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Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing but the original characters and the situations the characters find themselves in. Thanks so much for reading my works and giving me feedback on my storylines and characters. It's muchly appreciated and I do read every review you send me!
Okay...did not expect you guys to love the original as much as you did. So yeah, this sequel is to thank everyone who reviewed and kudos the original. Thankies.
Which John, Exactly?
Detective John Blake woke up with a pounding headache. And that unexpected wake up was quickly followed by the realization that his arms were somehow attached to a very uncomfortable metal chair. This sadly wasn't the first time the detective had found himself in this position, but from previous experience Blake knew to play unconscious and get his bearings first. It was safest to take inventory of one's circumstances and company before drawing unnecessary attention to yourself. So, Blake played dead and fought through the pain to try and piece together how the hell he'd ended up in his present circumstances, especially since he could feel eyes on him from across the room and they were definitely not in any rush to free him from his latest fuck up. Him and whoever he sensed was seated beside him.
Fuck.
Constantine. The scents of cigarettes and whatever cologne the man wore tipped him off even before Blake remembered running into the Brit earlier.
Forcing his face to stay slack, his form slumped forward, Blake recalled the events leading up to this point and fuck-keeping his expression neutral was fucking difficult given how embarrassing this was now that he was remembering what had happened.
He'd been working undercover to investigate a 'coven' of wannabe vampires. They were suspects in the murder of six people, and his job had been to get into their little club and get some info on the membership. Specifically, who among them might have taken things a little too far and decided to give cannibalism a try. Ugh.
It would have been his third time going to the club, Blake encountering Constantine on a street corner enroute. It was the first time they' met up since the whole bar incident a few weeks ago, and he'd stopped to chat for a few minutes. Constantine had 'loved' the Spike look Blake was currently wearing to better fit in with the crazy people, and since he knew he looked hot in the bleach blond wig Blake hadn't taken offense. They'd traded teasing insults right up until a punk had called out to them from across the street.
Mid-twenties with bad acne scars, about Blake's own height with brown and brown coloring. The bastard had looked in good shape for a street thug, and had definitely been up to something as he'd approached them, acting like he knew one of them-but wasn't sure which one was the 'John' he was greeting.
Like that wasn't suspicious at all.
The look on the guy's face when Constantine had asked which 'John' he was talking to had been pretty fucking hilarious.
Some of that amusement had died with the man's second question for them-the first being the question/statement that were both seriously named John-was a query as to which one of them was sleeping with a member of the Suicide Squad.
Their amusement had come back in spades over the moron's reaction to the fact that both of them had ruefully admitted that they had slept with Squad members by raising their hands like school kids.
The ridiculousness of it all had screwed them, Blake realized with a mental wince. They'd underestimated the punk and hadn't seen it coming when the guy had put a hand in his pocket and then thrown something at them.
There'd been a really bright light...and that was all Blake remembered. Clearly, they'd been kidnapped. And odds were they only had themselves to blame for their crap taste in men.
The question became then...which John was this guy after, and why?
)
After about fifteen minutes of playing at unconscious Blake was finally rewarded by the sound of heavy footsteps and some guy yelling at the others in the room, cursing them out with impressive fluency while he demanded to know how they could have fucked such an easy job up. All they'd had to do, it seemed, was pick up one guy. Why the fuck was there two of them? Which one was 'John'?
"You said a good-looking blond guy in a trench coat." That bit of whining came from the punk who'd approached them earlier.
"And they both said their names was John, and that they were both fucking around with someone on the Squad." Another voice added.
"How is that fucking possible?"
The two stooges stated in impressive synch that, 'Right?!'.
Fuck. Seriously?! None of them knew what was actually going on here? This level of incompetence...he was never, ever fucking living this down. He might die of mortification.
It was while Blake considered the likelihood of that that Mr. Stompy came stomping over and Blake could feel the guy's eyes on him for a couple of minutes before switching over to study Constantine, presumably.
"Boss said the guy looked way younger than he actually is. This guy's got the baby face."
Given that the alternative was Constantine Blake figured he was the baby face. He'd show the fucker who the baby was as soon as he got out of this.
"But that guy could be way old instead of looking like he's thirty." Stooge One pointed out. "He totally had the vibe, like he'd been there, done that, and wouldn't mind doing it all again. That dude has seen shit. Plus, he's better looking."
"Nah. The other guy's hotter." Stooge Two argued, Blake silently appreciating the support. "He looks like Spike from 'Buffy'. Chicks love Spike."
Rather than weigh in on which John was hotter Mr. Stompy just muttered about how fucked they all were.
Word, Blake silently chimed in.
"Which Suicide Squad member is the boss after?"
Blake's ears perked up to hear the answer to Stooge One's question, only to be let down by the other guy's statement that he didn't know who 'The John' was fucking with. The boss hadn't said. Blake got the distinct impression that these guys were expendable and hadn't been trusted with any more info then necessary.
The boss was stupid enough to mess with the Squad, but not that stupid, it seemed.
"Ain't the guy supposed to be magic or something? That guy looks like an elf."
"He does." Stooge One said with a mean laugh. "Like a fucking Elf on a Shelf."
While Blake mentally fumed over that comparison-which he'd sadly heard before for added insult to injury-the three idiots discussed how creepy Elf on a Shelf was.
On that count Blake had to agree with them a hundred fucking percent. Don't even get him started.
Parents should not teach their children that it was okay for some creepy, always smiling guy to stalk them and watch their every action, reporting their secrets back to some old man who liked to break into houses and give children 'presents'.
But that wasn't what was important right now. What was-they were saying the right John was the one with magic-and, well, it wasn't 'me you're looking for', to quote the song. Which meant he was the one who'd end up dead or horribly maimed if they realized who was the valuable hostage-and who had just been dragged along for the ride.
Once he got out of this mess-which he sure as fuck was going to do ASAP before he did die of humiliation-at least Bane would fucking owe him once Blake figured out how to best argue that this was somehow the man's fault. Not that Mr. Tin Can Face would probably admit that.
Even as he thought about who else would owe him for this Blake heard a whispered 'Sorry, Mate' coming from his right. Ah. Constantine was awake as well and listening. Things were looking up. Slightly.
)
The thought on the forefront of Constantine's mind was fuck his life, seriously. This was just too barmy for words. He didn't know what was worse, really. The fact that he'd been taken down by these barking mad twats, who probably couldn't find their own arses with both hands, or-no, scratch that. The fact that such fuckwits had been the ones to take him down was the worst of it. Constantine didn't even have to think about it. And he'd bribe Blake to never speak of this again, give him whatever he wanted to keep his gob shut. Provided they lived through this of course, but Constantine would gladly jump down into Hell before he'd be ended by this lot.
Aware that Blake was awake and only pretending to be out-hey, him too-Constantine mentally urged the lackeys to either tell them more info he and Blake could actually use, or fuck the hell off.
Naturally, since nothing was going their fucking way, it took a bunch more useless arguing before the three came up with the idea of sending a picture that featured both men. That way the 'right' John would be in the picture, plus maybe the Boss could blackmail TWO Suicide Squad members into letting them join said squad. Two was better than one, right?
"Too bad they don't have two braincells between them." Blake muttered, just loud enough for Constantine to hear.
He wholeheartedly agreed with that one.
After some discussion about whose phone to use the goons finally took a few piccies and then left the room, apparently assuming that there was no reason at all to leave them with a guard in case they woke up earlier than expected.
Please, like they both weren't used to taking blows to the head.
Peering cautiously out of one eye Constantine made sure they were all gone, then made a show of seeming to struggle into wakefulness in case there were cameras. Not likely, but best to seem as weak and out of it as possible.
Doing the same, Blake added some cursing to his performance.
Looking over to take stock of the cop's injuries, he'd smelled the blood, Constantine quickly spotted that it was a head wound to the back of Blake's noggin. Those always bled a right bitch.
"You all right, Lad?"
"I've been better." Blake muttered darkly. "But I'll live. You?"
"Same. Provided, of course, that we live and never, ever speak of this again."
"Deal." Blake's lips curved into a smirk as he joined Constantine in getting a look at their surroundings. "Cozy."
They were definitely in a warehouse. One that hadn't been in use for a while, Constantine was guessing. There was plenty of dust in the air, on concrete floors, and coating the numerous crates piled hap hazardously around them. The lighting was also for shite, and what it revealed didn't help any.
There were also the faintest hints of the sea. A gut instinct that said they were near water. Constantine had grown up on an island, after all. And it would make sense for them to want to blackmail Nanaue if their headquarters was next to water. Though if they were just squatting here like this-well that was just sad.
"Seriously?"
Snapping his attention back to the cop squirming in his seat Constantine saw no reason for the outburst.
"Insult upon insult. Fucking morons."
Raising an eyebrow, Constantine asked what he was going on about.
"They used my own handcuffs on me." Blake announced, outrage written all over his cute little face. "They think I can't get out of these? I was getting out of cop cuff before I hit the fucking double digits. Insult on fucking injury!"
And to prove his point the cop was out of the cuffs in record time. There'd be no point in Bane bringing those into the bedroom, Constantine mused with a smirk. Though it wasn't like the big pile of muscle would need the help keeping Blake in place.
He could have gotten out of those cuffs easily enough himself, but Constantine had already figured out that he was dealing with those plastic zip tie thingies from the feel of it. He didn't have much experience with them as yet.
Shoving his cuffs into an inside jacket pocket for safe keeping Blake continued to curse as he carefully fingered the back of his head to get a sense of the damage.
It wasn't bad, the lump, Blake told Constantine as the cop carefully got to his feet, stretching out for a minute before lifting up one leg and sliding his fingers into the army style black boot to...pull out a switchblade.
"Fuck me sideways. Are you fucking kidding me? They didn't even search you?"
"This 'Boss' must have got them from 'Idiots R Us'." Blake quipped as he came around to use the blade to set Constantine loose.
"Fuck Ups United."
"Mini Minded Minions. Triple M."
There were probably some more brilliant acronyms they could come up with in no time, but that would have to wait a tick or two as Constantine found his hands released from their ties. Thank fuck.
Getting to his own feet Constantine was in the process of checking his many hidden pockets to confirm that yes, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be, when the silence of the room was broken by a very, very familiar 'tune' known throughout the world.
Laughing, Blake of course immediately made the connection. "Your ringtone for King Shark is the 'JAWS' theme song?"
"Seemed appropriate." Constantine's grin was perhaps a touch evil. "Don't tell him though. The man fucking cried at the end when the shark went boom. Thinks it's a terrible tragedy."
"Bane's tone changes often." Blake volunteered. "It mostly depends on how pissed off I am. Currently it's 'Danger Zone'."
Delighted, Constantine gave that a thumbs up before turning his attention to following the sound of his phone. It just figured that the morons had decided it was worth taking off his person, rather than all the things he could maim or kill them with.
The cellphone had been left carelessly lying on the floor, his screen visibly cracked. Bugger. And when Constantine picked it up it was to discover further insult to injury.
"One of those shite made off with my phone case! Bloody Bastard!"
Oh, they were going to pay dearly if he didn't get his 'Keep Calm and Love Colin Firth' case back.
Double shite, he'd missed the call.
Right, guess he'd be calling back...right after he helped Blake beat the living shite out of the two gangbangers who'd just wandered in and were now staring at them in shock, their puny little brains unable to comprehend that their 'captives' were out and about without permission.
To the sound of Blake cracking his knuckles menacingly Constantine shot their victims a feral grin.
"Right then. Payback's going to be a right bitch, Boyos."
)
Thankfully there were more morons in the building than they'd known, thus allowing Blake and his partner in ass kicking the opportunity to really work out all their frustration and mortification over the situation they'd gotten themselves into. And while normally Blake would have held back a little, given how pathetically weak and inexperienced the guys were, Blake found himself lacking in sympathy currently. Especially after the one guy named Jazz proved to be a hairpuller. You did NOT pull a guy's hair in a fight, God damn it! The fact that he was wearing a wig didn't negate that, and Blake didn't feel at all bad about ensuring the fucker would need a fuck ton of physical therapy in the future.
The dirty as fuck cement floor was soon littered with seven bloody and broken minions when Blake turned his head to watch the eighth make a break for it, the screaming twit racing behind a pile of boxes.
Screams that echoed, and then went so high pitched that Blake was already wincing even before he heard a sound that cut off the screaming. A new, both crunchy and yet somehow wet sound Blake was pretty sure he never, ever wanted to hear again.
"What was that?"
"That, I believe, is the sound of a man being bitten in half."
Slowly glancing over Blake saw that no, Constantine was not kidding.
"King Shark?"
"Likely." A careless shrug. "I suppose you'll want to handle this all official. Call in your brothers in blue, as it were."
"Yeah." Fuck. The paperwork that was going to be heading his way.
And hearing the sound of heavy approaching footsteps that were definitely not Bane's because you did not hear his man coming unless he wanted you to, Blake deliberately looked up towards the ceiling as he stated that if he didn't see anything, he didn't have to include it in his report.
"Right. Good seeing you, Blake. We'll have to do this again sometime under better circumstances."
"It's a date."
"No date Johnny."
A husky, sex drenched laugh from Constantine. "Figure of speech, Luv. Now come along, spit spot. We're contaminating the scene and all that rubbish."
"Those ones not dead."
"No, but Blake will insist they must remain so. He is a cop, after all."
King Shark muttered something Blake didn't catch, but finally the half man, half shark stomped off with Constantine, Blake waiting until the sound of them retreating was faint before he allowed himself to glance around at the mess around him.
Doing some more serious cursing under his breath Blake pulled his own cellphone out, his phone case apparently not worth stealing. Or maybe they just hadn't noticed it, the novice fuckers. Either way when he tapped on the screen it came to life, revealing two missed calls from Bane he hadn't heard because he'd had his phone on silent.
After a moment's consideration Blake typed out a quick 'I'm fine, call you later'. Sending it to Bane before he could rethink it.
Then, with a very loud, very put-upon sigh, Blake punched in the number to report his current situation to dispatch.
Fuck his life sometimes, seriously.