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Ilya was floating on a high that he had never felt before. They had just returned from meeting his boyfriend's parents (boyfriend!) who were so incredibly kind he felt like he was being pranked. It made sense, though, when he thought about it. Of course the people who raised Shane Hollander were just as good.
When David had stumbled in on them in the Kitchen earlier that afternoon, Ilya was prepared for the worst. Yelling, violence, everything that he knew came hand-in-hand with fathers. But then he was making pasta side by side with the man a few hours later, and his heart dared to hope that this was different.
So when he decided to make Shane dinner while he showered after his workout, and movement shuffled in the corner of his eye, he wasn't scared. If anything, he was just glad that this time he was wearing shorts.
Except it wasn't David or Yuna who was standing in the entryway. It was a man about Ilya’s height, dressed in black with a sack tossed over his shoulder. A bandana was tied around his neck, pulled just high enough to conceal the bottom half of his face, but Ilya could tell it was a young man. Maybe even younger than him. If the size of his body was anything to go by, he might even be stronger.
What the fuck.
The intruder seemed just as surprised to see Ilya standing there, shirtless with a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder as he washed the dishes he used to make dinner. Neither man moved for a moment before Ilya made a dash for the steps. He needed to put his eyes on Shane and make sure he was okay.
What he didn’t expect was a force coming from behind him, slamming his head into the glass architecture. His first thought was that Shane wasn’t going to be happy if he broke his cottage with his head. His second thought was that if he died here, now, he wouldn’t even have been his boyfriend for an entire day. Maybe this afternoon was the closest Ilya would get to happiness.
…
Shane stepped out of the shower, the last minute standing under a cold water spray. Lately, all of his showers had been with Ilya, which he was not complaining about, but he occasionally liked to end a shower with cold water running, and he knew the other man hated it. It was supposed to be good for your skin and general blood flow, and Shane was used to doing uncomfortable things for his health.
The cottage was oddly quiet, considering nothing Ilya did ever was. Shane wasn’t sure if the other man was even aware that he would hum or talk to himself when he flitted around the house, but it made his heart swell with a domesticity he never thought he’d be able to have. And now they were boyfriends. Officially. He knew they still had a whole lot to sort out, but things felt good. Better than good.
The silence didn’t stay long. A crash came from downstairs, either from the kitchen or living area, if he had to guess. Quickly securing the towel around his waist, Shane descended the steps.
“Ilya? Are you okay?”
He was greeted with a shuffling sound and a soft moan that he recognized after years of injuries on the ice. Ilya was hurt.
“Did you fall?” Shane asked as he rounded the kitchen island.
His heart stopped in his throat as he saw a streak of blood against the glass, as if Ilya had tried to stick his head through it. The dread that was building in his stomach started slowly, then plummeted him off the roof as he saw his boyfriend on the ground in the corner of the dining area. Someone was on top of him.
“Get off of him-” Shane threw himself at the stranger, pulling the man back by the shoulder, desperate to get a good look at Ilya, who wasn’t moving.
Another man appeared behind him, pulling his hair back violently and exposing his neck. A cool slide of metal crossed his throat, and Shane knew without looking that it was a knife.
“Don’t move.”
The man who was on Ilya pushed himself to his feet, readjusting the bandana that fell beneath his nose in the scuffle. The man who held the knife didn’t let go of Shane, who was trying his best to keep his breathing under control.
“He needs medical attention.” He hadn’t been able to tear his eyes off of Ilya’s slumped frame, a goose egg already forming on his skull, the right side of his face beaded with blood. From what Shane could tell, his chest was still moving, but the man was completely out.
“What he needs is to cooperate. For you to cooperate.” Knife-man threatened the tip against his throat, daring Shane to move. He wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t risk Ilya’s life by not keeping his rage in check. This was a strategy, just like any hockey game. Don’t play your cards right away. He could fight later, when he knew what he was truly up against. Did they have guns?
“What do you want?” he forced his voice to stay neutral, the fury in his eyes manifesting as his only weapon.
The two intruders exchanged looks, and Knife-man shrugged his shoulders, prompting the other to talk.
“Do you know how many rich fucks live out on this lake?” He paused, but Shane knew he wasn’t actually looking for an answer. “And not even full-time, either. You people have more expensive stuff in your ‘summer home,’ or whatever the hell you want to call it, than I will ever see in my life.”
Shane nodded, the picture becoming clearer in his mind. “Okay, so this is about money. Why don’t we put the weapons away, let me check on my friend here, and I’ll give you a nice tip for leaving my fucking house.” It was more generous than he wanted to offer; he wanted to slam both their heads together for touching Ilya, but he also wanted this to end with the least amount of conflict. If he could pay these guys to leave, fine.
The man turned back to Ilya and Shane instinctively stepped towards him, pushing against the knife unconsiouly, and flinching back when it bit into his skin.
“Stay where you are.”
The other man left for a few moments and returned with a bundle of rope that Shane kept in the shed. He supposed he should be glad that he didn’t bring some of the other tools that lived there.
He stepped towards Ilya again and pulled him up into an awkward sitting position, his back hunched as his head lolled forward with no support.
“I’m serious. Let us go, and I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
Shane's stomach tightened into knots as he watched the bastard in front of him wrap the rope around Ilya’s hands, tying them securely behind his back. He had never wanted to kill someone more. It should scare him, the fact that he was usually a nonviolent person, standing here, ready to rip them apart piece by piece if he needed to. If he got the opportunity to.
Knife-man chuckled at his offer before kicking the back of Shane’s knees, causing him to hit the floor. The towel around his waist shifted, but stayed on. Thank god. Shane was used to being naked in front of other men; it came with the job, but there was something different about being on his knees with a knife to his throat in his own goddamn house, without any pants.
“See, I think my friend and I have stumbled on something a whole of a lot more valuable than a couple smash and grabs on the rich side of the lake.”
He maneuvered Shane's own hands behind him, and started on the rope. “I think you’d pay a pretty penny for your ‘friend’ to stay breathing. Am I right?”
Shane’s gut churned at the way he said friend. It wouldn’t take a genius to see the type of relationship he and Ilya might have, alone together in his private cottage, the beginnings of a romantic dinner started, him, once again, not having pants. It wasn’t even a leap at this point.
“And…I think you’d pay a pretty penny for us to keep quiet about Canada’s Golden Boy’s extracurricular activities.”
Shit. They hadn’t mentioned hockey yet, and Shane was beginning to hope that they didn’t recognize him or Ilya. This made things a lot more complicated if they knew exactly who they were blackmailing.
He looked at his boyfriend, a few feet away, his face beginning to twitch as he returned to consciousness. Shane would do anything for him.
“Fine. I’ll have my bank set something up for you. We’ll call it a…weekly ‘donation’ to your cause. Just- let me make sure he’s okay.”
“Why? You don’t like it when I do this?” The other man revealed a knife clipped to his side, and Shane swore under his breath as he removed it, twisting the handle in his hands. Fucking shit. Now they both had weapons.
With Shane’s own knife-wielding lunatic not giving him an inch to move, the other playfully swiped his weapon through the air like it was dancing. He grazed the tip against Ilya’s chest, leaving behind a whisper of red in its wake.
“Leave him the fuck alone!” Shane shouted, vibrating in anger.
The noise seemed to stir what was left of Ilya’s drowsiness away, and seeing his eyes bulge as reality came back to him was the worst thing Shane had ever witnessed. His boyfriend instantly tried to pull away from his captor, his bare chest straining at the ropes keeping him subdued.
“Shane? What is-?” Ilya tried to blink away the blurriness in his vision; his head was fucking killing him.
He was still drowning in his own confusion as he met his boyfriend’s eyes, a few feet away from him, suspended on his knees with only a towel separating the rest of the world from him. His posture was perfect as ever, which Ilya would guess had more to do with the fucking knife at his throat than anything else. Shane looked terrified. Ilya wanted to cross the small distance between them and wrap him in his arms, but he was slowly becoming aware of the knife trained at his own neck, holding him in place.
“Nice of you to join us, sweetheart. I thought hockey players were used to head injuries? You were out longer than I would have guessed.” The man holding Shane all but laughed. “We were just discussing prices with your boyfriend here.”
Ilya wanted to smash his face in. Who the hell was this motherfucker to take that word from them and make it into something ugly? Ilya had just got that title earlier this afternoon, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to let them ruin this for him and Shane.
He ignored both men and studied Shane’s face as he asked, “You are okay?”
He granted him a small nod, obviously not ‘okay’ but communicating that he wasn’t hurt. At least not yet. “How’s your head?”
Ilya shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but the movement sent a pain through his shoulders, spiking straight through to his skull. “Have had worse.”
“Okay, lovebirds, shut the fuck up. Hollander has offered quite a bit of money to get you both out of this situation. What about you, Rozanov? How much money is he worth to you?”
Ilya was going to kill him.
“Yes, take all my money. I do not care. Let him go, let us go. Will even promise to not go to police.”
“Like I can trust anything a fucking commie says. We’ll see what happens once numbers start moving through accounts.” The man tapped his finger against the handle of his weapon, as if weighing the options he had.
“The way I see it… We have lots of options ahead of us.” He trailed his hand across Ilya’s bare chest, fingers leaving goosebumps in his wake as they brushed against his lower stomach.
Ilya couldn’t help the panic that shot up from the touch. Jesus fucking Christ. Keep breathing. He just had to keep breathing. If he showed them fear, they would use it. He couldn’t give them anything more to use.
“I think you boys would do just about anything to guarantee each others safety, right?” The man made eye contact with Shane as he gave Ilya a little pat. “Right?”
Shane clenched his jaw, as if that could keep the rage from boiling over. He wanted to scream at him to stop fucking touching his boyfriend! But he knew that would be playing right into their hands.
“What else do you want? If not our money?”
“You both have some pretty high connections, I would wager. Connections that can lead to more funds, once yours have depleted. Tell me, Shane Hollander, would America’s Sweetheart help you out of a financial crisis? Or was everything with Rose Landry a PR stunt to cover up…this.” he gestured to Ilya and the half-made dinner, Shane still in his state of undress.
No way was Shane getting anyone else involved in this; he had to keep them away from Rose. Before he could come up with a Hollander-style bullet point plan, he heard the sound of tires against gravel in the driveway.
Shit. Did they have backup? They wouldn’t be able to fight them all if that was the case. Shane was already unsure of the odds of taking these guys out when it was two-on-two. He and Ilya may be professional athletes, but they also currently had their hands tied behind their backs, not to mention Ilya’s head injury… a sinking feeling came over him as he wrestled with the thought that they might not get out of this alive.
The man who had been holding him momentarily retreated, pushing Shane the rest of the way to the ground; he tried to roll towards Ilya and almost got to him.
“Shane? Your Dad and I have been trying to call you boys; you forgot to take home the leftover-” Yuna walked in and froze at the sight of the two hockey players on the ground. The blood dripping down the wall. The two men with knives stood like deer in headlights at her unexpected entrance.
“Mom! Get out of here!” Shane screamed as he realized what was going on. He twisted his body in an attempt to get on his feet, struggling with his hands still bound. He had to get her out of here. What was she doing here?
Yuna blinked back into herself, and into action. She hurled the casserole dish towards the man closest to her; it didn’t do much damage, but it did make him jump.
“Who the hell are you?” The man exclaimed, skidding around the shattered glass and remains of what used to be in the container.
Yuna used their moment of confusion to dig into her purse, pulling out her cylinder arsenal of pepper spray. It was a gift from David a few years ago, and she had never had to use it before now. She wished she had something that would make them hurt more than the spray, but she could daydream about burying them alive in the courts after her son was safe.
She all but emptied the canister at the men who were now spiraling in pain a few feet from her, and quickly stepped out of their way as they made a run for it. She wasn’t worried about them right now; PD would catch them, and then she would drown them in their own foolish mistakes, but that all would come later.
“Baby…” Her voice broke as she rushed to her son, delicately helping him to his feet, she walked him to his couch and pulled a blanket over him. His whole body was trembling.
“Let me get you out of those,” she whispered, stroking his hair with one hand as she undid the ropes with the other.
Yuna swore under her breath at the angry red marks on Shane’s wrists, the haunted look in his eyes as he looked for Rozanov. Ilya. She was still getting used to that. Leaving her son on the couch to fetch his boyfriend, she got a closer look at the source of the blood that covered the area. She reminded herself that head wounds bled a lot, and that she didn’t need to catastrophize. The adrenaline was still racing through her veins as she dialed emergency services.
Walking Ilya over to the couch like she did Shane, she undid his ties and gently took a kitchen towel to his head to soak up some of the blood. He might need stitches. She spoke with the operator in a voice that to anyone else would sound calm and collected, but to her it sounded like she was falling apart.
They were going to send out an ambulance to check out the boys, and get police in the area to start a manhunt. They sat in silence for a moment after the operator hung up.
“Are you boys okay?” She knew the answer, but she still had to ask.
Shane leaned his shoulder against her, resting his forehead to hers like he used to as a kid. “We are now.”
She ran her hand through his hair before placing a kiss on the top of his head. Rozanov sat completely still next to Shane as if he was afraid to move. She pulled him into an embrace along with Shane. Her boys.
“I’m so glad you’re both okay,” she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried not to think about what would have happened if she decided not to bother them with leftovers tonight. God, she needed to call David and tell him what was going on. She still didn’t really know what was going on herself.
Shane had melted into the embrace almost as soon as she pulled him in, and to her pleasant surprise, Ilya had loosened into the hug after he realized that she was not going to let him go.
He hadn’t been hugged by a mother in…a very long time. It felt good. It felt safe. It felt like he had a family again, and Ilya wasn’t sure if it was grief or relief that had him crying into her shoulder.
“You’re okay. It’s okay. I got you both.”