Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Original Characters, Yuna Hollander, Hayden Pike, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

baby's first fic in 17 years, I wanted more Shane kidnapping so I broke my near 2 decades of silence to write one myself, Hurt Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Whump, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Non-Consensual Touching, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Not Beta Read, Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), David Hollander & Ilya Rozanov Bonding, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Anxious Shane Hollander, Protective Ilya Rozanov, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Duct Tape, Non-Consensual Bondage, author has been to Canada exactly one time and it was in Banff when she was a child, so sorry if any depictions are not accurate, Emotional Whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ilya Rozanov Whump, I threw in a lil bit of everything

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-03 Completed: 2026-02-09 Words: 35,161 Chapters: 6/6

I'm Powerless, Don't Remind Me

Summary

Anya’s barking continues. At this rate, he will need to check on her at the very least to stop the headache that is slowly forming behind his eyes. “Anya! Come on!” Shane calls once more as he sets his phone down on the small table next to his seat, along with his half-finished coffee. Suddenly, before he can register what is happening, Shane feels a strong arm snake around his torso. Rough fibers scratching the exposed skin of his stomach where the hoodie remained unzipped, leaving him exposed. Just as a cry of shock starts to work its way up his throat, a gloved hand reaches around his mouth, smothering anything that would have left his lips. The arm around his middle tightens, and he feels the hard, cold tap of metal against his waist where he assumes his attacker’s hand is. 'A gun'.

....

“Grab him. I’ll start the car and we can get out of here.” Joe says over his shoulder as he makes his way to the front door.

....

'Ilya. Please.

Or

It should have been a quiet morning alone. Pulled violently from his home Shane realizes he must try and fight his way out, and hopes Ilya realizes what happened before it is too late.

Notes

Hi! This is not beta read so please excuse any mistakes. I wanted contribute to the growing pile of Shane whump.

The last fic I wrote was in 2009 and one of the worst Twilight fics on fanfic dot net so we have nowhere to go but up here.

Note: This story has not been completed, but I write about 2k words a day so plan to update this regularly.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Ilya. Ilya please…” Shane whimpers out, as his husband slams into him from behind. He is hitting that perfect spot inside of him that sends sparks of pleasure down his spine with each thrust. Shane lets out a moan he really should be embarrassed about, but somehow, he can never bring himself to be ashamed around Ilya. Shane may have started on all fours, but with each powerful hit from Ilya’s thick cock, he sinks further and further into the plush mattress. At this point his sweat-slick body is almost completely splayed out — only his desire to keep this moment from ending too soon motivating him to keep his hips off the sheet below him. Shane is so close. He is pretty sure that if a sheet so much as touches his dick, he will shoot off immediately.

“I love you. You are so perfect for me.” Ilya groans out. “So fucking pretty like this. Panting on my cock. Ya tebya lyublyu.” The last part comes out more of a whisper, more of a promise. Ilya kisses his husband’s neck, slowing his thrusts from near punishing to a slow roll of his hips. His cock grinding slowly and oh so deeply into that sweet spot inside of Shane. “Are you close? Will you come for me, my love?” Ilya breathes into his ear from behind. Shane can tell from his tight voice that he is close to the edge himself.

“So close. Oh my god Ilya. Right there. Please don’t stop. Oh my god. Oh my godohmygodohmy-“ Shane’s release slams into him after what felt like a tortuous build, and he tangles his hands into the sheets to tether himself to reality. He feels warm, sticky cum trapped between his body and the mattress, laying down, fully now, in a puddle of his own spend. Above him he hears a low, familiar groan, and feels his husband shoot his load deep inside him. In a moment this will feel disgusting — but for now? Shane cannot imagine being anywhere other than surrounded by his husband’s strong arms and warm embrace. His soft kisses landing up and down his face, neck, and back. Soft, loving and worshiping. Shane flips over on his back to move out of the wet spot on the bedsheets, and to properly kiss the love of his life. He feels some of Ilya’s cum slide out of his hole — the idea of some part of Ilya still being inside of him in some way makes his heart flip. Even after all these years, having Ilya all to himself feels unreal.

“Did I, what was it…? Fuck you stupid?” Ilya smirks playfully, as he cuddles into Shane’s side, peppering him with more kisses. It seems to be Ilya’s favorite thing, like he can’t get enough of the taste of Shane’s skin, not that he minds. He huffs a laugh, but finds that, yeah. Actually maybe he did fuck him stupid. Words are hard right now. Instead he turns his face to Ilya’s and gives him a deep kiss. Hoping he is conveying, without words, just how deep his love runs.

“Okay Mr. Stupid, you lay there and look pretty for me. I will grab things for us to clean up and sleep.” Ilya sighs affectionately, dipping in for one last peck on Shane’s lips. Shane angles his head to watch Ilya’s perfect ass make its way to their en suite . Shane still can’t believe he gets to have this. Ilya is his husband. The world knows about them and sure, there are assholes and people who spew hate, but the love they get feels so much louder. After two seasons on the Centaurs, Shane can truly say he is healing from the hurt and trauma left from his messy exit from the Voyageurs.

The bed dips as Ilya returns to him with a warm washcloth. He cleans him tenderly, never stopping his sweet kisses as he wipes down his lover’s spent body. “Ilya, you need to be up early tomorrow.” Shane can’t help but protest as Ilya swoops in for his mouth. Shane can feel his dick trying to perk up valiantly at Ilya’s efforts. “Let me change the sheets so we can go to bed. I don’t want to hear about your eye bags when the videos come out. Strip the bed and I’ll be back.”

“Ooh. Bossy.” Ilya waggles his expressive brow, “Can he play next time?” He teases, but moves to clean their mess anyway.

Shane must sleep deeply, because he doesn’t even notice when Ilya’s alarm goes off and he leaves to shoot his off-season promos. As captain, Ilya’s summers are definitely busier than Shane’s. It was something he found he didn’t miss about wearing the C, especially now that he was entering his 30’s. Between regular season, the foundation, summer camps in Montreal and Ottawa, on top of the usual press and advertisement campaigns — Shane felt that they barely had downtime as it was. At least today’s NHL promo shoot should be short. A few videos commenting on “pretty goals”, locker room debauchery and superstitions. Just a few hours and they will be back in each other’s arms. Shane isn’t normally the one to plan but today he has a few ideas of how he wants to keep his husband in bed as soon as he returns home.

It is Anya’s loud snoring that ends up waking him. Why do we bother setting an alarm when we can just train Anya. The thought comes groggily. The dog is a dead weight, sprawled out right where Ilya normally sleeps, certainly enjoying the space in his absence. He smiles and fumbles for the remote that will open the blinds to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the cottage bedroom. The sun is bright in the sky and washes the bedroom in soft light. He finds his standard black boxer-briefs, some soft slippers his mom gave him for Christmas, and slips on a Centaur’s zip up hoodie that is almost certainly Ilya’s given how worn-in it is. 

Padding into the kitchen, he smells the coffee Ilya must have brewed before he left. There is still enough in the carafe for a cup or two, and Shane’s heart warms at the small gesture. Anya, now awake, trots behind him — clearly ready for her own breakfast.

“You want to eat before you go out? Or did your dad already let you out?” Shane asks, not actually expecting an answer. Anya surprises him as always and answers in the form of pawing at her bowl that sits on the floor next to the kitchen island. More than two years of Anya and Shane still managed to be surprised by just how much she understood them. “You are worse than your father.” He mumbles affectionately, patting her soft head and grabbing her homemade food out of the fridge. Shane just prepped it yesterday.

“You make her eat bird food, like you” Shane remembers Ilya had scoffed, giving him a deadpan stare. The first time Shane had brought up the benefits of fresh dog food, Ilya had thought he was joking. 

“I will not apologize for wanting the best dog in the world to live a long and happy life!” Shane had retaliated. He was about to go on a tangent about the health benefits of sweet potatoes in a dog’s diets when Ilya kissed him speechless.

Shane smiled at the memory and thought about his husband as he sipped on his coffee and watched Anya devour her bowl of “bird food”.

“Come on girl, let’s go potty.” Shane called as soon as Anya finished licking the scraps of food out of her bowl. As soon as he opened the glass doors leading to the back deck facing the lake, she bounds out towards the tree-line. He took his time refilling his coffee before stepping through the open doors to sit on his favorite Adirondack chair, taking in the calming view of the lake, and enjoying the cool breeze from the water hit his bare chest and legs.

He was checking his email on his phone, flitting through brand deal proposals his mom forwarded along to him, and handling the odd press inquiry that made its way directly into his inbox, when he heard Anya’s sharp barks from the side of the house. “Anya!” Shane calls, looking up and around the perimeter quickly, but not seeing their dog. He whistles for her to come, but even after several beats of waiting, the barks continue and she doesn’t appear from the trees. “Anya, leave whatever animal you are terrorizing alone.” Shane calls once more, turning his attention back to his email. Anya may bark a tough bark, but Shane has been very happy to see that she has never brought home a dead animal, nor has he had to clean up anything other than mud off her body.

Anya’s barking continues. At this rate, he will need to check on her at the very least to stop the headache that is slowly forming behind his eyes. “Anya! Come on!” Shane calls once more as he sets his phone down on the small table next to his seat, along with his half-finished coffee. Suddenly, before he can register what is happening, Shane feels a strong arm snake around his torso. Rough fibers scratching the exposed skin of his stomach where the hoodie remained unzipped, leaving him exposed. Just as a cry of shock starts to work its way up his throat, a gloved hand reaches around his mouth, smothering anything that would have left his lips. The arm around his middle tightens, and he feels the hard, cold tap of metal against his waist where he assumes his attacker’s hand is. A gun. His mind supplies, somewhat uselessly at this point. 

“Wow. You really made this easier than expected Mr. Hollander. Or is it Mr. Rozanov these days?” A cruel voice chuckles behind him. Shane’s breath quickens with the realization that the man holding him flush to his chest knows who he is. This is targeted. What did they even want? This wasn’t even their primary home. Shane and Ilya didn’t have their expensive belongings at the cottage. This was the place for them to unwind and disconnect. The place where they had the opportunity to shut out hockey, and the press, and enjoy each others company. Shane would give them anything they wanted if it meant separating himself from the bullets loaded in the heavy gun pressing into his side. “Now I need you to listen to me carefully, can you do that sweetheart? Sit pretty and listen? I heard you like taking orders, that’s true, isn’t it?” The stranger croons. Shane can’t help but start to shake from fear, rage, or pure adrenaline. He can’t discern one from the other at this point. Hell it is probably all three. All he knows is that he wishes he put on more than just underwear and a hoodie before he stepped outside today. In all his years in the spotlight, Shane isn’t sure he has ever felt so exposed. 

“I am going to remove my hand from your mouth and you are going to stay nice and quiet. Do you understand me? Not a peep, or you will find some metal in a place I can promise you really don’t want. Now nod if you understand me.”

Shane nods shakily, tears starting to prick the corners of his eyes. He is kicking himself mentally for feeling so weak, so helpless. But what is he supposed to do against a gun? He can’t see the man holding him close just yet, but based on the angle the voice is coming from above him, and the thick arm around his torso, he can tell this man is big. Shane may be a hockey player, but he has always been on the more slight side compared to most of his teammates. 

He can still hear Anya barking in the distance. Is the alright? She doesn’t sound hurt but how the hell is he supposed to know. She’s just an animal, she doesn’t know what is going on. Hell, Shane doesn’t know what is going on. 

The tears continue to build, as the man moves to remove his hand. Despite the grip on his face loosening, the grip around his waist tightens, still stiff as an iron band. Fear is the only conscious thought Shane has, but something deep inside his brain knows this may be his only chance. He doesn’t know what this man wants, but what he does know is that Anya isn’t here, she is in distress, and this man was looking for Shane’s home in particular. None of that adds up to anything good. The thought isn’t even fully formed when Shane slams his head back into his captor’s face. Shane’s vision whites out momentarily. He has taken, arguably, too many hits to the head, but he has always had the benefit of helmets. This is pure, raw pain directly to his skull. Shane may be stunned, but so is the man behind him. The man loosens his grip just for a fraction of a second, but it is all Shane needs to propel himself forward and out of his arms. He fights through the pain rattling his skull and scrambled for footing on the hardwood deck. His hands catch on some rougher wood, taking splinters as a souvenir, but he manages to fight his disorientation, pain, and dizziness to find his way to standing. He has a brief moment to peer over his shoulder. The man is large, he must have at least three inches and forty pounds of mass on Shane. The black sweatshirt and pants are almost comical in how cliché the outfit is. He is just a clean cut, generic white guy. His hair color isn’t even discernible underneath his baseball cap. The only distinguishing feature Shane can spot is the vast amount of blood running out of his nose. Shane must have busted it, if not broken it. Good. Shane thinks. 

He needs to get back to the house, and back to Anya. She is still barking. She doesn’t sound farther way, but she doesn’t sound closer either. At least she doesn’t sound like she is hurt. At least he doesn’t think she does…

The couple of meters between his current position on the deck and his open doors have never felt so vast. Shane feels himself stumbling forward as fast as he can. It feels like he is three years old again, trying to stay upright and find his footing on the ice. As he gets closer to the door, he hears a scream of frustration behind him and feels the reverberation of heavy footsteps behind him. Shane manages to make it inside with a few seconds lead time, thanking the speed skills years of skating brought him. He slams the doors closed and turns the lock as quickly as he can. The door is glass. It won’t stop a bullet, but it will at least buy him time to call the authorities. He reaches into his hoodie pocket and finds it empty. His phone is still outside! The large man is now ramming his shoulder into the door, the wall of windows shakes. Shane has never regretted going for a modern, airy style of home as much as he did now. 

The only other way to get help was to grab his laptop and try to get a message out. Could he virtual call? Is that a thing? Could he use imessage to send a distress call to Hayden? His mom? He would try Ilya but who knows if he even has his phone on him, and Shane doesn’t know how long he has until the man thinks to use his gun to simply shoot his way through. He cannot believe how careless he was in not grabbing his phone. Shane’s brain was moving at light-speed, trying to think of where he last saw his laptop. Where he could even go to get help. He continues to stare in fear at the man trying to force his way into his home. His breath starting to increase in pace, the breaths themselves getting shorter. He is pretty sure he is having a panic attack. 

The man throwing himself at the door suddenly stops. He looks at Shane and smiles slowly. A heavy object collides with the side of Shane’s head. Taking him down to the hardwood floor. His body crumples in a heap. The first hit to the head was self-inflicted. It hurt, but Shane at least had some instinctual idea on how to minimize the damage to himself. This hit left him dazed on his side, his vision going in and out. The world above him spinning, nearly making him sick. He can feel the creep of stomach acid and coffee making its way up his throat slowly. I have a concussion. Shane manages to think as spots dance in his eyes. He manages to swallow down the bile. The temple of his head throbs violently in time with his pulse. He is pretty sure he blacks out for a few seconds. He hears the lock on the door click, and two pairs of footsteps walking closer to him. 

Shane tries to push himself up, but his limbs are jello and a sharp hit of nausea returns going right to his stomach. A dry heave hits him, only making his head throb more. Unwanted tears force their way out of his eyes once more. He feels an unbearable shot of pain where he thinks he was hit, lighting up along his scalp. Something, or someone is lifting his head from the floor. His body is a lead weight, only adding to the pressure on his scalp. Shane’s feet scramble below him, trying to find purchase to alleviate some of the pressure on his head, but to no avail. He lost his slippers somewhere in the shuffle. His original captor pulls Shane’s face to meet his, as he bends down to meet him somewhat partway. He has Shane’s head by a fistful of hair, and shakes him as they come eye to eye, which only serves to rattle Shane’s tender brain around his skull even more. He can tell it is his original captor from the fountain of blood beginning to dry on his face. 

“Listen here, you’re going to pay for this,” the man pointing at his bloodied face, “not as much as you should, but we aren’t playing nice anymore. I’m not putting up with this shit, you hear?” Shane’s head won’t stop throbbing with how tight the grip is — the words won’t come to his lips. He can only feel the pain lancing through his skull. He manages a groan in response when the man shakes him lightly, trying to prompt an answer. “Good enough.” He comments. He throws Shane back on the ground, hocking a glob of bloody spit on his prone form on the floor below. 

“Andy. Calm down. You can’t rough him up too bad if this is going to work.” The second man says to his initial captor - Andy.

“Don’t say my name!” Andy cries out, pushing his conspirator in the chest.

“The kid is totally out of it! It isn’t like he’s picking any of this up anyway!”

“Fuck you, Joe. I’m not going to be the only one putting myself on the line here. He already fucked my nose up, I don’t need anything else going wrong.” Well, at least Shane had names now. His limbs feel like they are held down with anvils. Shane doesn’t know if something is seriously wrong, or if the shock of the hit, and the entire situation has locked up his limbs. All he knows if that he feels outside of his body as one of the men flips him onto his stomach. He hears directions being barked out, and hears the distinct sound of tape being unrolled. Oh god. This is so much worse than he thought. Why do they need to tie him up if they are just burgling his home? Shane can barely move as it is. Just lock him in a room and leave him be. 

Don’ttouchmedon’ttouchmedon’ttouchmedon’ttouchme. Echoes in Shane’s mind. He wriggles as much as he can, but without much success. One of them sits on his legs, and grabs his hair once more, angling his head up so they can slap the first piece of tape over his mouth. Shane immediately tries to work his jaw loose and cry for them to stop, only for the other man to grip the top of his head and jaw to hold his mouth closed, while the other starts winding the roll of tape around his head. The man gripping his jaw lets go after what must be the fifth pass of tape around his head. His face feels compressed and tight. The grip around his face is merciless, and he still isn’t stopping. Another four or five passes make their way around, and while he can’t see himself, Shane imagines his face is covered jaw up to his nostrils based on the tight compression he can’t escape. 

“Mmph!!!!!” Shane yells, and shakes his head - rattling the white spots loose in his vision again. The man holding his head up lets go, and not expecting the sudden release, Shane’s head hits the hardwood floor with a hard impact. He can’t do anything other than groan and collect himself — attempting to get as much air as he can through his nose. 

“Get his jacket off and get his hands” He hears Andy direct to Joe. Still dazed, Shane feels rough hands rip the worn hoodie from his arms. Hot, damp hands grab his own and force them together behind his back. Fight back Shane. You need to fight back. He tells himself. He has never felt this weak though. His body has never felt this heavy, or this wrong. Shane has never felt powerless until this moment. He tries to shake the hands off his body, but the man sitting on his legs is much too heavy, and his arms are too weak and uncoordinated to dislodge the hold on his wrists. Fuck!! Shane feels the sticky tape start to wind its way around his hands. They are forced together by his captors, Shane can feel round of tape making their way from his fingers to the wrists, forming his hands into one tight, useless ball. The tears are back again. Or did they ever stop? He feels his face get hot and he is struggling to get enough air through his nose. Now is not the time to panic. If he panics then he will never get out of this. 

He tries to take slow, measured breaths, but that goes out the window as soon as he feels his elbows wrenched together. Pain radiates throughout his shoulders as his chest is forced off the floor to meet the restrictive bind. Shane hates himself for the whimper that escapes behind his thick gag. The hot tears fully making their way down his face. I want Ilya. Please come home. Shane thinks as he starts to shake, from both fear and tension. The hold on his arms releases, it is almost a relief, but the tight tape holding his elbows together keeps any real relief from being found. Please let them be done. Just leave. Take what you need and leave! He wants to shout. The tape silences anything he would want to say even if he could find the words.

“Joey - hold his legs.” Andy orders, he must have been the one sitting on Shane because the weight vanishes only to be replaced with two strong hands holding down his calves. Without the warm body on his back, Shane feels the chill of the floor truly sink into his now bare torso. He can feel Andy sink down to his knees beside him. “Well, well. These thighs aren’t bad. I can see why your man is interested.” He feels hands caress his thighs, creeping closer and closer to the curve of his ass. Panic ratchets up to a level he wasn’t aware he could reach. Shane cries audibly as the tears make the tape around his mouth even tackier. He can’t do anything other than struggle weakly and let out a pathetic noises as the unwanted touches continue and turn into squeezing gropes. 

“Hey! Andy! Hurry the fuck up. We can’t stay here all day. Let’s fucking get the show on the road already. Leave the kid alone.” Joe directs over to his assailant. Shane sobs in relief when he feels the warm hands momentarily leave his thighs. It is quickly replaced by confusion when he feels just one of his legs being positioned with his ankle flush against the top of his thigh. Tape winds its way around both the spot where his ankle meets his upper thigh, and when secured, Andy moves to tape below, at the pit of his knee, securing the hold. When Andy let’s go to work on the other leg, Shane is struck by just how helpless he is, and how helpless he will be when the duo is done. He tried to stretch out his leg, but is only successful is slightly lifting it off the ground. Andy immediately starts on his other leg. Shane tries to put up one last bit of resistance, but Andy holds fast, giving him a swat on the ass to reprimand him. Shane isn’t sure if the sick feeling crawling up his throat is from the unwanted touch, or because he stopped struggling after Andy’s hit.

When he lets go, Shane can’t do anything but move his body from side to side. Barely. 

“Just like a little worm. How cute.” He hears Andy say above him. Shane is grabbed by his leg and arm, easy now that he is in a compact package, and flipped over on his back. His shoulders grew semi-numb as they adjusted to the stretch, but now on his back with a new level of pressure they start to scream all over again. If Shane thought Andy was intimidatingly big before, he doesn’t have words for what he looks like from his vulnerable position on the ground. Joe is probably the same size as Shane, but even he dwarfs him from this angle. Worse, on his back, Shane realizes that with his legs bound as they are, he can’t close his legs. Adding another layer of vulnerability he is sure Andy planned. The man seemed to enjoy making him squirm. Shane tries to pull his legs somewhat together, and he is sure he looks ridiculous in his unnatural position because he hears Andy laugh. “Oh now you care about modesty? Do you see your house? You want people to look, don’t even try to deny it.” Shane feels heat rush to his face. That wasn’t why he has his house built this way! He never thought he would share his life with someone like this! He didn’t want to invite the world into his private life! And now here he was on the floor, helpless and on display for two strange men who wanted something from Shane that they had yet to name.

“Grab him. I’ll start the car and we can get out of here.” Joe says over his shoulder as he makes his way to the front door. What?? What do they mean grab!? Shane’s question is answered when Andy picks him up once more, this time carrying him like an old fashioned suit case as they made their way to the front door. Shane’s shoulder and hips are screaming with the pull of his bodyweight, but he struggles as much as he can, ignoring the spots dancing in his vision from his head wound. His screaming starts as they cross the threshold. His cries are muffled severely by the tape around his head, but it is something. He continues all the way to the car. He will scream his throat bloody if it means someone stops them. Shane has never regretted his choice for privacy more than in this moment. No one is here. No one can hear him. No one is coming. Ilya won’t be home for who knows how long now. Who knows where these men are taking him and what they want. 

Shane’s screams devolve into cries as he is thrown into the trunk of a plain black SUV. He finds his body being forced and contorted into an even more cramped shape to fit the sunken compartment in the back of the car. Shane looks up at Joe and Andy with pleading eyes as they force him into position. “Sorry kid. Its the way its gotta be.” Joe shrugs. He grabs the flat, hard top cover for the trunk compartment. No! Please don’t. Please don’t put me in here. Please!! Shane tries to plead with his eyes, making desperate cries through his gag. Joe hesitates for one small moment before Andy grabs the cover out of his hands and slams it over Shane, enveloping him in darkness. Shane shakes violently, letting the hiccuping sobs rolls over him in waves as he hears objects being moved over the cover to be sure he doesn’t dislodge the cover. It is pitch black. He can feel the engine turn over and the vibration of the car moving out of the driveway. Shane thinks he can still hear Anya’s panicked barking in the distance.

Ilya. Please.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

Ilya returns home to find a missing Anya, and Shane panics.

Chapter Notes

Don't worry no dogs were hurt in this fic <3 I am also an Ilya calls Shane "baby" truther.

Can you tell I speed wrote this after my morning yoga practice.

It has been a long morning. Ilya had to leave the house by six am in order to make it to the studio where the promos were being filmed. At least Troy and Harris were around to keep him company. Troy, filming his own segment, and Harris claiming he was essential to supervise the shoot as the team social media manager — ignoring that the entire shoot was for, and run by the NHL, not the Centaurs. Ilya climbed into his sensible car, that Shane still loves to tease him about, and lets out a deep sigh. The summer has been a good one. The camps went well, and are growing. Other players and communities are talking to the Irina Foundation about expanding the camps to other cities, maybe even bringing it to America. Ilya and Shane have both gotten more comfortable with turning down brand deals, but that doesn’t mean they come in less frequently. With July a few days from being over, Ilya is hoping he and Shane can just enjoy each other for at least the next few weeks. All Ilya really wants out of this summer is to lock away both of their phones, install a gate in their drive to keep out any unwanted visitors, and spend each day enjoying his husband’s body, the lake, cooking together, and just existing. It is easier now that they play for the same team. They can go home together, room together, travel together, but the weight of the season and pressure to perform not only as a player, positive representation for the queer community, and a captain is always present. It is rare they both just get to shut off completely.

Ilya pulls out his phone and sees the time flash 11:07 am. It will take a little over an hour to get back to the cottage. Maybe he should do something nice. On the way there is the farm-to-table restaurant Shane likes to eat at when they make the commute. He turns the vehicle on and pulls out onto the road. Shit. He should have texted Shane before he got on the road. He broke the habit of texting and driving after Shane stopped nagging him and shared how much it scared him. Call it is. He didn’t want Shane to make lunch for himself and ruin Ilya’s nice gesture. “Call Jane.” He never changed Shane’s contact in his phone. He liked the reminder of where they came from and what they have been able to build. Shane calls him sappy, and maybe he is. He can’t bring himself to actually care when he has been lucky enough to find love like this. 

The dial-out tone continues to ring. Shane normally answers quickly, one of his anxious habits, but maybe he was in the shower. He always liked to get his workouts done in the morning. “Hi, you’ve reached Shane Hollander. Please leave a message and me or my manager will return your call as soon as possible.” Shane’s tinny voice comes through the car speakers. Always so polite.

“Baby, I am on my way home. I am bringing you something nice. Please do not cook. I love you and I will see you soon.”

Ilya stops at the restaurant to pick up Shane’s favorite salmon salad, and some roast chicken with swiss chard for himself. He made sure to grab a side of charred broccoli and roasted delicata squash, something they both liked. It may be a bit much for lunch, but he knows Shane will love it. 

The remaining drive to the cottage passed by slower than Ilya would have liked. It has been nearly an hour since he first called Shane and he still hadn’t heard from him. He checked his texts when he pulled over at the restaurant and still nothing. It wasn’t entirely unusual, there wasn’t much to respond to, but for some reason the lack of response gave him unease today.

Ilya pulls into the cottage drive. The scenery is as peaceful as always, but something feels off to him. He hears something in the distance over the idling engine. He turns it off quickly and steps out of the car. He hears barking. “Anya?” Ilya asks more to himself than to anyone in particular. Why would she be barking? She is normally a pretty quiet dog, unless she spots an animal. But these barks seem different. “Anya!!” Ilya repeats, raising his voice this time, trying to call his dog over to him. Still nothing. Ilya leaves the food in the car and follows the barks into the trees at the edge of the property. He is getting warmer, and the barks are getting louder. Ilya continues to shout Anya’s name, trying to keep her active so he can find his girl. A few steps into the trees he sees her. She doesn’t look hurt, but she is clearly panicked. “What are you doing in there my sweet girl?” Ilya panics a bit himself. Anya is in a medium sized crate. In the woods next to their house. “Where is your papa?” He asks, opening the door and immediately getting smothered with kisses. The unease that had taken root in Ilya’s stomach earlier cranks up to a ten. Shane would never have put her in a crate away from the house. No matter how annoyed he got with her energetic antics. He loved Anya almost as much as Ilya did. Something isn’t right here. Ilya runs to the house - knowing Anya is hot on his heels.

Shane is trying his best to practice his breath work in the stuffy compartment he has been shoved into. He can’t stop shaking. He needs to calm down and stop crying or he won’t be able to breathe. They have been driving for who knows how long, but he already had one moment of panic when his sinuses were so clogged he wasn’t able to inhale. Shane thought he had been scared before, but the idea of suffocating on his own snot in the back of a moving car sent him to a new level of panic. The tape around his mouth must be disgusting. It had to be covered in drying salt from his tears, and the mucus and snot running out of his nose since he was thrown in here. 

Shane has been thankful for his yoga practice keeping him on the ice, helping stay limber and prevent injuries as he ages, but he has found an entirely new appreciation today. His folded legs ache terribly, but he can still feel them. His shoulders went numb some time ago, but he can feel his hands so he is pretty sure he hasn’t lost circulation completely. The guys may tease him about being flexible even though he isn’t a goaltender, but Shane is grateful now that he never let it get to him. The breathing exercises he has learned over the years are bringing his panic down to a manageable state. He needs to calm down. He needs to think. He needs to stop fucking crying so he can do something. Literally anything. After what feels like forever, he manages to find, well, not calm, but as close to it as he thinks he can get given the situation, and the perpetual pain radiating through his head. He needs to process what is happening if he is going to get himself out of this situation. He trusts Ilya with his life, but his husband doesn’t know where he is. He needs to assume that help is not coming.

Okay, okay. Walk it through Shane. What time was it when I took Anya out? 7:30? So 7:30ish Anya disappeared. Someone — Andy, that’s his name — grabbed me from behind. I tried to get away but the other guy, Joe, was waiting for me in the house and took me down. Were they there to rob us and I got in the way? Were they there for me or Ilya? What do they even want with me? Shane is feeling his breathing tick up again as he processes that last bit of information. He takes a deep breath in, holds for a few seconds and lets it out as slowly as he can. Just like in yoga. Breathe in, hold, and out. Repeat. Breathe in, hold, and out. Repeat. Breathe in, hold, and out. The car must hit a pothole, because the car jerks up and down, slamming Shane up into the trunk cover and whatever is weighted on top of it - rattling his head once more. He swears he can feel his brain bouncing around in his skull. He can’t tell if the spots in his vision return or not since he is in complete darkness. Breathe Shane, breathe. So they may have been robbing us, but maybe I got in the way? But why take me. They had tape with them and this whole trunk set up prepared. Are they trying to ransom me?  Shane knew he and Ilya spent many years as some of the best paid players in the NHL. They still were paid decently, but they both took cuts when they went to Ottawa. It was the only way they could afford them both and keep other decent players on the roster. He had money though. A lot of it was tied up in investments and illiquid assets, but he could get them money. If he could just get this fucking tape off his mouth and try to reason with these assholes, maybe he could convince them to just leave him at a gas station or something and go their separate ways. Shane wouldn’t even press charges if it means he could put this entire nightmare behind him.

Shane runs the reasons over and over again in his head, mulling them around and trying to think of any other reason for his current situation. He is still lost in his thoughts when the car rolls to a stop. The first one on this godforsaken trip. He hears the car doors open and close. He can’t help but tense up. He doesn’t know if he would rather them leave him alone in this dark trunk, or face his abductors in the light of day. At least if they let him out he has a chance to find an escape, no matter how impossible it may seem. He hears the trunk open, and has his answer. The scrape of the items on top of the cover reach him all the way down to his bones. Each drag feels like a drag on his own skin. Gooseflesh rises on his arms despite the hot stuffy interior he’s been shoved in. Despite the warning, the sudden flash of light after what must have been an hour or two of darkness catches him off guard. He shuts his eyes as quickly as he can to keep the light from aggravating his concussion symptoms even more. He can’t see who is standing above him, but he hopes it is Joe. He is the better of two shitty options. 

Leather covered hands unapologetically manipulate his body until he is upright. He manages to open his eyes slightly, and see’s it is Joe. A small part of him relaxes seeing that it is the more reasonable man. A breeze comes through and hits his chest, reminding Shane of his state of undress. At least the mass of tape around his head keeps the man from seeing his cheeks flush at the realization. Shane manages to open his eyes a little farther. Trying to take in the surroundings while Joe is digging for something in his pocket. It isn’t like Shane is going anywhere anytime soon. 

The surroundings don’t look familiar to Shane. In fact, it looks extraordinarily suburban and plain. They are at the end of a dead end road, he can see to his right. In front of him is a house that looks partway under construction. Craning his head to see the other side, the lawns don’t have grass. Dried, cracked mud covers the front yards around the houses. All in some state of completion. It looks like a neighborhood under construction. Hope blooms in his chest. Maybe someone working on these homes will see something isn’t right and call the police. He can only hope. He turns back to Joe hearing him take a step towards him and startles back as much as he can in his bound state. Joe is holding a hunting knife. The blade isn’t exceptionally long, but it is curved at the tip and looks worn enough to have been used with some level of frequency and comfort. Cries of panic come out muffled from Shane’s mouth, and he pushes himself back as far as he can from the man, trying to make his useless legs get him some sort of leverage. 

“Jesus, kid! Calm the fuck down. Do you want to walk? I need to cut your legs free if you don’t want to be dragged.” Joe says to him, looking at Shane like he is the unreasonable person in this situation. 

“Joe! Hurry the fuck up, I don’t want to be outside longer than we need to!” He hears Andy call from the distance, the house he assumes.

“Gimme a second! He’s freaking out!”

Shane hears low mutters and expletives from behind Joe. Andy comes into view, the blood from his busted face mostly wiped away. He can still see some crusting around the edges of his swollen nose. The man frowns down at his trembling form. “Don’t bother Joe, we’re just going to have to re-tie him and I don’t want to give him the chance to run.” Andy says, and orders Joe back inside. Joe slips the knife back into a sheath and returns it to his pocket, walking away and leaving Shane with Andy. Shane tries to give him as tough a glare as he can, but he is pretty sure it comes across as what Ilya affectionately refers to as his “angry kitten” face. Andy huffs out a laugh, confirming just how intimidating Shane managed to be.

“Here is how it is going to go. I am going to carry you inside and you aren’t going to struggle, okay? I don’t need anymore shit from you. Be a good boy and everything will be fine.” Andy says condescendingly, talking to him like he is an unruly child. He makes a move to grab for Shane’s restrained limbs, and he tries to pull out of the way and out of his grip fruitlessly. Andy hoists him up, and the sudden pain from returning bloodflow and cramped limbs makes him thrash and howl. Sharp needles and pinpricks assault his shoulders and legs. The pain is made worse when his arms and leg take on his bodyweight and Andy loses his grip and drops him onto the pavement of the driveway below. That makes three blows to the head. Shane is getting worried about how much more he can take. He can feel loose bits of rock bite into his flesh and fresh pain blossoming where his skin scraped raw on his back and arms in his fall. His arms are once again crushed under his body weight. Shane tries to plant his frog-tied feet onto the ground to do something. Lift himself upright? Turn to his side? In this position he can’t get enough leverage to do anything. All he can do is breathe through the pain, and flounder. 

“Did that go according to plan? Do you feel better now?” Andy kicks his exposed side. Shane lets out a new howl of pain as the leather boot makes contact with his ribs. At least he didn't hit hard enough to feel anything crack or shift out of place. He tries to curl into himself to get some sort of protection, but he can’t get enough leverage! A shadow looms over him as Andy squats over his body, leaning over his legs and brings his face close to Shane’s. “I am done with your tantrums. No one is here. The construction on his neighborhood was shut down over a year ago when they ran out of money. No one is coming to save you so you better start cooperating and hope that your husband does the same, or you will be lucky to see him again, much less skate again.” Andy says with a deep cut of cruelty, and the confidence of a man who has thought through multiple scenarios. Shane can’t help but flinch at reference to Ilya. He doesn’t want him anywhere near this. As much as he wants the comfort of his spouse, part of him hates the idea of Ilya seeing him so weak. Andy sets his hands on Shane’s knees, and spreads his bound legs open, just to show he can, and gives a light slap, followed by a “soothing” rub to his upper inner-thigh. It rattles Shane just how he is sure Andy knew it would. “Now let’s get you nice and settled in your new space.” 

Andy hauls Shane up like a sack of flour and carries him inside the house. Shane takes one last look of the outdoors and the sun. Unsure of the next time he will see it. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Repeat. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Repeat.

Chapter End Notes

I am surprised at how many nice comments I got! I am so glad to see this is scratching an itch for people who loves this shit like I do. I appreciate the encouragement :)
Shorter chapter than the first because I needed to get out the brainworms, and I likely won't write as much today since I need to watch my hockey team lose tonight.
I will write more Ilya POV soon, I promise. Half the fun of whump is seeing the reaction of the loved ones <3

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did please leave a comment or even a 💖 below.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Chapter Summary

Shane settles into his new home, for now. Ilya stumbles upon the crime scene that is his house and receives a very important phone call.

Chapter Notes

Thanks for all the support in this story. I never thought I would get as much positive reception as I have.

Shout out to all the freaks in it with me, and to my therapist for assigning me homework to write every day. 💖

There is a scuff mark on the wall. It looks like the same marks Shane occasionally sees on the hotel room walls when they’re on the road. It is the only thing he has had to look at since he was deposited in the empty house in the would-be sitting room. There is no flooring on the ground except the base layer of concrete. The windows are covered in semi-opaque plastic that occasionally rustles and moves when the breeze hits. Shane isn’t sure what time it is at this point. It must have been a few hours since this whole ordeal started. Andy and Joe seem to have left, but how far they went, Shane has no idea. He isn’t even sure if it is still daylight out. With his apparent concussion, and disorientation in the car, he doesn’t know how long he has been missing. The coverings on the windows only let in a fraction of light. At least, he thinks that is the case. It’s either that or the sun is setting. He can’t tell. All he knows is that the concrete is cold, despite the relatively room temperature feel of the house. 

When he was first deposited into the room, Andy threw him without finesse in a corner, facing the wall. Restrained as he was, with his each ankle bound to its respective thigh, and his arms pulled tight behind him from his elbow down, struggling had proved useless. Shane was too tired and too anxious to be hungry, but it didn’t escape his notice that the only thing he had in his stomach before this nightmare started was coffee. He and Ilya had a romantic dinner in the evening before. Shane found a recipe for smashed chicken with a medley of spiced corn and cabbage. A little more indulgent than Shane normally ate, heavy with oil, and a little healthier than Ilya typically ate. Shane even found a bottle of wine that the wine store employee said would pair well with the dish after Shane ran him through the recipe. Shane’s heart ached something fierce when he thought about the previous night. Things changed so quickly. Saving his energy was the right move. He wasn’t even sure if Joe and Andy had both left, or if they were leaving for an extended period of time. The only visual stimulation he was provided with was the corner of the ugly, white-gray drywall. 

Eventually, being forced to sit on his folded legs, numbness set in. Shane tried his best to wiggle and get feeling back in his lower body. His shoulders were already numb, and he didn’t need to add to the list of problems. The fog clouding his brain was making it hard enough to think. With the awkward distribution of weight his body was forced to carry, and a crash of a wave of dizziness, it didn’t take long for Shane to lose his balance and fall onto his side. At least he managed to keep his head from smacking against the concrete. And that was how he found himself staring at a smudge on the wall, feeling time go in and out, a sense of floating taking over his mind. Shane tried to make his body as compact as he could on the cold floor so he could preserve some sort of body heat. 

Shane tried to clear his head. He needed to make a plan for when his captors were back. Who knew when that would be. He couldn’t even roll over in his current condition, so he definitely wasn’t going to get free unless they slipped up. He wasn’t even sure he could run with the room spinning the way it was. Would they remove tape around his head? His jaw was aching fiercely from the tight pressure squeezing his cheeks. If they did, maybe he could find a way to bite some of the tape at his other bindings. He could ask to go to the bathroom so they would get rid of the tape on his legs? Even if they retied him, maybe they would do it a different way, and he could get free. The biggest obstacle, outside of his general disorientation, was his hands. His shoulders went numb a long time ago, which was now starting to become worrisome. Shane may not have been in this situation before, but he knew extended numbness couldn’t mean anything good. His hands were hanging in there. The sensation of needle pinpricks was starting to hit them though, signaling the beginning of circulation issues. Shane didn’t think they would let him lose his hands. If they were going to ransom him, they needed to keep him whole, right? The question was if they could even see it happening, given Shane had no idea just how covered his extremities were. If they removed the tape on his elbows, it would help with circulation, but his hands still wouldn’t be any more use than a club with an extremely limited range of motion. 

The sound of a car door closing catches Shane’s attention and interrupts his attempted thoughts of escape. He can’t see the door, but he hears it open and shut, along with the deafening click of a lock. It sounds like there is shuffling into another room on the other side of the house. It sounds like just one of them? But how can Shane be sure when he can’t turn his body to see anything. 

The footsteps start to sound closer. Shane tenses on his side, anticipating another unwanted touch. Will this be Andy or Joe? “You thirsty, kid?” Ah. Joe. Shane’s body is turned around with Joe’s assistance, and he nods violently, immediately regretting the sharp movement of his head, making him wince in pain. Whatever will get this tape off of his face. Maybe he can manage to reason with him. He seems more sensible than his partner. He takes a good look at him now that he has more than a moment face to face. Joe looks to be somewhere in his 40’s, or maybe 30’s with a hard life. His skin is sun-wrinkled like someone who has spent years working outdoors, which matches his sandy hair. Shane was right, he isn’t any bigger than he is. Clearly he has functional strength, but Shane thinks he could overpower him if needed. “Don’t bother yapping at me. I don’t want to hear anything. This is happening. But if you go easy on us, then we will go easy on you. Food. Water. Hell, maybe I’ll even find you a blanket. But I need you to work with me here.” Joe explains. Shane just nods again. What else is he supposed to do?

The knife comes out again from Joe’s pocket. Shane was expecting it this time. He tenses involuntarily, but keeps as still as possible. He needs to if he doesn’t want the knife going astray and into his face. “Alright. This is going to hurt like a bitch.” Joe warns him. He finds a small pocket in the tape and cuts. Immediately some of the pressure is relieved. Joe takes the flap he cut and starts to unwind the long strip from his head. As soon as Joe gets to his hair he yowls from the sharp tug on the sore spot where he was clobbered earlier. “Shhh.” Joe says, sounding somewhat empathetic. Shane breathes deep as he feels his hair getting ripped out along the tape. He really hopes that was most of it. 

It was not.

The process of removing the tape is a relief as well as its own form of torture. With each layer removed, blood flows back to his jaw, and muscles start to relax. He can finally move it just enough to start working out the soreness. At the same time, with each layer, he can feel more hair catching on the adhesive of the tape and ripping from his scalp. “Yikes. Andy really went overboard didn’t he? Sorry about that. You really pissed him off though, fucking up his face like that. I’ll see about doing it myself next time.” Joe half laughs, getting the last piece of tape off his mouth. He can feel some of his skin coming with it because of the extended wear, but he can’t even care. Shane never thought about breathing through one’s mouth as a luxury, but it is something he will not be taking for granted again. He really hopes he can avoid a next time. At least the stinging around his face and scalp are bringing him back to himself. Letting him find something solid in the swirling world around him.

Shane works his jaw back and forth, working out the tension. A bottle of water with the cap off appears in front of him. Shane didn’t even see Joe move, but he is now next to him on his haunches, offering him a drink. Shane just nods at him and tips his head back slightly so he can pour water into his parched mouth. The water trickles down his throat slowly, tasting slightly off. Shane wishes he could take the bottle in his own hands and chug the whole thing, but he’s thankful Joe is doing small tips and pauses. “Thanks.” Shane croaks out, dipping his head in direction of Joe in a movement of appreciation. “Can you — Can you please do something about my arms —“

“Hey, don’t push it, I’m not untying you.” Joe cuts him off.

“No, that’s not — I can’t feel my arms. I’m worried. Just — just my elbows — please.” Shane pleads, not above begging at this point. The numbness in his arms has been present for some time now, even with how discombobulated his thoughts are, he knows he needs to do something about it soon.

The man across from him let’s out a long sigh of frustration, and shakes his head as if reasoning with himself. He looks at Shane after a few beats, “Okay. Fine. Just the elbows. But if you start trying anything I am letting Andy put you back in your place, and he’s not going to be nearly as nice. Get me?” He jabs the knife in Shane’s direction to emphasize his point. Shane just nods enthusiastically, excited and scared for the sensation to return. Joe disappears out of his line of sight. He braces himself as much as he can for the pain that always accompanies the return of circulation. Snip. Shane didn’t realize how much his shoulders were wrenched back until they were free. He let’s out a hiss of relief through his teeth as his folds in on himself. 

“Just…Just give me a minute…” Shane pants out, riding out the waves of sensation crashing back into him, starting at his chest and making their way down his arms. His hands are still taped up to an absurd degree, but having some sense of mobility back is such a relief he could cry. He see’s Joe move away out of the corner of his eye, leaving him to himself as he walks back to another part of the house. 

He takes a few beats to collect himself, he needs to know what they want. Having some sensation back, as small as it is, is giving him a bit of confidence. He can do this. He can find out what these people want, and he can find a way out. Joe just proved to him that he is someone that can be reasoned with. Shane may not be the most charismatic man in the world, but he can make this work. He can find the words.

“Um. Joe?” Shane called out. “It’s Joe, right?”. His voice sounds more slurred than he thought it would be. He hears footsteps echo on the unfinished concrete floors.

“Kid. What do you want? I don’t need you talking here. Do you want me to shut you up again?” Joe enters the room, but he sounds more exasperated than actually upset. That’s good.

“I just. I need to know. Why am I here? What do you want with me?” The question comes out a bit shakier than he would like. The words still running together as he gets them out.

Joe let’s out a long breath. “Fine, I guess it can’t hurt and you’ll hear us anyway. It’s pretty simple. Your man gets us five-million — cash — USD, none of that Canadian shit — and he gets you back. He doesn’t, and… Well… My best guess is that it isn’t going to come to that.”

Shane can’t help but let his jaw drop, looking up at his jailer. He hates how small he feels. Joe standing at full height, looking down at him as he explains, chips away at Shane’s initial confidence. He is silent for a few beats — mulling over the entire plan in his head. The absurdity of the entire situation brings him back to himself fully for a moment. How do they seriously expect Ilya to get that kind of money? Sure, they were each worth several million, anyone could google that. But it wasn’t like their net worth was tied up in cash. It was sitting in investment accounts and hard assets. Not things you could just immediately turn into money. He tries to express the same to the man in front of him, but the words come out disjointed, Shane is not having the impact he needs to in order to get this guy to see reason.

Joe just shrugged. “Not really my problem. You guys are rich, important enough to have sway but not too important to draw an insane amount of heat. I’m sure he’ll figure it out.” Shane was shocked at how unconcerned he seemed.

“You want five million in USD, cash?? How long do you plan to keep me here?” Shane’s voice raises in pitch and volume at the question. It just hit him. Realistically it could take Ilya days to get that kind of money together. Even if Ilya had full access to all of Shane’s accounts as well as his own, he still would have to visit countless banks to get that kind of cash together. 

 “Like I said,” His voice now taking on a bit of an edge, clearly running out of patience. “Not my problem kid. We don’t want to keep you longer than we have to, but you better hope your guy gets our money fast if you want outta here.” At this he walked away. Shane’s brain was sluggishly trying to process what he just learned. Trying to find a solution and way out of this. He trusted Ilya with his life, but he knew he couldn’t work miracles either. The thoughts running through his head were moving slower and slower. He felt his head starting to droop involuntarily as the time passed. Fuck, his eyes were heavy.

This felt more than what a concussion normally brought on. Fuck. The water…

The door was unlocked. That was the first thing Ilya noticed. Shane never left the front door unlocked. He walked into the house slowly, scared of what he would find. Something definitely wasn’t right here. “Shane?” Ilya called out, only hearing the call of the birds outside in reply. Nothing looked amiss in the entryway. The warm wood tone was normally comforting, and inviting. Now it felt like it was trying to lull him into a false sense of security.

Ilya kept walking cautiously forward, Anya seeming to understand the need for caution and trailing behind him slowly. Unwilling to leave her owner’s side. Ilya felt his heart stop in his chest upon reaching the main room. There was his Centaur’s hoodie on the ground in a heap, Shane’s slippers strewn across the floor, one on the complete opposite side of the room from the other. Shane was meticulous about putting up clothes. He even folded them neatly before fucking sex of all things. Worse, the doors leading to their deck were wide open. His husband nowhere to be seen. 

“SHANE!” Ilya yelled, hoping he was playing some fucked up prank on him. Shane would hop out from the door where the home gym was, yell Surprise!!! let Ilya punish him in bed, and go about their next few weeks together, no interruptions. “SHANE!!” Ilya called again, becoming more desperate at the lack of answer. Anya whined and cried behind him. She walked over to the open back doors and whined again. Ilya went to her and saw what she was trying to alert him to. He walked across the deck near Shane’s favorite chair. He saw four things at the same time. A broken mug, spilled coffee, Shane’s phone, the screen cracked, showing missed calls from Ilya and his mother, and the last thing, which made Ilya stop breathing. Blood. Enough of it to be concerning. The blood on the deck looked dried. Like it had been sitting for several hours. This couldn’t be happening. Ilya didn’t notice the tears spilling out until they reached his lips. His breaths were coming out in ragged pants. He felt Anya push herself into his side but he couldn’t do anything but stare at the blood. 

Ilya heard Anya cry and felt her pawing at his arms. He is on the ground. When did he get to the ground? Anya bullies her head under his arm and licks his face. Ilya starts to come back to himself. He needs to find Shane. He is not here, and he is hurt. That is all that matters. He needs to find Shane. He needs to call the authorities. Oh god. He needs to call the Hollanders. Ilya left his phone in the car. He can’t do anything until he gets his phone.

Ilya stands up slowly, his legs not wanting to support his weight. He takes another look at the blood in front of him and breathes deeply, running his hand through his hair. Whatever is going on with Shane, Ilya won’t be of any use to him if he panics. He needs to keep it together. For Shane. 

The walk to the car feels agonizingly long. Ilya is grateful he has Anya at his side. Constantly providing a light pressure to his legs to tether him to the ground. The car smells of fish. He crinkles his nose. It feels pointless to grab the food now, but some reasonable part of his brain knows he will regret it if he doesn’t remove it now. Shane will never ride with him again if he isn’t able to get fish smell out of his car. 

Ilya stacks his phone on top of the take out containers and returns to the house. The movement feels entirely too normal for the situation he has found himself in. Ilya immediately dumps the food in the trash, he doesn’t care about eating right now. He needs to find out where his husband is. He needs to check the rest of the house before he calls the police. Ilya knows in his gut that Shane isn’t here, but he also wouldn’t forgive himself if Shane hurt himself, and was bleeding out alone somewhere in their house while Ilya did nothing. He quickly scours the bedroom, the guest rooms, the home gym, and even manages to make his way out to the plastic practice rink. This is real. Shane is not here. A feeling of rage and sheer determination to find his husband starts to crowd out his initial feelings of panic. The knot in his chest doesn’t loosen, but he can feel hot rage starting to crowd it out. Returning to the kitchen to grab his phone, Ilya notices something on the island he missed before. A phone. It isn’t Shane’s. He has Shane’s cracked phone in the pocket of his joggers right now along with his own. This is different. Ilya is hesitant to pick it up. If there was an intruder, could it belong to them? The way it is positioned seems too intentional. He walks around the island to get a better view of it without disturbing the scene. Which is what this is beginning to look like. A crime scene. The phone itself looks like some cheap touch screen phone. Definitely not a brand name. Not the phone of anyone he knows. What is that?  Ilya sees the corner of a paper sticking out from beneath the phone. He runs to their junk drawer and pulls out a pen so he can slide the paper away from the phone without touching it. The note, it turns out, is a folded piece of printer paper. Ilya knows he shouldn’t open it, or mess with it, until he contacts the authorities. The other part of him, the stronger part of him, can’t let this note sit unread when it may tell him something about his husband. 

If you want to see your husband again, wait for our call. No police. We will talk to you and you alone.

The words are typed, not giving any hint about the person who could have put the note together. Red rage nearly blinds him. He let’s out an animalistic howl of rage, unable to contain the rush of feelings flooding his system. He takes the nearest object to him that isn’t the phone that will be his lifeline to Shane, and throws it at the wall behind him. He hears shattering. Fuck. It was a glass. He still has on his shoes, but Anya… Anya… Where was she?

Ilya is flooded with shame and regret when he sees his sweet girl hiding behind the couch. He scared her. He can’t lose himself. Shane needs him. Anya needs him. He needs to hold himself together. “Anya, milaya devochka, mne zhal.” Anya, my sweet girl, I’m sorry.  Ilya whispers as tears start to pour out in earnest. He holds himself together just long enough to sweep up the glass into the trash, before he collapses in on himself. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t here and someone took Shane. They could have hurt Anya. Ilya is only assuming Shane is bleeding somewhere with some strange person. Probably wondering why Ilya left him alone and regretting every decision that led him there. Ilya knew his life was too good to be true. He wasn’t meant to have nice things. Every person he loved was taken away from him. Why would Shane be any different? 

Shane had spent the better part of the last hour or so handling the confusing sensory experience of simultaneously trying to keep himself awake, and staving off a panic attack. Despite the lack of AC and the summer heat making its way into the house, the cold still had a strong grip on the concrete floor, turning Shane’s feet into blocks of ice. He tried to use the icy floor as another way to ground himself. Was it the drugs or the concussion that was making him lose time again? The house seemed darker than it did before. Shane couldn’t trust his senses right now.

He was shaken out of his thoughts at the jingle of keys in the lock and violent slam of the front door. “JOE!” A deep voice boomed. Shane winced at the crash of the door and the volume of the shout. Andy was back. 

“JOE! He’s back. Time to get this show on the road!” Andy had a frantic energy about him. Shane didn’t like it one bit. Were they moving him again? How could he keep the attention off himself? Shane was suddenly wishing that Joe never moved him and he was back staring at the wall again. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about meeting Andy’s gaze. He walked to the part of the house where Shane assumed Joe was, a canvas bag in hand. Shane heard indiscernible voices echo across the empty building - the lack of furniture and finishings allowing the sound to travel easily. He was trying his best to make out the words coming from the other room, but everything was starting to sound like he was underwater. He wasn’t able to get anything other than the occasional word.  Not enough to even string together the idea of a sentence. His head drooped again and his chin smacked with a thud against his chest.

A slap to his face shook him to awareness. When did he stop listening? How much time passed? Andy was in front of him, frowning. “Looks like you sweet talked yourself into a more comfy position, didn’t you? Doesn’t matter. We’re calling your man soon, I need you to shut the fuck up. Don’t say anything, or you’ll regret it.” Andy ordered menacingly. Shane’s cloudy eyes brightened at the mention of Ilya. Maybe he could get a message to him! He tried to remember anything about his surroundings, how long the car ride was, anything that could be helpful. His brain was becoming soup though. The details were fuzzy and getting harder to recall. Andy seemed to notice the look in his eyes though, his frown deepened. “No. I don’t trust you.” He said, and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out dirty, black and gray stained rag. What was that, gun polish? Shane was so busy trying to identify the stains he didn’t notice Andy’s hands move until they gripped the underside of his face harshly, pressing into the bolts of his jaw forcing his mouth open. Andy shoved the rag into his mouth before he could make any movements to shake him off. As Shane realized what was happening, Andy tightened his grip, bruising the sides of his face. The rag was disgusting. A metallic, chemical taste coated his tongue, mixed with the drugs already starting to course through his system, it triggered his gag reflex. His stomach lurched and Andy let go of the rag, half of it hanging out of Shane’s mouth, to bring his other hand to grab a fistful of hair.

“Stop fucking moving. You better take some deep breaths because that’s going in one way or another.” Andy growled. Shane managed to swallow down the bile, knowing it would have nowhere to go. He took a few deep inhales as ordered, the chemical smell making its way through his nostrils. “Good boy.” Shane shuddered at the words, but kept as still as he could, trying to avoid anymore pain in his already weakened state. The grip on his hair disappeared but the hands on his jaw remained. Andy resumed stuffing the rag into Shane’s mouth, filling it beyond what he could have imagined. His tongue was completely compressed, unable to even try prodding at the fabric. The rag absorbed any moisture he had been able to regain with the water he got earlier. It tickled the back of his throat, and he had to keep taking deep breaths to stop from gagging. He couldn’t even close his fucking mouth around the thing. “Well don’t you look so much prettier now. Nice and quiet.” With his jaw still in Andy’s grip, the man turned his face and gave him a wet, condescending kiss on the cheek, before throwing him back against the wall. Still off-balance, he collapsed against it. No tape to hide the flush of his cheeks this time, or water beginning to line his eyes. His chest was awkwardly held up by the drywall, while his bottom half was partially laying on the ground, feet flat on the floor. At least he could bring his knees together, knock-kneed, to cover himself a bit from Andy’s leering gaze. This may not have been comfortable, but it felt safer.

“Alright. Time to call the ol’ ball and chain. I saw him pull into your house, it should have been enough time for him to realize whats happening. You ready?” Andy pulled out a phone and smiled over at Shane, like he wasn’t about to threaten his life in exchange for five million dollars. Shane’s breathing increased, trying to get enough air through his nose alone was making him lightheaded. He was watching his house? That was where he was? He was watching Ilya. Ilya. Ilya was going to be on the other line. He was filled with hope, anxiety, and fear. 

Ilya is sitting on the floor - Anya not leaving him alone for a second. Anytime a new tear falls, she is there to lick his face. He feels near-catatonic. Anya is the only thing bringing him back to reality at the moment. It takes him a second to notice the shrill ring coming from a few feet away. The phone!!! It took Ilya too long to register the unfamiliar ringtone. He shot up faster than he thought possible and scrambled for the phone on the island. Fingerprints be damned, he was not missing this call. Not when it was Shane. Ilya is pretty sure he got the phone right before it stopped ringing.

“Hello! Shane?! Moya lyubov, is that you?” Ilya rushes out in a panic. He needs to hear Shane’s voice. He might die right now if he doesn’t hear his voice and hear him say he is alright.

“Not quite. Mr. Rozanov I assume?” a deep, patronizing voice carries through the speaker of the phone. Ilya nods before he remembers this man can’t see him. A deep chill is settling into his bones. It is real now. Someone has Shane. And Ilya is speaking to the man in question right now. He feels his free hand pull into a tight fist, trying to channel the humming tension under his skin somewhere.

“Yes.” Is all Ilya manages to say in response.

“Wonderful. I assume you got my note?”

“Yes. Where is Shane. I want to talk to him.” 

“You aren’t calling the shots here. I have your guy right here, but his mouth is a little full at the moment. You and I need to have a chat.” Ilya needs to hold onto something. With that comment he is losing himself to his anger. He needs to stay present. Once he finds out what he wants, Ilya can get him back. He can hold Shane in his arms, handcuff him to himself, never let him out of his sight for a single moment ever again. “As you know by now, we are taking good care of Shane here. He’s our guest, for now. But if you want to see him again, and you want him treated with the utmost care, I need something from you.”

“Anything.” Ilya hates how pathetic he sounds as he chokes out the word, trying not to let his watery voice translate across the call.

“Great. We are on the same page then. You will bring me five million dollars. US dollars. Cash. You manage to do that today? You get hubby back today. You do that tomorrow? Well, you get him back tomorrow but he might be a little worse for wear. You take two days? Well, you’ll get him back of course, but you might not like what he looks like. Do you get what I’m saying here?” Ilya’s grip on the phone tightens. His knuckles must be white at this point. Five million? Ilya did not have that money sitting in his bank account. Not accessibly. Shane didn’t either. Ilya didn’t know a single player in the NHL who kept that kind of money lying around. If they were smart enough not to blow their ridiculous paychecks on stupid shit, they usually were smart enough to tie up their money in investments, assets, things that were. not. cash.

“How the fuck do you expect me to get you that kind of money in cash? In United States money?! We are in fucking Canada!” Ilya bites out, trying to keep some semblance of patience. Wait. Was Shane even still in Canada? 

“Like your little hubby heard earlier from my associate,” Ilya can hear a faint grunt over the other line of the phone, his blood runs cold. Was that Shane? “You are a smart guy and you can figure it out. Its pretty easy to find your net worth. I know how much money you are sitting on. In the grand scheme of things, I think I am being pretty generous. Five million for me, and you have a nice couple million to sit on yourself between you and Mr. Hollander here.”

“I need more time. My money is not…fuck…” The words in English slipping out of his grasp, “liquid! My money is not liquid. Is investments. Watches. Art. It into cash quickly. Please. I will give you anything. I will not call police. I will give you everything I can get today. Give me Shane and I will pay the rest. I promise.” Ilya begs, not restraining himself any longer. 

“Mr. Rozanov. This is not a negotiation. You get me the money, or you won’t like what happens next.” The voice turns outright cruel.

“Just let me talk to him. Please. I need to know he is okay. I try to get money today. Please.” The uneven tone of Ilya’s voice fully coming through now as he pleads. He would be on hands and knees in front of the stranger if he could be.

“I will send you a video, how about that? A piece of goodwill. You get me the money today and he will stay in good shape. I promise you that. You get the money, text me and I will give you instructions on where to take it. Remember. US dollars. No police. This is between you and me. You and me alone.” The line goes dead. Ilya is trembling. He feels paralyzed. Unable to move. He is brought back to walking in on his mothers unmoving body. He couldn’t move then either. Is this shock? Where does he even start. Shane needs him but he doesn’t even know where to begin to try and meet this impossible request.

A beep comes from the burner phone he is still holding. It vibrates in his hand. A message from an unsaved number. Ilya opens it and sees an attachment. A video. As promised.

The scene shows a plain, unfinished room. Nothing is visible at first, the flash on so the camera can pick up the visuals in frame. The camera pivots to a hunched figure on the ground. A man in nothing but his underwear, half against the wall. Silver wrapped around bound legs keep his feet on the floor, while his torso is slumped against the wall behind him. His hands behind his back, most likely also restrained. He is shivering. His head hangs low obscuring his face, but a hand from behind the camera grabs it and yanks his head back, a light thud as it hits the wall. The man winces at the light being shined directly in his face, as if unaccustomed to brightness. 

If Ilya had any doubt before about the figure in the video, that doubt was gone now. Shane. That was his Shane, bound and bruised. Taken from their home in this vulnerable state. Not even clothed. This must have happened not long after he had left. He must have been with them for at least five or six hours at this point. Five or six hours scared, and alone with Ilya having no idea he was even gone. He has never hated himself more than he does in this moment.

Shane’s mouth is stretched uncomfortably wide, filled with some sort of fabric. His eyes are shiny and unfocused. He looks lost. He gives a muffled whine at the force pulling at his head, and the light shining in his eyes. “Say hi to your husband, sweetheart.” That cruel voice from the phone says to Shane mockingly. Shane tries to glare at the camera, clearly not wanting to give the person holding it the satisfaction. Something is clearly not right with him. He doesn’t look present in his body. Another tug at his hair is enough to get him to let out a long groan. “Happy Mr. Rozanov?” The voice says before the video cuts out. Leaving Ilya in silence.

Chapter End Notes

I appreciate y'all feeding my endless need for validation.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did please leave a comment or even a 💖 below.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Summary

The demands are made, and Ilya is trying his best to make the impossible happen. Shane shoots his shot at escape.

Chapter Notes

Good news! I've outlined the rest of this story and I think I will have it done in 6 chapters total. The goal is to have this done at around 30k words.

• $5 million USD
• Only Ilya can speak
• No cops
• Knew when to call 
• Spying?
• Sooner = better

Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed! I struggled a bit with this chapter, mostly because there are so many ways I want to torture Shane that I can't fit them all into one story. Guess that means I'll just need to write more.🤷🏻‍♀️

If you enjoyed, comments are appreciated! Even a 💖 is nice to see <3 tysm!

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Chapter Summary

Ilya and the Hollander's go to the police. Shane faces the consequences of his escape attempt.

Chapter Notes

Sometimes it is -20 °F outside (or -30°C) and literally the coldest weather a girl has felt in her entire life so Saturday ends up being a girl, a bottle of wine, and her laptop against the world.

On the bright side, walking in this terrible weather gave me ideas for future hypothermia whump.

TW: Non-con drug use in this chapter - see end notes for details on specific drugs

Last chapter is written and will be posted February 9th!

Everything hurts. Flexing his feet — turning his head — clearing his throat — even breathing hurts. Something was really wrong with his breathing. Shane was unfortunately familiar with the feeling of bruised ribs. But this was more. He thinks at least one may be cracked. His breath is tight, and fast and — fuck it hurts. An attempt at a deep breath sets tremors of pain up and down his side.

After he was dragged back inside, he was thrown back into the room Andy and Joe had set up their camp. He was still reeling from his brutal assault and couldn’t do anything but lay there as Andy punished him with new binds. He didn’t waste time with rope. He grabbed their roll of duct tape and started with his hands, forcing them into fists and wrapping with the sticky tape so he no longer had use of his fingers or thumbs. He then moved onto his ankles, knees, and thighs, wrapping round after round of tape to effectively immobilize his lower half. His hands and elbows were once again yanked back in an extreme, but efficient hold with the tape, and further immobilized with a quick wrap of his torso, further trapping his arms against his body. Shane should have known that even with the strict and painful tie, that Andy wouldn’t be satisfied after he tried to escape. Further mimicking his initial binds, multiple winds of tape made their way around his mouth, stopping any complaints he could have voiced. What shocked him was the moment he realized Andy wasn’t done. If he wasn’t already gagged he would have been speechless at the sudden smack of tape over his eyes. He heard the pull of tape and felt it wind around his head tighter and tighter, cutting off his vision. If he felt alone before, it was nothing compared to this. He only had his hearing left to keep him tied to reality. The compression around his head was agonizing - any relief from his earlier head wounds instantly gone. Everything fucking hurt. He wanted to go home. He wanted Ilya.

He couldn’t see anything, but he could tell when Andy was done, from the retreating footsteps. Besides, what else could he restrain at this point. Scratch that. He didn’t want to put that question into the universe. “Your guy didn’t come through.” Andy says bitterly. Shane was confused. He thought Ilya was meeting them? Did something happen? Did Ilya show up? “I don’t know what you think of him, but clearly he doesn’t think much of you. He wasted our time for less than a quarter of what we asked for, and broke nearly every rule along the way. I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like he actually cares that much about your safety if you ask me.” His tone turns taunting.

Shane lets out a small noise, it is all he is really capable of in his state. What did Ilya do? He has never been loved by anyone more than he has been loved by Ilya. He would rather die himself than see Shane hurt, that much he knew for certain. He had to have his reasons.

“Don’t worry. I know you probably want to teach him a lesson too. We’ll get there. Unfortunately for you it seems that you both are shit at following rules so we’re going to give a little two for one special. It seems like he needs some extra motivation. We aren’t playing games here anymore. I am out of patience and you both are short on time. We are going to make sure he knows it. Get some rest. You are going to need it.”

Ilya sits in the back seat of the car, not knowing what to say. David drives in silence, holding Yuna’s hand across the console. “We are going to the police.” Yuna says quietly. “In the morning, we are telling them everything.”

“Okay.” Ilya responds softly. What else is there to say. Nothing may have happened explicitly yet, but Ilya knew that didn’t go well. He would be lucky if Shane didn’t face consequences for Ilya bringing a fraction of what these criminals insisted they were owed. He felt so stupid. What made him think he could reason with the unreasonable. He was so confident about his ability to sway others, and use his charm to diffuse situations. This wasn’t any normal situation though, and Yuna knew that from the beginning. “I tried…Yuna I really did.” He didn’t know where to start apologizing.

“Shhhh. Ilya, sweetie, this isn’t your fault. It wasn’t when this started, and what happened tonight isn’t your fault either. We just need to admit that we are out of our depth here.”

“She’s right, son. We’ve seen you work your tail off tonight. We knew you loved our boy, but after what I’ve seen you do today? I have never been prouder to call you family.” David adds, letting go of Yuna’s hand to reach back and give Ilya’s thigh a fatherly squeeze of affection. “We know you would do anything for Shane. But you aren’t in this alone. It is okay to ask for help. Let us help you. Let’s get the professionals in so we can get him home.” Ilya gives a noise of affirmation, appreciating the words, even if he doesn’t fully feel them right now. He looks out the window, watching the streetlights pass. A tear making its way down his face as he admits defeat.

Ilya stays at the Hollander’s in the guest room. Anya is already there, curled up on the bed. They didn’t ask where he wanted to go tonight, they just took him to their home, knowing he wouldn’t want to be alone. They probably didn’t want to be alone either. Ilya curls up around Anya’s smaller body and tucks her in close to his side. The small kisses he peppers on her head are more for him than her, but he needs the comfort. He knows sleep is unlikely to come, as much as he needs it. 

He must fall asleep at some point, because he opens his eyes and the sun is already in the sky. Anya is no longer cuddled next to him, and he smells food cooking in the kitchen. He already knows where he will find his sweet girl. 

The kitchen is bustling with movement. Yuna and David are doing some complex dance around the kitchen, one grabbing toasted bagels and refilling the toaster, while the other goes to the fridge to grab fruit and eggs before running back to the stove to check on the potatoes cooking in a pan. 

Unexpectedly he sees Hayden Pike sitting at the kitchen table, playing tug-of-war with Anya with one of her many toys that Yuna and David keep for their visits. The kitchen dance comes to a slow stop. “Ah, Ilya, honey, do you want coffee? Breakfast will be done in a second.” Yuna calls to him, giving the pan with potatoes a firm shake.

“Uh. Yes, please. Thank you. What is — ” Ilya begins before he is abruptly cut off.

“What am I doing here? Yuna and David were kind enough to reach out yesterday and invite me. They thought I deserved to know what was going on. Considering I cleared out my checking account yesterday for you, I have to agree.” Hayden snipes at him.

“Hayden. I am sorry. The situation is difficult. I was going to tell you, but so much has happened.” Any energy Ilya recuperated from his short sleep has vanished. 

“Yuna and David already told me Shane isn’t here but they didn’t want to explain anything until you woke up. I was about to go in myself if you weren’t up soon.” Ilya winces at the words. He didn’t mean to sleep so late. Not when everything was on the line.

Yuna steps in to diffuse the tension, and hands Ilya his coffee. “Boys, we have a lot to discuss but we need to eat first. David is finishing up the fruit and we will be ready to eat. Ilya can you please help me set the table?”

Breakfast is eaten largely in silence. The spread of food is big, and while Ilya normally had the appetite of three men, he couldn’t stomach much other than half a dry bagel and some fruit this morning. Hayden on the other hand, was business as usual. Although he was lucky enough to still live in a world where Shane wasn’t missing. What did he think happened? That Shane went on a bender? If he did then he didn’t know his friend at all. Did  he think he needed money for bail? Same issue. There was no likely scenario where Ilya and Shane would need tens of thousands of dollars from their friend — well, Shane’s friend — that would leave Shane missing. 

Not wanting to be left to make small talk with the other man, Ilya gets to work on clearing the table and putting away leftovers the second everyone finishes. He grabs more coffee, refills juice and water, and takes Anya outside. Anything to delay the inevitable. Anything to delay admitting his failures not only to the police today, but reiterating them in front of his family, and to Hayden-fucking-Pike. 

Yuna can tell that he is buying himself time, and gathers him back to the kitchen table. The time has come. Ilya walks through the story as quickly as he can - hitting the highlights, or rather, lowlights. Hayden, to his credit, stays silent and takes in the hellish 24 hours the occupants of the table have experienced. If he had any questions, he had the sense to hold them until Ilya caught him up to the present. “Wow. Just. That wasn’t what I expected.” Hayden sits with a look of absolute disbelief on his face. “I honestly don’t know what I expected you to tell me, but it wasn’t that. We really have no idea who did this? Where he could be?” 

Ilya shakes his head dejectedly. “Yuna says we should go to the police today. I do not know what else to do. I gave them everything we had. It was not enough. It is not enough time.” His fists tighten in frustration in his lap.

“Do we think they will find out? You said you think it’s just two people. They can’t really be everywhere can they?” Hayden asks, slipping into the problem solver mask he probably finds regular use for as a father. 

Yuna steadies a look at their newcomer, “Hayden, that is where you come in. You had a right to know what was happening after we asked something so big of you and your family, but we need your help again.” Hayden meets Yuna’s eyes and nods, ready to take on anything to help the people at this table, and the one person they all have in common. “We think it is only two, but we don’t have any way of confirming that. What we do know is that they are keeping an eye on Ilya. There is a good chance they may be keeping an eye on us as well. With you being based in Montreal and still on the Voyageurs, I think there are decent odds that you can fly under the radar here.”

“So, sorry, just making sure I am understanding you right, you want me to go bring this to the cops?” Hayden sputters out in shock. 

“We need to do this in a way that minimizes as much risk as possible. We can’t do this alone, but we can’t risk being seen going to a station, or any police coming to one of our houses. Go to the police on your way back to Montreal. Have them call us, FaceTime us, whatever they need. But someone needs to ask for help and make them understand why we can’t be the ones to meet them.” Yuna insists. Ilya knew they were going to approach the police today. He wasn’t quite expecting Yuna’s proposal though. He had to admit to himself, it wasn’t a bad idea. If they were still being watched then no one would be the wiser. 

“Hayden. If you do this, you will need something.” Ilya speaks up, pulling the burner out of his pocket. “There is a video. I do not want you to watch it. Nothing good can come of it. Shane is okay, but we need you calm. The police will need this though. See if they can identify anything.” Hayden confirms, and Ilya has a sense he will watch it anyway. Ilya would, if the situation was reversed. But the important thing was him not watching it in front of his in-laws. He was able to keep it away from Yuna and David, not wanting them to spiral, and he didn’t want to give them the opportunity now either. He handed the phone to Hayden to forward the message to himself and then slipped it back in his pocket.

“I can do this guys. I will call you as soon as I am there. Please let me know if anything else happens. Or if I can do anything else. I’ll keep this quiet, but please, seriously, let me know if you find out anything more, and I will do the same.” Hayden picks up his keys and makes his way to the door, his shoulders carrying much more weight than when he arrived earlier that morning. 

“I will, Pike, I promise.” Ilya offered to him, as he closed the door and started his car for his leg of the journey.

All there was now was to wait to hear from Hayden and the police. Ilya returned to the guest room, needing some time to himself. Now that he was alone though he didn’t know what to do. Stare at a wall? It wasn’t like he could unwind and watch TV or read some boring book when Shane was…

He laid his head down on the guest room pillow and stared up at the slow rotating ceiling fan. He thought of his wedding. He thought of his honeymoon. Their first summer together. Shane surprising him one morning with a few very specific phrases he memorized in Russian that he knew would rile him up. Ilya smiled wistfully. It had been the longest day of Ilya’s life. He felt a buzz in his pocket and saw a new message alert on the screen of the burner phone. 

It looks like neither of you are very good at following directions. This ends tonight, one way or another. I expect an answer by 9pm.

Ilya clicks the video attachment, and vomits over the side of the bed at what he sees.

Despite the tape around his eyes keeping him completely in the dark, it took what felt like ages for Shane to fall asleep. His body was tacky and dirty from the mud covering the front of his body. Feeling it stiffen and dry over him without the ability to clean himself or at least wipe away the caked bits was a sensory nightmare for him. Combined with the shivering brought on from the cold floor mixed with his boxer-briefs being completely soaked though — it was an uncomfortable night to say the least. He didn’t know what could have gone wrong with Ilya, and the two men around him clearly weren’t talking about it. At least not in front of him. Shane was literally and figuratively in the dark.

Shane doesn’t know what time it was when he was woken up. Cold water hits his face, jerking him out of sleep. The water from his rude awakening goes up his open nostrils and causes him to sputter and cough. With his mouth taped shut it causes his body to bend and spasm across the floor - snot and water flying out of his nose as he tries to clear his airway. Through his wheezing he can’ t help but cry out at the pain from the sudden movement on his ribs. After several minutes and a less-than-gentle nudge against his already bruised sides, he clears his airways enough to come back to himself. Not having his vision available to him is disorienting. He hears someone circling his prone form.

“You done pitching a fit? It’s time to rise and shine sweetheart.” Andy’s gruff voice comes from his left. He wasn’t pitching a fit! He was just trying to breath! Shane huffs, part clearing his nose and part out of sheer frustration. “You and your boy both fucked us over yesterday. We can’t have that. Unfortunately for you, it means you both need to be taught a lesson. That Russian fuck thought he could get away with stiffing us. Six hundred thousand Canadian. Apparently that is all he thinks you are worth? Does it hurt? To know that the person you married values your life so little? He couldn’t even bother to exchange the currency like we asked. I’d actually be kind of embarrassed if I were you.” Andy is clearly trying to get a rise out of him. And Shane hates that it is working. Logically, Shane knew from the start that his husband was given an impossible task. One Shane wouldn’t be able to complete within such a short time frame himself. He couldn’t blame him. But the other part of him, the raw, emotional side that has been fighting its way to the surface since he was taken twenty-four hours ago, feels the words strike home exactly where Andy wanted them to. He knew Ilya loved him. He knew Ilya wouldn’t put him in harm’s way intentionally. He needed to block out Andy’s voice, but in this state it was much easier said than done.

A soft, pathetic whine manages to push its way up his throat as he is dragged across the room. The hard flooring scraping away at the barely scabbed over heels of his feet. His lungs are on fire — taking in air feels even more difficult than before. When he is dumped into a chair he could almost cry. He has been in pain before, but nothing like this. He has never felt so weak and hurt all over. He can hear shuffling and finagling nearby but can’t seem to place the sounds. A quiet click sounds next to his ear and he feels a small bit of heat. Shane’s heart drops into his stomach. He recognizes that sound. He has trained himself to listen for that sound in his own house to catch Ilya sneaking cigarettes. Andy has a lighter. 

Shane can feel his muscles tense, anticipating licks of heat to make their way across his body. He feels it dancing close, but not making contact, across his chest, down his arms, and on his cheeks. Each time the heat makes its way closer he flinches, anticipating the burns. This is its own form for torture. Waiting to feel pain, but the heat never making contact. After several paralyzing minutes, the heat disappears. Shane remains tensed, not trusting that Andy is done. Not in the slightest. Something in his gut tells him that was just the warm up. He hears another soft click and waits for the pain. It doesn’t come. Without warning, something is shoved far up one of his nostrils. He takes an inhale in, due to shock and immediately starts to choke. It was a cigarette! His coughs go nowhere, the tape stopping any air from leaving his mouth. He had no choice but to breath in the smoke if he wanted to breathe at all. With one side of his nose, fresh, clean air enters his lungs, and with the other, acrid, nauseating smoke. It tastes different than what he has smelled on Ilya, but he’s never smoked himself before. Shane chokes and heaves. Each moment managing to expel the menacing smoke, leading to another inhale and restarting the cycle. It takes several tries through the harsh cycle to manage his breathing. Against his will he learns how to take the smoke into his lungs with minimal issue. As he finds his way back to an even rhythm he can hear Andy howling with laugher. 

“Oh man. Oh my God! That was pathetic! Have you never had a smoke before? I heard you were straight-edge but Christ! Oh my god this is going to be fun.” Andy is out of breath himself, except from laughter. 

Shane seethes, but he needs to try and keep his cool. If he loses himself he will fuck up what little balance in his breathing he has been able to gain back. “You know. You really should be thanking me. I am giving you the good shit. You think sherm runs cheap?” Andy continues to laugh at his personal misery. “Alright. Let’s get to it. You won’t be here for much longer so we need to make this good.”

Be here? What does that mean? I thought I wasn’t going home?

The thought barely has a chance to pass through his mind before he feels an immense shot of pain through his chest. The smell of burning flesh clears its way up his free nostril. Entirely too close to grilled meat for his liking. A scream can’t help but leave his lungs. He feels like liquid fire is running through his veins. More smoke enters his lungs as he tries to catch his breath, making him cough and sputter as another sharp burn hits his arm, causing him to scream again. The sound is muffled through the tape, but Shane knows it is still carrying its way through the house. He writhes, trying to escape from the pain, but with such little mobility all he is successful in doing is digging the cherry further into his skin. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe!!! His body is moving into overdrive, trying to soothe itself, but unable to with the smoke forcefully entering his lungs, and his flesh being burned to a crisp. The cigarette pressed into his arm lifts and through the brief moment of reprieve, Shane is stupidly hopeful that it was the last of it. He has two beats before he feels the lit tip press into the sensitive flesh of his hip. In quick succession he feels the tip press and lift, and press and lift, over and over again - Andy must be making a shape. Shane already felt sick, but the risk of bile is becoming higher and higher. The smoke, his charred flesh, and now Andy branding him. It is too much. He can’t take this. He can’t take this. He needs to get out of here. He can’t do this anymore. Tears find their way through the tape around his eyes and reach the tape on his mouth. He feels the salty water sting one of the burns on his chest. He is too spent to yowl with pain anymore.

It seems like Andy may have stopped after his sick brand, but Shane can’t let himself relax. He feels the cigarette leave his nose. Air has never tasted so good. He breathes deeply, trying to bring down his heart rate. “Alright. I think that sends a message. Enjoy the ride sweetheart.” He hears Andy say into his ear, repeating yesterday’s patronizing kiss to the cheek and hears him walk away. 

Shane is left in the chair while he hears movement in the distance. It starts to sound farther and farther away. He can feel his heart rate creeping up and his breathing getting shallower. His already tight lungs, feeling even more constricted. He can’t see anything in front of him, but he feels like he is rocking on a boat in the middle of a storm. Despite the discomfort, a small giggle bursts through the back of his throat. Why was this funny? His chest hurt — why did that make him laugh? Another giggle forced its way out, triggering a spasm in the muscles around his ribs. That cured the fit of laughter quickly, but the drifting continued. He could feel himself losing to the pull of his own mind. He needed to stay present, but was having a hard time remembering why it mattered so much.

Ilya made himself watch the video again. He had seen Shane in many different head-spaces, but he had never seen him howling out of sheer pain. Shane was bound in silver tape within an inch of his life, and caked in mud from head to foot. The bits of skin  that were visible was mottled black and blue. He was clearly beaten the night before. Ilya swears he could see a full boot print on his ribs. A rough circle of scabs and bruises circled his neck where it looks like he was strangled at some point. Watching him writhe against his bonds made his stomach churn. Ilya felt sick knowing he was somewhere close, but not knowing how to get to him. The hand-rolled cigarette he saw Shane forced to breathe in made him see red. He knew how much Shane hated Ilya smoking, being forced to do it himself enraged him. Ilya had been around enough illicit substances to guess that wasn’t just tobacco either. He threw up a second time as he watched Shane choke, trying to catch his breath through the pain. The cigarette in his tormentors hand came down again and again and again. The cigarette was pulled out of Shane’s nose and the camera was picked up from its mount and zoomed in, showing off the new heart-shaped brand of burns at Shane’s hip, before going dark.

Another message followed the video.

You disobey and you will see consequences. 

After last night, Ilya knew Shane would suffer from his actions. He didn’t expect this though. Ilya had seen Shane hurt many times, and vice versa. It came with the job. He had never thought that he would have to face the reality of someone purposefully and vindictively inflicting pain on his husband. He knew there were people this cruel in the world, but he had never been face to face with it until now.

Yuna and David could never see this. The first video was bad enough. They would never forgive themselves — never forgive him for this.

Ilya collected himself and looked at the floor beside him. It was disgusting. The little he managed to eat covered the nice wood floors. Fuck. He needed to clean that up. He gathered supplied from the kitchen and went through the motions, locking Anya out of the room so she didn’t eat any of his sick. He was just about finished when he heard Yuna call for him. 

She had Hayden and the Ottawa police on speaker phone sitting at the kitchen table. “Okay, we are all here. Go ahead.” She directed at the person on the other line.

“Hi there — Ilya Rozanov, Mr. And Mrs. Hollander — I am Detective Kowalski with the OPS, the Ottawa Police Service. Mr. Pike here has given me a brief rundown on the situation, but you’ll have to excuse me. It sounds like quite the tale. I would prefer to hear it directly from you if you don’t mind. Mrs. Hollander, if you could also switch to video please? I just need to verify ID as best I can for these statements.” The voice said over the phone. Yuna complied and switched the video to FaceTime, and gathered everyone’s identification to show via the phone camera. 

Ilya was grateful that Yuna led most of the call. At several points Detective Kowalski asked for Ilya’s take to corroborate the story and to get his first-hand accounts for certain events. It was an exhausting process, emotionally, to go through the story for a second time today. But it needed to be done. “Mr. Kowalski — I have… that is — I received another video. Very recently. Can I send to you in case it is helpful?” Ilya asks, somewhat hesitantly. He can feel his in laws’s eyes turn towards him. 

“Yes. Send it to Mr. Pike here and I will make sure we analyze it along with the other. Any other updates since this morning?”

“No. Is all.” Ilya says, feeling defeated at another person witnessing his personal failures. 

Last Shane heard it was 2:16 pm. He overheard the duo talking, probably assuming Shane was asleep. A day and a half he wasted at this house. A day and a half he will never get back. Whatever Andy gave him has had him drifting in and out all day, not quite strong enough to put him under but enough to make him lose time. The sensation is like nothing he has ever felt before. He feels twitchy and wired, he doesn’t notice the pain along his body quite as much, but he feels tired and floaty at the same time. For the first time he understands a bit why people may do drugs. It isn’t compatible with his lifestyle, but this isn’t the worst feeling in the world. Another giggle tries to work its way up, only to be stopped by the tape around his mouth.

He can’t follow any conversation that happens near him. He can follow for a few words, and then mind just floats away. He knows he should find out more about what is going on, but the pull in his mind is just too strong. He hopes this wears off soon. But he doesn’t want the pain to return. Maybe he can get just a bit more to keep him pain free while he waits. Shane hears arguing come from part of the house. It sounds far away. He catches a word or two. “No!” “Crazy!” “— hurt —” and “stop— ” all enter and swirl around his mind as he tries to put pieces together. A door slams, and things go quiet again. Shane drifts.

He can feel light taps on his face, frantic. Trying to pull him back to shore. He makes a noise, trying to get the hands to stop, to show that he is paying attention. “Hey kid. Can you hear me? Nod if you understand.” The voice is higher in pitch. Probably Joe. For some reason he sounds frantic. Normally he sounds fed up, exasperated, not frantic. Shane nods. “Andy is gone but not for long. I am going to try and help you okay? He’s gone off the rails. If your guy doesn’t come through tonight he is ending this. Meaning you. I didn’t sign up to kill anyone. This was supposed to be quick and easy money. I can’t be apart of that.” Shane hears Joe’s words but they don’t fully hit. Kill? Who kills? What a silly thing to do. Talk about an overreaction! He’d smile at the insane thought if he could. 

“Kid. Listen to me. I’m going to remove the tape real quick but you need to be quiet. And we need to be fast. Do you know your husband’s phone number? Just nod if you do.” Shane nods, still not totally understanding the urgency. He knows Ilya’s phone number though. Once they were engaged, he insisted on it. In case of emergency. “Okay. Good. Good. That’s good.” Joe seems to be more reassuring himself than anything else. Shane feels fine. He feels good. 

The tape doesn’t feel as bad this time, as Joe cuts it off. He wishes he would remove the coverings around his eyes too, but moving his mouth is nice to do again. Joe asks him for Ilya’s phone number and Shane rattles it off three times, just to make sure he said it right. Shane smiles to himself, proud that he did good. He got the numbers right and they’re talking to Ilya! He loves Ilya. He can’t wait to see him soon. Just the thought of him makes his chest warm. He is so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t hear Joe unroll more tape and doesn’t realize his mouth is being re-wrapped until the tape is smacked over his mouth once again.

The afternoon has been passing by agonizingly slow. Ilya wants to trust Yuna, and trust the police, but he has never felt more useless. How is sitting around the house and waiting for the phone to ring helping his husband? What are these policemen even doing to help locate Shane? If Ilya was doing this on his own, he could at least be out there, gathering money. But that was the point. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this alone. 

It had been hours. He helped Yuna cook lunch in tense silence, with the small exception of handing off ingredients. They ate together in silence, all of their phones at the table, waiting for any ringtones to go off. Ilya tossed a ball around the yard with Anya, his heart not in it, just to get out some of his energy along with his dog’s. There had been no update since the phone call with Hayden Pike this morning. They had two videos. They had a phone number. They had eye witness accounts from him. What else could they need? Were these police even doing anything? 

Ilya desperately needed to work out his aggression. He wanted to run, or hit the ice. Neither was an option at the Hollander’s cottage. David found him pacing the living room floor — offering some joke about wearing a hole in the carpet. The living room floor as wood, but Ilya laughed anyway to be nice. David had him follow and took him to the seldom used garage. In it was a punching bag. He clapped Ilya on the shoulder and walked out, leaving him to channel his aggression on his own.

This was exactly what he needed. The punches flew out of him. Ilya didn’t even wrap his hands, relishing in the split skin and pain that accompanied each punch. He gave a harsh front-kick to the bag and sent it flying back and forth, before throwing a menacing side-hook punch. Ilya couldn’t tell the tears from his sweat as it poured down his face, which is exactly how he liked it. He could have been in the garage for fifteen minutes, or an hour. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he needed a break to catch his breath. 

He saw his phone light up from the garage floor where he set both the burner, as well as his own device. A missed call from an unknown number. He must have missed it when he was working the bag. He was about to google the number before his phone lit up again with the same unknown number. One call was usually spam. But two? Ilya swiped to answer the call, still out of breath. 

“Ilya Rozanov?” The voice asked, somewhat timidly.

“Yes?” Ilya panted out, still recovering.

“I’m here with Shane, um. Shane Hollander. I — well — I am with the guy who took him.” Ilya’s heart lurched all the way into his throat. He didn’t know what to say. He gripped his phone tighter, letting the man continue. “Look. This is getting out of control. I didn’t — I didn’t sign up for this. I was told this would be easy money, and Andy is going fucking crazy. I’m not a bad guy, you gotta believe me. I am not a bad guy.” The man sounds frazzled. Ilya doesn’t know who Andy is, but he can certainly take a guess.

“Where is he.” Ilya orders, cutting to the chase.

“Just outside Greely. I’ll - I’ll text you where to turn. It’s an old construction site. I don’t know when he is going to be back. But you need to come tonight. He’s not happy. He is talking about being done with all of this. Taking what you gave last night and killing him. And I think he’ll do it.”

Ilya goes white. This was never supposed to be a possibility. Static fills his ears as the previously unthinkable hits him all at once.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading!!!

Drugs depicted = Sherm - basically a spliff (cigarette mixed with weed) dipped in PCP - the side effects are euphoria, disorientation and hallucinations if taken in excess.

Seriously - the love I have gotten for this fic has filled me with so much joy. I am so happy I could bring joy to those of you who have the same niche interest as I do. If you enjoyed, a comment is always appreciated - even if it is just a 💖. Thank you so much!

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Chapter Summary

Rescue

Chapter Notes

Thank you again for joining me on this ride! I had so much fun writing this story. I hope y'all had a wonderful time reading it 💖

Greely is a small suburb outside Ottawa - btw.

The call with Shane's captor ended shortly after his revelation. Ilya wanted to crash to the floor and shut out the world, but he couldn’t afford to do that right now. He was running out of time. Shane was running out of time! They were supposed to have a few days. It wasn’t ideal, but Shane was supposed to be safe for a while longer. This was never even supposed to be a possibility.

Ilya tore out of the garage and back into the house, yelling for Yuna and David. 

Yuna was curled into David’s arms once Ilya relayed the call. A pang of jealousy hit his chest. What he wouldn’t give to be in the same position with Shane right now. “Yuna, honey, we need to let Detective Kowalski know.” David said to her, softly, as if trying not to spook her. Yuna nodded and pulled out her phone to dial the police detective. They still hadn’t heard from him since the call this morning. They had no idea where the investigation was at the moment, but if this didn’t kick it into high-gear then they were well and truly on their own. 

“Detective Kowalski speaking.” He answered on the second ring.

“Detective, this is Yuna Hollander. We just received a rather disturbing call, for lack of a better word.” Yuna was keeping a surprising amount of composure as she filled in the detective on their update Ilya had shared.

“Mr. Rozanov — you said this was an unfamiliar voice? Would you say this was different than the person who you met last night?” 

“Is hard to say. But this voice sounded different. Um. Less harsh? Higher pitch. He seemed more… well more like a person. Not cartoon villain.” Ilya tried to explain, the words he needed were not something that came up often in his typical vocabulary. 

“So it sounds like we are dealing with at least two men, maybe more. I know we had a hunch but this is good to confirm. And you are sure he said Greely, right?”

“Yes.”

“Has he sent you the address or directions yet?”

“Ah, no. Not yet. He hung up quickly. I thought about texting him, but I am scared. Scared to put Shane in harm again.” Ilya admits.

“That’s fine. Wait for it to come in. If he took the risk to call you then I don’t think it is likely he backs out on his word at this point. Give him an hour or two. We don’t want to spook him. I’ll send some plainclothes to start patrolling the area to see if they can spot anything suspicious. The videos you shared didn’t give us much in terms of location, just timestamps and what we could gather from the background. There wasn’t any geotag in the metadata. We know they have him in an unfinished interior which is somewhat helpful, but truthfully, it isn’t much to go on. It could be commercial, residential, an old building being renovated. I am not trying to dash any hopes here, but I want to be realistic.”

“Wait! The man, he said something. He said it was construction site!” Ilya remembered, kicking himself mentally for forgetting to the share that detail.

“Well alright! That will help narrow things down on our end. Mr. Rozanov, please let us know if you remember anything else, or if you hear from this guy again. It is important that you let us handle this. The second you get directions, send them to us. We do not need more civilians getting hurt here. You need to let us do our jobs.”

Shane continued to drift in and out for what he assumed was most of the afternoon. He heard Andy return at some point, but he was lucky enough to be left alone. He thinks he fell asleep somewhere along the way because it feels pretty sudden when his pain starts to return. He can feel the high wearing off. The burns along his chest, arm and cluster along his hip sting and throb in unison. He’s going to get a fucking infection. His anxiety is returning. The high is definitely wearing off. All he can think about is his burns getting dirty from the disgusting floor, the mud all over his skin, and getting infected, which will lead to sepsis, which won’t be treated because he is being held captive by fucking idiots, and then he will die without seeing Ilya or his parents ever again.

He tried to practice his breathing exercises again to bring him back down and fuck. Fuck, his lungs. His ribs. For the first time since his beating he is sitting more fully in his body and fuck if he wished he wasn’t. He’s never been beat like this before, and even when he has been injured from hockey, he has had the luxury of modern medicine and painkillers to keep him comfortable. This is absolute agony. He tries to turn his body off his back a bit to get some relief from the pressure on his ribs, but feels something shift — causing him to scream. Fuckfuckfuck — this isn’t good. Not just cracked. He’s pretty sure its broken. That would be why breathing feels like such a chore.

“Well I’m guessing you’re finally up.” He hears Andy’s voice from above him. He sounds close by. “I just sent hubs a warning. Two hours left. I’m hoping he comes through for you. I really am. It would make both of our lives easier. You could go home, and I could sit pretty on a beach somewhere with a generous extradition policy. But. Unfortunately for both of us we need to plan for if that doesn’t happen.” Shane tries to move away, but all it leads to is more pain causing  him to whimper. “Yeah buddy, I’m disappointed our time is coming to an end as well. You’re bringing me more heat than I thought though, and things are getting complicated. You just can’t seem to cooperate and frankly, at this point, I just don’t think your husband cares enough to get what I want. Do you know he hasn’t left your parent’s house all day?” A stab of hurt strikes through Shane’s chest. Ilya can’t be doing nothing. Ilya wouldn’t just leave him here to rot. He knows he wouldn’t! 

“Yeah. I was pretty shocked myself. After I sent him a video of our playtime earlier I was sure he would feel a bit of extra motivation. Maybe kick him into action. It doesn’t seem like it though. Even your parents are sitting tight. It looks to me like they’re getting ready to move on. Maybe your man is browsing apps looking for his next piece of ass. Maybe thats all you were to begin with. It’s what he is known for anyway isn’t he? Being a real ladies man? I should have known better than to grab you. I should have grabbed him instead, at least I’m sure you would have tried to save him.” Anguish punches its way into Shane’s heart. He can feel heat pricking behind his forcefully shut eyes. Why isn’t anyone trying to help him? He never had a reason to question his parents love. He and Ilya have been so solid since they learned how to communicate more openly. How can they sit back and do nothing? Shane didn’t want them to be forced into action out of fear, but hearing that they aren’t doing anything hurts more than Shane could have ever imagined. 

He can feel Andy’s hot breath against his cheek, causing him to flinch, which sends another flare of pain through his ribs and the raw, burned skin on his torso. “I wouldn’t worry to much. This will be over for you soon, one way or another.” He feels the man shift away from him and hears his footsteps carry him away. 

This will be over for you soon, one way or another.

Chills race up his spine, not just from the cold. Joe’s words from earlier flash across his mind. Didn’t he say something about Andy killing him? He thought it was funny at the time, but now that he is sobering up he feels the full weight of the threat. Joe said he was calling Ilya though, right? Ilya who was sitting at home at his parents. Ilya, who received a call about Shane’s life coming to an end tonight , and chose to stay at home. 

Shane thought this physical pain was the worst thing he could have ever felt. He thought the panic when he heard about Ilya’s emergency landing was the worst emotional pain. Neither are anything compared to what is lancing through his body at this moment. Sharp sobs wrack his body. His mind is full of buzzing noise, he can’t think. He can’t feel his agitated ribs anymore, the burns, or the bruises. The panic is here full force. He heaves and sobs, and tries to get as much air through his nose as he can. He is going to die. He is going to die.

It is nearly 7 PM and Ilya still hasn’t heard anything from his mystery caller. It has taken everything in him to not pick up the phone and dial him back. Detective Kowalski’s patrols haven’t picked up a goddamn thing and he is supposed to reach out on the burner for a final drop to secure Shane’s safety, or… or… Ilya can’t bring himself to complete the thought. 

Another quiet meal at the table. The hope from this morning is gone. Yuna, David and Ilya sit around the table staring silently at the food in front of them. Yuna’s phone goes off and she scrambled to read the message. She sighs dejectedly, “It is just Hayden asking for an update.” Ilya doesn’t know why, but that is the last straw. He slams his hand on the table, unfortunately startling his in-laws. He doesn’t want to be the angry man. He doesn’t want to lose his cool. But he can’t do this anymore. He pushes up from the table, his meal untouched and goes to grab David’s keys off the kitchen counter. 

“I cannot take this anymore. We are sitting here doing nothing. These police are useless. Shane is hurt and he is alone. I do not have address but I have a place to start.” He announces, not able to sit still any longer.

“Ilya, the cops said —“ Yuna begins.

“I do not care what cops said. I cannot sit here when Shane needs me. I will call Detective Kowalski if I learn where he is, but, Yuna, you cannot ask me to stay. If there is even a small chance I can help, I must take it.” Ilya challenged. 

She looked at her husband and nodded. “Please let us know if we can help. Ilya, please bring him home.”

Ilya broke several traffic laws to get to the outskirts of Greely. The suburb was flat and full of sprawl. It wasn’t an incredible amount of distance to cover though, which meant either Kowalski’s team was entirely ineffective, Shane was hidden much better than any of them thought, or that Ilya was played a fool. 

Driving around town he managed to pass maybe four gas stations, a grocery store and a few small restaurants and local businesses before he reached the end of the main strip. Well, that didn’t give him much. He needed a better approach. Shane wasn’t going to be tucked away off the main road running through the suburb. Ilya needed to explore and try the outskirts, look for spaces where new developments were cropping up. The hard part was that it could be in several different places. The town was clearly transitioning from a more farmer-heavy community, and he could see several locations where land was sold off to begin construction to develop the area. He had to start somewhere though. 

The burner phone stayed agonizingly silent as his drive continued. He eyed the clock on the dashboard. 8:02pm. He had a 9pm deadline and still nothing. Another 10 minutes of driving passed with intense frustration. It didn’t help that Ilya had no idea what he was actually looking for. A black SUV? Okay. Great. That was half of this town. Construction? There was construction all over. He needed more. He just didn’t have enough information. 

As if he manifested it, his cell lit up from its mounted spot on the windshield. 

“Construction site off albemarle rd and front st. I will try and distract. Be quick and be quiet”

"Very last house on farthest left side of neighborhood. Near woods."

Ilya didn’t waste time responding to the message. He took a screenshot and immediately sent it to Yuna. She could deal with the detective. Looking at his maps app, it would be a 15-20 minute drive to the area in the text. He ignored the incoming messages from Yuna. He could see flashes on his phone screen showing messages of concern, asking him to let the police do their job, but he had enough of waiting around. He was ready to take action.

The neighborhood was farther out of Greely than he expected. Probably why the cops hadn’t had much luck either. The street was near empty on the turn into the construction site. The sun was setting but still gave enough illumination to see the ghost town of the neighborhood. Some houses were half built, others looked near completion, at least externally. It was clear from the decrepit state of some of the buildings that this neighborhood plan had been abandoned for some time. Not a single pick up truck carrying construction equipment in sight. Lawns were without grass, mostly dirt, with the occasional burst of wildflowers, and several houses were tagged with amateur graffiti.

This was the precarious part. Did Ilya leave the car here and try to make his way on foot? What if Shane was too hurt to move? He would need his car nearby. What if he drove too close and they realized someone was onto them? There were no good options here. The neighborhood was never completed and so the streets listed on the GPS were not complete. Ilya would have to make his best guess at parking on street over. Without fences, he thinks he could make a quick enough escape with Shane even if he did have to carry him. He just hoped Kowalski’s police were on their way so Ilya wasn’t showing up bringing a knife to a gunfight.

"Back door unlocked. I will keep distraction front of house. Hurry."

It looks like Ilya wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure of the countdown clock. He made sure he had his pocketknife accessible, and turned off the car - making sure the headlights were still switched off, and that the doors remained unlocked. Ilya left the keys in the ignition. Better to be prepared to make a quick get away. If the car was stolen around here that would be the least of his worries.

All the properties were quiet and dark. He couldn’t hear anything but the buzz of insects enjoying the warm, humid air. Ilya crept through the mud and debris that surrounded the abandoned homes as quietly as he could. He quickly spotted his target when he made it to the other side of the block. The last house. It was the only house with cars outside. Two black SUVs, both missing license plates. If someone looked closely enough they could see a very faint hint of light shining through the dirty, opaque plastic that covered the windows where glass should have been.

Ilya’s heart was in his throat. It was beating so fast he was sure it could be heard through the walls of the house as he crept around the side. Now that he was closer he could hear arguing. Heated insults being thrown at one another. This must be the distraction. With this happening now he needed to get inside quickly to retrieve Shane, before the argument came to an end. Ilya picked up his pace as fast he could, while trying to remain unheard.

The back door was as dirty as the rest of the house - where windows would have been there was more dirt-smeared plastic, keeping the contents of inside the house obscured. Ilya had no idea where the criminals were, or where Shane was within the house. He could be walking directly into their line of sight. It was a risk he was going to have to take. Ilya turned the knob slowly and softly, the argument still going full blast. The door was unlocked as promised. Opening it tentatively, Ilya peeked through the crack. He didn’t see anyone — at least not from this angle. He pushed it open slightly more, wincing as the door creaked. He paused, waiting for footsteps to head his way. Waiting to be caught. No one came though. The only noise was the shattering of glass somewhere deeper in the house and a shout of rage. This wasn’t good. How much longer could this argument keep going if things were moving towards fighting. 

Ilya crept low and tip-toed inside, trying to stay away from the direction where he heard the shouts. The house was dark though. He could tell it was almost 9 pm by the way the summer sun was nearly set. What he could see looked familiar to the videos. Unfinished drywall. Dirty concrete floors. Anger started to build as he thought of his Shane, who hated mess, who hated things dirty and out of place, being strung up and kept in a place like this. He would kill these men. The police would have to arrest him because he was going to kill them. 

He continued through the empty room and came across a swinging door with a soft light, barely perceptible, shining through the crack between the floor and door seam. A flicker of hope sparks within him. Could it be this easy? Could Shane be on the other side of this door? 

Ilya pushes it open cautiously, not knowing what he will find on the other side. What he walks into is a half finished kitchen. Connections for stove and fridge to be later installed are visible, as is half-finished plumbing for what he assumes will be a sink. Cabinets are missing doors, and tile for back-splash and cut granite counter tops lay along the floor, never making their way to installation. Ilya sees the light source on the other side of the room. Across the way, peeking out from a peninsula of counters, is a camping lamp. It is set low. This room would be pitch black without it. The little bit of light illuminates what appears to be cardboard covered windows, blocking out any light the outside world would have let in. 

He steps closer to where the lamp sits. The argument is growing quieter. Ilya tenses at the realization. His time may be running short. He turns the corner of the peninsula and he sees him. His Shane.

Shane looks worse for wear, but he looks whole. He is curled in on himself on his side, shivering, and showing labored breathing. Tape covers his ankle, at his knees, and at his thighs, keeping his legs strongly bound together. He is still in his boxer-briefs. What he was abducted in yesterday. Mud is plastered all over them though, as well as his legs, chest, and all the way up to his face. What makes rage boil in Ilya’s veins is what he sees when he looks at his husbands face. Or rather, the lack of it. He had some sense from the video, but seeing it in person is worse. Much worse. It is bruised and swollen from a beating, but very little of it is even visible through the numerous layers of tape covering him chin to nose, and wrapping tight around his eyes. Ilya can’t bring himself to look at Shane’s chest yet. Or his hip. Seeing the burns he indirectly caused might send him over the edge before he can bring Shane to safety.

He sees Shane visibly tense as he hears Ilya’s footsteps coming near. His already labored breathing picks up, and he tries to further curl in on himself. He seems. Well. Sacred. Ilya’s anger cools immediately as he feels his heart shatter. “Shhh. Moya lyubov. It is me. Ilya. Baby I am here for you.” Ilya whispers, his voice quavering, trying not to collapse into tears at finally having Shane at his fingertips.

Shane let out his own whine, which quickly turned into silent, shaking cries. “Shhh. It is okay baby. Let me help. We do not have much time.” Ilya whispered to him, suddenly noticing the absence of yelling from the other room. Shane nods shakily, his body nearly vibrating with the heavy shakes racking him head to toe. From cold, shock, relief, or fear, Ilya is not sure. “Shane, I am going to free your legs. I am sorry I cannot do more yet. We need to leave. Now. I will remove the rest later. Promise.” Ilya tries to communicate quickly and with purpose, hoping Shane is catching everything. He is not sure if he has been drugged again since this morning, and without seeing his eyes or hearing him speak, there is no way to tell. Ilya takes his pocket knife from his pants and works as swiftly as he can at cutting the material off of his legs. The silence in the house is deafening. 

“Okay baby, I am going to help you get on your feet. I know this will be painful, but I need you to stay quiet for me. Please, can you do this, Shane?” Ilya near begs in a hushed whisper, once again taking in the pained breathing from the man next to him. Based on the bruises peeking out from beneath the mud, he wouldn’t be surprised to find cracked, if not broken ribs. Shane nods again, keeping silent. Ilya can sense him bracing himself for the pain. He grabs Shane by the shoulders and hauls him into a sitting position, leaning his upper body back against the wall. Shane tries valiantly to stifle a cry of pain. Ilya winces but lets go, afraid to hurt him further. He can see his skin where the sick brand of cigarette burns tugs and wrinkles. That along with his ribs must have been jostled in the movement. Ilya swallowed heavily. He knew there was more pain to come once they got standing. “In and out, moya lyubov, we need to go.” Ilya urged.

He grabbed Shane under his armpits to haul him to standing. Shane was able to keep quiet, better equipped to handle the pain this time, but he still swayed on his feet. No longer on the floor, Ilya could see one of the causes for his poor balance. His arms were wrenched impossibly far back behind him. His elbows were almost touching. If it were Ilya, he was sure his muscles would have been torn hours ago from the effort. He looked back at both doorways in the room. He couldn’t detect any movement. Fuck it, they had time. He cut the tape off Shane’s elbows and the tape holding his hands together, helping him regain some balance. A wheeze came from Shane as his shoulders were able to relax, but he was able to stay mostly quiet. His hands were still taped into fists, leaving him without any sort of dexterity, but it was better than nothing. They could take care of that along with the tape around his head once they were in the car and to safety. “Shane, I am going to put your arm around me and I will guide you. We need to be quiet. I will do the work. I will keep you safe. But stay as quiet as you can and keep your steps soft.” Ilya’s heart was racing once more. They were so close. He had Shane. They just needed to get out of the house and they would be free. This nightmare would be over. 

They made slow progress to the swinging door that would lead them back to the rear of the house. Ilya trying to actively keep an eye out for debris in the dark, and trying to listen for any movement in the house. Their progress is further hindered by Shane’s disorientation. The blindfold likely isn’t helping, but Ilya has a strong sense he would be struggling to walk even if he had his full range of vision. They made their way past the door between them and freedom and Ilya feels the smallest bit of relief being able to see the back door from his current position. “We are almost outside. We are so close.” Ilya whispers in encouragement. The only reply he gets is Shane’s hard and shallow breathing. 

They hardly made another two steps of headway before he hears a yell of rage from the room behind them. Shane winces - clearly he recognizes that sound. “We must hurry!” Ilya orders, barely giving Shane time to find his feet before he is speeding up their pace to the door. Shane is struggling to keep up and Ilya is half dragging him as they get closer. Ilya hears the swinging door slam against the wall, and Shane screams in fear, trying to pick up his own pace. Ilya doesn’t look back, determined to make it to the threshold. 

He is maybe an arm’s length away when he feels Shane ripped from his grasp, he barely turns in time to see him thrown across the floor to a heap against the wall. Too far away from him to grab. The offender must be Andy. It was definitely the man from the drop. He was big. Maybe an inch or two on Ilya, and a decent amount of weight as well. He could take him, he thinks. Before he gets a chance to though, the large man tackles him full body to the ground and Ilya’s head slams on the concrete. The air is forced out of his lungs. He knows he made an audible smack on the ground and hears Shane keen from the other side of the room, on hands and knees now. Without his sight to guide him or use of his hands he sits there, not knowing which way to go. Or how to help. Shane’s cry of distress distracts Ilya from his own predicament and is snapped back when he feels a harsh punch land on his face and a large body sitting on top of his own. His teeth cut into his cheek and he feels a tooth loosen. Whats one more? He almost wants to laugh. At this point it feels like most of his teeth are fake anyway. Blood is beginning to well into his mouth and he take the opportunity to spit it in the face of his attacker, temporarily blinding him. He wasn’t expecting Ilya to fight dirty. The man is still on top of Ilya, but his entire weight is no longer on his waist. Ilya digs his hands and nails into the concrete and pulls his body out from under the imposing figure. He needs to get to Shane. He sees more blood on the ground than he expected and touches the back of his head. It comes back wet. He’s bleeding. Head wounds always bleed like a bitch. 

Ilya pushes his injuries to the back of his mind and crawls his way to Shane, feeling a bit too unsteady to get to his feet. A hand snaps to his ankle though and pulls him back, dragging him across the concrete. Ilya’s chin smacks against the floor and he feels the skin rub off his arms and on his chin where his head is dragged. His breath leaves him once more as a sharp hook into his kidney leaves him shocked with pain. A dark wheeze makes it way out. He can hear Shane make another noise of distress, clearly panicked by not knowing what is going on. He needs to tell Shane to just try and make a run for it. But he can’t find the air to get any words out. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He looks up and sees Shane pawing at the tape around his head with no success, trying to get his vision back to help. His useless mitts not allowing the edge of the tape to be found.

Ilya feels a hand reaching into his pocket. His knife. He can’t see what the man is doing behind him, but he can picture the blade flipping open. It wasn’t a particularly sharp knife, but it was enough to do damage. 

“Shane.” Ilya managed to wheeze. “Shane, ya tebya lyublyu.” It is nearly a whisper by the last word, Ilya not able to get enough air to project the words he wanted to scream at the world. Shane screams across the room, trying to feel his way towards Ilya. Ilya feels the deep pain of something foreign entering his body. He can’t see what it is, but his mind supplies the image. The knife sticking out of his side. He feels the blade drag up, slowly, agonizingly, towards his ribs. He screams gutturally. He can hear Shane’s own screams harmonizing with his own. 

For some reason the movement stops. The pain remains, but the knife stops its progression. Ilya is spent. He doesn’t have the energy to turn his head away from Shane. If he dies today, he wants this to be the last thing he sees. If he dies protecting Shane, then he would consider it a life well lived. 

He can hear a scuffle taking place nearby. The energy to locate the sounds isn’t there. He feels the blood trickle out of his side, his head, his mouth. Everything is so heavy. Everything requires so much effort. Why did living take so much from him. His mother, his bastard father, even his brother. He wished he could have had a relationship with his niece. He wishes he could have had more time with Shane. With the Hollanders. Fuck, even Hayden Pike. He wanted to have another season with his team. He wanted to raise a family with Shane. He wanted to be better than his parents. With Shane, he saw, for the first time, a reality in which that could happen. A tear leaves his eye. He just wishes he had more time. His eyes are getting heavy. It is getting difficult to keep them open. The sounds around him are fading out. He can hear Shane crying and screaming. Ilya wishes he could answer, but he is so fucking tired. The last thing he sees is a strong body in a uniform crossing in front of him to reach Shane. He feels hands on his side, and his body rolled over, but his eyes are now closed. He can still feel a little, but everything is getting fuzzy. He can feel his mind slipping under, into deep, still, darkness. 

Ilya wasn’t expecting to wake up. The first thought he had was shock that he was alive. Was he alive? He looked around and yes, he was in a hospital room. The pulse-ox monitor was clipped onto his finger, he could feel bandages around his head, and around his side. The steady beep of a heart monitor played in the background. An IV was inserted into his hand as well. On a cot to the left of his bed was a surprising sight. Shane. His heart flooded with relief and tears lined his eyes, threatening to spill over. Shane was here. He was alright. Ilya wasn’t too late. 

Ilya couldn’t contain it long. His small tears became open, heavy, body-racking sobs. It felt like someone had pulled the plug to the drain on all the emotion, fear and tension that he had been building up since Shane first went missing. He didn’t know how to stop it. It just kept coming. He didn’t know how long he was sobbing, but he felt a hand land on his arm. He looked over, it was Shane. Ilya somehow managed to sob harder.

“It’s okay Ilya. It is okay. I am okay. You are okay. We are here. We made it. We are okay.” Shane whispers, stroking his arm. Ilya is surprised Shane even wants to see him. The emotional release takes him back under. That, or the painkillers. His last vision before he goes under is Shane, and he knows everything is going to be alright.

It isn’t long before the nurses come and make Shane go back to his own hospital room. He doesn’t want Ilya to be alone. But he knows better than to argue with hospital staff at this point. They were lucky they were able to get some rooms with a decent amount of privacy. The media may not have known what happened, but rumors were circulating. All the media knew was that both Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were hospitalized in Ottawa. He hadn’t left the building in the two days he’d been there, but his parents said it was a circus.

He let himself be bullied back into bed and hooked up for his next dose of intravenous antibiotics. His burns would definitely scar. Now that Shane could see them himself, he shivered. He hated that he would carry the mark of this event on his body forever. But at least he could keep them from getting infected. Maybe Ilya would take him to get his first tattoo. There were tattoo artists that specialized in burns, he was pretty sure. 

The first twenty-four hours were hard. Not knowing what was going on with Ilya, but hearing his screams, hearing him say what he thought would be his last words. Shane never wanted to go through that again. Being grabbed by paramedics while still blindfolded was terror inducing. It took several hours to get accustomed to normal light again after being in the dark for so long. He was able to stay awake through his own examination and give his statement, but he needed to know how Ilya was. They told him he was in surgery, but Shane couldn’t sleep until he knew that he made it through. He only gave in and let them administer the pain killers when he learned Ilya was safe and sound.

His parents caught him up the next morning after fretting over him and making sure he was comfortable and entertained well enough. Joe was in intensive care, Andy had beat him to a pulp as well, but he was the one who managed to get his partner off of Ilya. He wasn’t going to get off scott-free, and he still deserved to be punished, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude towards the man. Andy was unfortunately still alive, but would be facing maximum penalties under the law. With Shane and Joe’s testimonies, it was a pretty clear cut case.

Hearing what went on with Ilya and his parents left him shaken. Shane couldn’t believe he ever doubted Ilya for a second. They told him how hard he tried. And how he bravely went in to rescue Shane himself, not trusting the police to make it in time. He was right on that part. The police didn’t make it until past 9:15. Shane could have been dead by then. Shane literally owed Ilya his life. Shane put on a brave face for his parents, but the second they left his room to check on Ilya, he let himself cry. Needed to find his own release after this nightmare.

As soon as Ilya was in the window to wake up from his drug-induced sleep, Shane begged and pleaded with the doctors and nurses to let him stay Ilya’s room, until they set him up a small cot next to his husband’s. He wouldn’t be allowed to stay long-term, given his injuries, but it would be enough to let him stay for several hours. To be there when Ilya woke up. 

The next time Ilya came to, he was alone. Was Shane a dream? He blinked the fog out of his vision and saw a note sitting on his chest. The neat handwriting said, “Getting coffee. - Yuna”

She returned shortly after he read the note, grateful she left it. “Ilya, I’m so happy you’re alright.” He can see Yuna’s eyes lined with tears. She didn’t have makeup on, and she looked like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Shane…He is okay?” Ilya had to know. 

“Yes! Yes, sweetie. He is fine. He was here when you first woke up. Do you remember?”

“Oh. I wasn’t sure if a dream or…” Ilya trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

“He was here,” Yuna smiled broadly, “the doctors wanted him back in his own bed after some time. It was a compromise. He is fine though. Banged up, but he will fine. Thanks to you.” Yuna took in a deep inhale. “Ilya. I don’t even know where to start. Thank you doesn’t feel strong enough. But thank you. If not for you, I don’t… I just don’t know where we would be right now.” She admits.

“Do not thank me. If I hadn’t — “

“Ilya, I am going to stop you right there. I know you will need to hear this from more than just me, but you are not to blame for any of this. I’ll keep saying it until you believe it. Two days ago I was worried I had lost both of my sons. That includes you.” Yuna admits, making Ilya blush. “Now, before you can fight me, I am going to see about the doctors bringing in Shane. You two need to talk.” Yuna exits, true to her word, before Ilya can fight her on anything. 

Shane is wheeled into Ilya’s hospital room via wheelchair and parked next to him. Ilya looks down, not making eye contact. Shane is within arm’s reach though and Shane grabs his hand, intertwining it with his own. “Well. Are you going to look at me?” Shane says, sounding mildly annoyed. The casual tone he uses is enough to set Ilya off again.

“Shane… I am… I am so sorry. I was not enough. I am so so sorry.” Ilya sobs, yanking his hand from Shane and burying his face instead. 

“Ilya… What are you talking about?” Shane is genuinely stunned. His parents told him Ilya was struggling with misplaced guilt, but he thought they were maybe exaggerating. “Ilya. You saved me. If anything I should be the one apologizing to you.” Shane emphasized, trying to get Ilya to look him in the eyes.

Ilya met his gaze. “Why would you apologize? You were taken.” Ilya asked, genuine confusion interrupting the cascade of tears. 

“Are you kidding me? I’m a professional hockey player, Stanley cup winner and former captain of the Montreal Voyageurs, and yet I am kidnapped from my own house. It shouldn’t have happened. I sat there just waiting to be rescued. How pathetic is that? You should never have been put in this position in the first place.” Shane admits, looking embarrassed at the words leaving his mouth. He breaks eye contact with Ilya, and stares down at his own hands. 

“Shane, no one expected this of you.” 

“Was anyone expecting you to charge in and save me like my own personal knight? Other than you?” Shane replied back, now feeling a small smile creep at the corner of his lips. Starting to feel a bit silly himself. 

Ilya didn’t return his smile though. “I tried to get money. I tried and I failed. And because of that you were hurt. Shane, you say is okay. But I will never forgive myself.” The words are so quiet, Shane can barely pick them up. His heart drops. This is what his parents meant.

“Ilya, they asked you something that no one could do. It was impossible. You tried so hard. Their actions are not your fault. I didn’t help either.” Ilya’s eyes snapped up to Shane. “That same night, I managed to get free and tried to run. They caught me though. Who knows, if I stayed put they may not have done anything. So don’t go blaming yourself for everything. There is enough blame to share.” Shane huffs out. “I also need to admit something. Its weighing on me.”

Ilya nods, waiting for Shane to continue. He looks tired. He probably can’t stay awake much longer.

“When I was there. At the house. The last day… They told me you weren’t trying to save me. That you were okay with me dying. I know I was in a weird space, and hurt, and thirsty, and tired. I ****know**** that. But I believed them. And I hate myself for that. I knew that you wouldn’t just leave me to die. And my parents told me everything. So please don’t apologize. But I hate myself for believing for even a second that you would abandon me. I know that isn’t who you are. Deep down I know that, I promise. I will never doubt you again, I swear.” The admission is hard to get out, but lifts a weight off of Shane’s shoulders. He couldn’t carry that with him. Not if they were going to heal from this.

“Shane I am sorry — “ Shane motions to interrupt Ilya before he shoots hit down with a glare, “not for my actions, but I am sorry that anyone made you doubt what I feel for you. You are my entire world. I would not be here without you. You are my everything, Shane.” Ilya declares quietly, for Shane’s ears only. He tips his head as if in question. Shane meets his lips, kissing him deeply. His lips are bruised, but the ache is secondary from the rush that hits him. He feels the love from Ilya in each and every pore in his body. He doesn’t want to stop the kiss, but he knows it can’t go further while they are still in this hospital room. He breaks it reluctantly, and rests his head on the hand of his husband, breathing deep and feeling the moment.

“Ilya, tell me, how many more days are you here? I am getting discharged tomorrow.” Shane asks, near breathless from their rather chaste kiss. 

“Two days. For stitches. And checking for infection. But then I am home. Doctor says no vigorous activity but I think we can be creative. We can find some way for you to play damsel at home.” Ilya gives him a look full of heat that sends shivers of lust all the way down to Shane’s toes. 

“I will be here every day until you get released, and every day after.” Shane says, moving to cradle Ilya’s face in his palms. He gives him one more peck on his lips and holds his hand until he falls asleep. There was a time, however brief, where Shane thought he would never hold Ilya’s hand again. Never receive a soft kiss again, or hear him speak soft Russian words that Shane was still learning to understand. He would stay awake as long as he could to drink in this vision, take in his angular features, and commit them to memory. He would make sure Ilya never had an opportunity to let the guilt creep in, or the darkness take hold. Shane would show him just how much he loved him. No matter how long that journey takes.

Chapter End Notes

Did anyone ask for Ilya whump? No? Just me? I couldn't end this story without hurting him too.

These boys clearly have some more emotional healing to do, but I thought the hospital was a nice place to end the story.

I really hope you enjoyed - if you did, a comment is appreciated or even a 💖. I appreciate all the kind words shared along the way as I put this story together!