I throw up a lot."

"Gross. Showers with hot water are nice."

"The spray hurts when it hits... It doesn't matter. I hate showering alone anyway. Too scary."

"What about sleep?"

"Monsters are in my dreams."

He was swiftly running out of both patience and suggestions.

"Help me out here, Mouse, there has to be something to look forward to about being alive."

"Life is too scary," he didn't like the way she said that, her flat tone prickling over his scalp. "I'm tired of being afraid all the time. I can't be afraid and-"

He waited, but she didn't finish.

"And?"

"I just can't."

"Fear can be overcome, Ginny. It can go away."

"Not mine," her whisper was cold, fingers plucking absently at the strap of his tank top. "Mine won't ever go away."

"What if I help you?" Holding her closer, Ji felt icy premonition sweep down his spine. She was slipping beyond his reach faster than he could think of what to say. "What if I show you how?"

"It won't matter." Listless now, her voice became monotone. "It just doesn't matter,"

"Why not?" Moving down the hallway, he was actively looking for a place to set her down so he could see her face and try to figure out what was going on. Ginny abandoned the strap she'd been fiddling with, her sigh heavy as she went limp, blankly staring at nothing.

"Ginny?" He made it to a small room packed full of aged medical supplies and settled her on the metal table in the center. Stroking the chopped bangs from her eyelashes, he grinned. "Hey,"

Vacantly staring into space, she didn't respond. Not catatonic, not even withdrawn from shock, just...gone. Waving a hand in front of her face got zero eye response so he sighed, frowning deep.

"What am I going to do with you, Mouse?"

"...bury me..." her whisper came from still lips, dull eyes not moving from the distance that held her gaze. "...it's better... bury me with all the others..."

"Shut up with that," he growled at her, quickly searching for some rubbing alcohol and gauze pads. "Not going to happen. Not on my watch."

"...look away..." a finger twitched involuntarily as Ginny's lips moved slightly. "...let the monsters have me,"

"No." Settling a bottle of cleanser on the table, Ji firmly took her hands in his, staring into dark eyes that didn't register his presence. "I'm a demon, remember? I don't share my stuff with anybody."

"Not yours," her head wobbling slightly, the shine of tears briefly glinted in her eyes as she stared into the past. "His... always his..."

"Who." Leaning closer, he squeezed her hand, but Ginny wasn't seeing him, her head shaking with tremors as tears dripped slowly down her cheeks, mixing with the blood oozing from a cut.

"I'm his... always... always... his,"

Cleansing her cuts, Ji told himself not to react. She was out of her mind right now, and anything he said or did would only push her farther away. Once finished, he stood up, tossing everything into a garbage bin then faced her.

"Walk or ride?" A long, slow blink answered him as she tried to process what he meant. Holding out his arms, he arched a brow. "Walk or ride,"

Ginny's arms lifted and he scooped her off the table, feeling her weight settle comfortably to his chest. Before he made it to their sleeping quarters she was asleep, her cheek nestled on his shoulder. Tucking the softness of her form onto a cot, he gently pulled a blanket over her shoulders before sitting on the floor nearby to watch over her. Craving for nicotine had his heart pounding like a marathon runner.

'Benji,' the coo echoed in his mind, the memory surfacing. 'Did you sleep?'

'Some,' hoarse, pained, his voice was gruff compared to hers. 'What time is it?'

'Eleven.' Warm fingers rested on his chest as he tried to sit up. 'Rest, Benji,'

'Can't. Boss gots-'

'What my husband wants can wait. You need to rest and heal.'

'Ah'm fine, Mrs. Scarpetti.'

'Mandy,' she'd corrected, stroking her fingers over his brow, watching as his keen eyes fixed warily on her hand. 'I'd like you to call me Mandy.'

"Ah'm not supposed ta. Boss' ordas.'

'What about my orders?' She was still watching him fixate on the hand she used to caress his brow. 'Do I frighten you?'

'Nah,' steely green eyes flicked to her. 'Ah don' like ma face touched.'

'Does it hurt?'

'Just don' like it. Dat's all.'

'I can respect that.' Her hand dropped to his shoulder, gingerly resting over the purple bruising. 'What about this?'

'Fine.' He tried again to sit up but Amanda had pushed him back down. 'Ah can't lay around-'

'Benji... please,' giving him a tender smile, Amanda rubbed her fingertips lightly across his shoulder. 'It's only been a few days. I'll watch over you.'

'Ah don' need a nanny, Mrs Scarpetti.' He'd been careful to watch his language. No one but Orzo was allowed to cuss in front of the Missus. Amanda smiled at his belligerence.

'You're so handsome when you're sleeping, like all your worries fade away. I've enjoyed seeing it. And I asked you to call me Mandy, remember?'

'Too bad Ah ain't pretty when Ah'm awake.' Ever cocky, he'd grinned at her, watching a primal interest bloom behind her eyes. 'Mandy.'

'You are Benji, but no one looks their best covered in bruises. Even your handsome face. That's why I want you to rest,' leaning closer, she brushed her lips across his cheek. 'I'll still be here when you wake up.'

'Den what?'

'What would you like?'

He'd known exactly what he'd like, but Amanda Scarpetti was the forbidden fruit, the ultimate sin. Even though she was looking at him like she knew exactly what was on his twisted adolescent mind and wanted it too.

Shaking himself free of the memory, Ji turned his head, hearing Ginny's breathing begin the light buzzing bee sound.

"I'll be here when you wake up, Mouse. Just rest."